We are Human 

Having been born in Texas in the early sixties, I was raised on God, baseball, & football like so many other little boys of that time and place. It didn't take long at all for me to realize that I couldn't worship the big three. Not only was I not gifted athletically, but I didn't believe in their sanctity either. As teenage angst set in, largely a result of forced indoctrination to something I couldn't begin to accept intellectually, I experimented with illicit drugs. Of course, smoking marijuana and alcohol were staples. But, at the age of 16, I was offered the chance to expand my consciousness by consuming a 'hit' of LSD. The thought was both terrifying and intriguing. A juxtaposition of extreme hysteria on one end, and the claims of salvation on the other, danced neurotically in my mind. Would I go insane or have deformed children years later from this risky experiment? Or would I become enlightened like a Dead Head? The only advice was to not stare into a mirror, lest the former invade your mind never to relinquish control. And so it was, that fateful day, my personality underwent a permanent cosmic shift. Nothing extremely noticeable at first. But, the profound aspects of that experience set in motion a latent desire to become a better version of myself. I discovered something new within: empathy and compassion. I began to connect to and relate with people much better, as I now saw & felt the world through others' eyes. I forgave myself for the failures & shortcomings I angrily harbored, many of which were largely blamed on external factors. Through joining a yoga practice as the lone male, I was introduced to feminism, meditation, and eventually Buddhism. I went on to start a career, followed by a family, and settled into that comfortable routine many of us are quite familiar with. While I had a few occasions to experiment with mind altering substances during this long period, it wasn't without extreme paranoia and fear from potential legal persecution. One of my buddies from High School was arrested for simple possession of LSD and the felony conviction haunted him for decades. I also had another good friend in High School get beaten within inches of his life by police, all because he giggled at them while tripping on magic mushrooms. The threats were very real. As a father to two growing boys, one of whom was on the spectrum coupled with seizure disorder, I put my curiosity, my mental and spiritual health, on the back burner. The risk of losing parental rights to the children I both loved and needed to be a father for was simply too high. And for what reasons exactly? It became clear our government had outright banned many CNS antagonists for purely political reasons. Our government obviously didn't care about our wellbeing, as evidenced by drafting young men to fight a war in Vietnam. If they were willing to send us off to die in a war over complex ideas, then they would just as easily imprison us over substances deemed counter-productive to sustaining those very same ideas. My career eventually took me in a direction that, while lucrative, required extensive travel away from home. Away from friends, family, and activities that both sustained and fulfilled me. On the surface, I was successful and happy. Deep down I was becoming more isolated. Still connected, albeit less deeply. Strong connections to loved ones, trusted friends, and peers in one's field are a mainstay of good mental health and happiness. Extensive travel for work tries to rip those connections to shreds. No matter how much effort I placed, many of my own connections withered or died altogether. I told myself it would be fine. After all, I was earning good wages and providing better for my family. Underneath the facade, cracks in my foundation were forming. I will never forget that fateful day. I had developed an intense interest in photography as an art form I could practice, even while traveling for my job. Working near Boulder, CO, I arose early one morning and drove to a prominent lookout point to take photos of the Frontrange as the sun slowly lit up the jagged horizon. In the small parking lot, another lone car was parked, and I confidently assumed they were there for similar reasons as myself. To witness nature's grandeur, basking in all her glory of fresh morning sunlight. What other motive could there be for arriving at that spot for that specific moment? As the sun began to make its daily climb, the Flatirons bathed in a fiery glow. I recalled a previous failed attempt to scale the 3rd Flatiron with a good friend. We had waited too late in the day and got sketched out as darkness descended upon us. But, I digress. I set up my camera on the tripod and started snapping photos. Morning twilight soon gave way, and I noticed the person in the vehicle. They were moving around as if just awakening to behold the sight. As I clicked my shutter, the movement appeared very unusual, almost a strained discomfort. My attention became more fixated, and with added clarity of morning light, I noticed something appeared quite wrong. Empathy and compassion welled up, and I decided to check in on this fellow sightseer. Approaching the vehicle, the sight of blood, swollen facial features, and awkward movement caused a moment of anxiety and panic. Was this person injured? A wayward college student on the losing end of a drunken brawl? Moving closer to the car to offer help, I noticed the tiny note affixed to the window near the door lock. My worst fear suddenly became manifest. It was a suicide note. This young man had tried to end his life. Things had become so unbearable he used his service pistol in an attempt to cease his pain and suffering. Fortunately, or not - depending on one's outlook, the attempt failed. However, it had done considerable damage. The sight of a living human being, reduced to such a gory state, was extremely shocking to say the least. I had never witnessed such trauma before. My heart raced emphatically; thoughts of rendering first aid flooded my mind. I knew instinctively to call 911 first, offer aid second, and hope for the best. "Hello, 911 - What's your emergency?" Damn, does that stick with a person. Describing the horrific scene before me, the 911 operator instructed me to back away from the vehicle. "But, I know CPR and have first aid training! I can help him!", was my retort. "Sir, please do as instructed. You could be injured or killed!" No, I thought. This is a fellow human being desperately needing my help. "Sir, you don't know where the firearm is located, nor if it still has ammo. Purely physical reactions might cause him to discharge that weapon! Please, sir! Do as instructed!" I vividly recall to this very day the overwhelming emotions, watching the morning traffic full of commuters heading into Boulder, their eyes peering at me as the sight & sound of sirens approached. Do they know what has happened? Surely they are not assuming I'm somehow involved? The officer seemed both concerned and caring. We locked eyes, and he asked if I was the one calling 911. "Yes, sir. That was me." He cautiously approached the other vehicle, and emphatically reminded me to stand back out of harm's way. More law enforcement. An ambulance. Now a detective. Part of their job is to ascertain exactly what happened. Question everyone and everything. To get to the "truth". I was interviewed, and the questions asked were invasive, accusatory, and stressful. Alas, I was not a suspect. I also recall the first responding officer having tears in his eyes. He told me he might need to seek mental health assistance afterwards, and advised the same for myself. The detective said that many people go out into nature, especially the mountains, to commit this final act of self-violence. I was distraught and felt defeated. A grief counsellor arrived at my hotel shortly afterwards. We sat in a booth with coffee and breakfast, chatting a bit, but mostly just stayed silent. The next several hours, the horror incessantly replayed over and over, like a broken record. Unbeknownst to me, the seeds of PTS were beginning to sprout, eventually blossoming into full-blown PTSD. I told myself I was mentally strong enough to manage my condition. I wasn't. It's not something easily overcome. For most of us, we need help. Unfortunately, the stigma means many of us will not seek it out. I began hearing of new research around psychedelics, and new terms - like entheogens - entered my vocabulary. I learned about other substances through reading works such as DMT: The Spirit Molecule by Dr. Rick Strassman. I was able to procure some LSD, or so I thought. Unfortunately, as a result of both prohibition and cultural taboos, the substance was an analog, n-Bome to be exact, which has significant potential for life threatening side effects with improper dosages. Once again, the War On (Some) Drugs was impacting society so negatively. My depression and anxiety grew to a near crippling level of dysfunction. My wife of over 20 years cautioned divorce as an outcome if I didn't get treatment. I knew a change was drastically needed. Life is funny sometimes, and events take place that seem preordained. My employer offered me an opportunity to move from Texas to Colorado - only a few mere miles away from the haunting location my trauma derived. Tears and strong emotions overwhelmed me any time I had to drive by that place. Synchronicity. This word is often bantered about amongst the Psychonaut community. I never knew if it was true or not, but also couldn't help notice certain coincidences. In the summer of 2019, my father's death becoming imminent as the relapsed cancer ravaged his body, I was invited to attend an Ayahuasca retreat in the mountains. Familiar emotions - fear, uncertainty, and anxiety - reminiscent from my youth over that first profound experience with LSD, reared their ugly heads. I was undeterred and forged ahead, attending the retreat with all the courage and conviction of someone lost in a jungle - or rather a prison of their own making, yet convinced there must be a way out. That journey changed my life completely. It jettisoned much of the mental baggage I was burdened with. It allowed me to face my father's impending death with much more presence, humility, and love than otherwise. Hospice care in my home eased my father's transition from this life we shared. I was able to accept it as not only inevitable, but also necessary and quite beautiful. My father, even though we vehemently disagreed on many topics, taught me his most valuable lesson - how to die gracefully. My Ayahuasca journey allowed me to receive his lesson. Reintegration of that experience wasn't exactly easy. It's something I am unable to describe here and now, but suffice to say it was work. Work I knew was desperately needed. My wife was out of town visiting her family when I attended the Ayahuasca retreat. She was moderately concerned for my wellbeing, especially given the hype, mystery, and distinct unfamiliarity our western culture has with certain plant medicines. And rightly so. But, she eagerly recounts to this day how she returned home to a different man. A restored, content person that suddenly exhibited a renewed zest and vitality for life. A person whom she could regain trust and renewed joy for sharing life. A life worth living to its fullest. Almost five years later, I still have fleeting moments of depression. I still have bouts of anxiety when life expresses uncomfortable moments or challenges. But, they are so much less severe. I learned to recognize those self-defeating thoughts and emotions early, and hold them with a sense of detachment. After all, they are not me, but rather simply a part of my experience of the world. I dearly miss my father. I miss our philosophical debates, even though most ended with the old "agree to disagree" adage. But, I have come to appreciate, and even take comfort, in life's repeating patterns. As if each of us are merely fractals weaved into a beautiful tapestry recording the novels of our life. I share my story in hopes that others can relate. I share it to raise awareness of the fact that "(illicite) drugs aren't all bad, m'kay!" We humans deserve better than this. We deserve true freedom of the mind, body, and spirit that many nations along with their authoritarian governments have stolen from us. And, yes - the government here in the US is just as authoritarian as many of those third world dictatorships. This mindset extends across the aisle too, as both political parties here in America are all too eager to keep the status quo. We desperately need to try something new. The War On (Some) Drugs has proven to be an utter and miserable failure. It has not kept us safe at all, and rather has created a dystopian system of persecution, oppression, and wasted lives. It has spawned and bolstered a for-profit prison system which rewards and incentivizes the prosecution and imprisonment of non-violent drug offenders over those actually detrimental to society. It has engendered violent drug cartels that terrorize innocent communities. It is far past time for us, as a society, to rectify these injustices. Humanity deserves better. Much, much better. We should all agree that consuming substances for personal pleasure, knowledge, spirituality, or even health and medical reasons - is not something deserving of persecution, oppression, or threatened with punitive measures. As consenting adults, no other human, religious organization, or government entity should be able to dictate these choices for us. Freedom of mind, by whatever means it is pursued, is an inalienable right within our relentless quest for health and happiness. Namaste`