Psilocybin Therapy, First Session

First Session took place on January 19th, 2026

The following account was recorded the day after a six-hour psilocybin therapy session.

“My therapist, [redacted], arrived at my house around 10:30 am. We spoke about the effects of psilocybin and what I should expect to feel, as I’ve never used it before. I set up a comfortable space on the floor of my studio. We did a general grounding exercise, and I invited my “spirit team” to join us in the space. I then drummed for a short time to get into a proper headspace. [Therapist] then instructed me to eat the mushrooms. To me, they smelled slightly cheesy, but tasted almost like dried porcini mushrooms. They did not taste good, though not entirely unpleasant either. It wasn’t long before I began to feel the effects. The sensation was creeping, as though English ivy had spread to every end of my body. I could visualize the spreading as frost on a window. I did become very cold and needed a space heater and an additional blanket. The cold, though constant, began to feel pleasant, like stepping into the cold for a fresh breath of air. As the creeping sensation spread, I sensed it in my many scars. I felt that the “ivy” could not pass through the scars at first. The scars were a foreign body that the “ivy” could not grow over. A small fear arose. I reassured the “ivy” that the scars were, in fact, a part of me, natural or not. The fear subsided.

A short time passed, and I began to feel very feminine. I could visualize myself as a young woman in 1700’s France. I wore a ruffled celadon green dress with matching ribbons in my hair, which was long and brunette. It was at this point that I said, aloud, that my lips were going numb. My therapist asked if I related that feeling to anything, and I responded, “opium.” My therapist asked if I had done opium, and I replied, “Not in this lifetime.” I have always felt as though I had died from opium, and this sensation was familiar. I then held a strawberry aloft and ate it delicately. I was then back in 1700’s France, lounging on a blanket by the river. I was alone at first, save for my valet in the near distance. I then felt the presence of a younger sister with me, though I could not see her face. I said aloud how good it feels to gossip and be out of view from others. It felt delicious. I then felt as though I would be found out or caught in some way. Being too happy could be met with admonishment. It was around this time that Cleo (my cat) entered the room. She scanned the perimeter before settling in my arms. She stayed with me the entire session.

In the trip, I was then brought to the Alps. I was an eight-year-old blonde boy and was lying down again. This time, I was in front of a small hearth fire. My cat, Cleo, then became a very large dog in this scene. The dog was wolf-like, and we lay together in front of the fire. The feeling was that we had just come indoors after a long day outside. I felt imaginative, as if my entire day had been spent playing make-believe in the forest. It was one of the best feelings in the world. I did not see my parents, but knew them to be nearby. I was unafraid. The mountains themselves became “Mother.” The name, “Frau Holda,” came to my mind as I viewed the mountains as “mothers.” I did not encounter her visage, although I could feel her embrace. She was stern yet loving. On one hand, she was as harsh as a winter’s wind, and on the other as warm as fresh-baked bread. She felt respectfully distant and not overbearing.

As my thoughts turned to my own mother, my thoughts were directed to a pond. This pond looked very much like the one at my grandmother’s house. My mother’s energy was that of a fish in this pond, and also of a clear quartz. My energy was like that of a toad or a frog, and also a deep garnet. My grandmother was a turtle in this pond, and her stone was an emerald. The three of us experienced the pond in very different ways. My mother, the fish, felt separated from me (as a frog), and even more so from her mother, the turtle. Although I felt distant as a frog, I knew that my mother had the company of other fish. As a frog, I could spend much of my time underwater, with the fish, but also on land with the turtle. I was a familiar guest to the fish, but was at home along the banks of the pond. My grandmother, the turtle, lived like the frog, but spent more time on land than the frog. As a frog, I spent time equally on the back of the turtle’s shell and in the water with the fish. The turtle and the fish rarely encountered one another. In this realization, a memory came forth of a time when my grandmother showed me a bucket full of daddy long-legs. Today, the day after the session, I called my grandmother, and she confirmed this memory.

I left the scene of the pond and saw myself as a young child. I was playing in the swampy woods behind my father’s house. I spent a lot of time in a small creek searching for salamanders under the rocks. I also caught frogs and collected tadpoles for the day. Sometimes, I’d find small turtles or even mice that I’d play with. These memories were a very enjoyable part of the session. It is my thought that these memories were the last times I was truly worry-free. Around this part of the session, I required a bathroom break, and then ingested more mushrooms. The second part of the session was not related to me or my memories.

It felt like I was witnessing the collective memory of the mushrooms. The story was presented in a way that was passed down through generations for millions of years. I was shown a vast network of enormous mushrooms, the size of skyscrapers, covering much of the Earth. The sky was greener than it was blue. I was shown triangular crafts falling into the ocean. Each craft carried a small number of beings. These beings emerged from the water and were frightening to the life forms on Earth. Their skin was pale and simmering, and also somewhat translucent. Their eyes were like burning coal. They had no outwardly formed ears, but had small holes which could be covered by an equally small flap of skin. Their noses were similar to ours, except that their nostrils were larger. They had human-like mouths. As a group, these beings were outcasts. What their transgressions were, I do not know. They spent a great many years looking up at the sky, yearning to return. They survived on rations and collected what little water they could gather. Over time, many lost hope of ever returning to the stars. A wise few turned to the mushrooms for guidance. The mushrooms instructed them to go underground, and so they did. They abandoned their crafts, bringing only essential survival tools. For a millennium or more, it rained. Time underground was indistinguishable. After many generations, the beings adapted to their new existence underground and, in time, had forgotten that they had ever come from the stars. They changed physically as well. Their eyes grew larger and paler to better perceive the dark. Their skin, still pale and translucent, became thick to withstand the cold. One day, the continuous hum of rain against rock stopped. Again, the wisest among them ventured out into the newly vegetated world. It was a world lush with life, but also one of harsh light. The mushrooms, no longer the height of skyscrapers, diversified and became smaller. Two factions formed among the beings: those who remained underground and those who ventured above it. Those above adjusted to this new world. Their skin turned dark, and their eyes cooled to the color of amber. The beings underground developed more amphibious traits and were able to traverse immense distances through vast cavern networks and bodies of water. In time, the two factions forgot both of one another, and of their origin among the stars. The beings who dwelt above allied with the mushrooms, who are the stewards of original life on Earth. The consciousness and breadth of the mushrooms were vast and ruling. The amber-eyed people learned from them, and the mushrooms were happy to teach. Another pact was made with the help of the mushrooms. This one was between the animals and the amber-eyed people. Souls were traded and bargained for in exchange for sustenance, and the mushrooms enforced this pact for generations. In time, the amber-eyed people grew greedy. They wanted the souls of all of the animals. They took much more than they gave, and so the animals became fearful. Reason among the amber-eyed people became rare, but was not lost. The animals then trusted only the reasonable. The mushrooms hold onto this story and share it so that we can remember. We were outcasts, orphans on a cosmological scale, but they took us in and taught us how to survive in this world that we call home.