What Makes a Psychedelic Community?

In my last post, I talked about how psychedelics used to be edgy and threatening to the powers that be and were therefore criminalized. The process of getting them legalized in this country and even socially respectable came through integrating them into our therapy-industrial complex where they stayed in the lane of treating our trauma and psychological issues. 

This means our psychedelic communities are mostly bound together through the shared psychology model with very specific roles. The psychedelic facilitator in this model (whether therapist, guide, or shaman) must be objective,  “hold space” from a psychic and emotional distance, and be able to reflect back the client’s issues neutrally like a mirror. Wise and non-judgemental, the facilitator allows the client to vent and unload their feelings with perhaps the gentlest poke to help them see an important truth. Above all, the spaceholder must make sure their own issues don’t get in the way of someone else’s process. They must not allow their client to see too far under the spaceholder role.

At some point the burden of maintaining that role becomes too much and the facilitator must eventually go to a space where they can process their feelings. I’ve seen many promotions in the psychedelic community for  “provider only spaces” where providers can express themselves without fear of running into their clients.

This separation between “client” and “provider” is accepted and unquestioned, and the ramifications for the psychedelic community go unaddressed. In many ways, this system functions like a religion with a priestly caste who provides their services while remaining separate from their parishioners. Doesn’t this make the psychedelic therapist  much like a priest in a confessional booth?

This rigid separation of roles is an aspect of modern human society and is not one that we have had for very long. I’m wary of talking about “the good old days” as if they were monolithic or even all good, but I do mourn the loss of community and, specifically, the ways in which healing and art required our full selves, and the full selves of the entire community, to participate. In many old systems, each member had their part to play, and they were all important.

In our modern, fractured society, maintaining community is challenging. We are praised for leaving our toxic families and dumping our narcissist partners and then create communities of people who think like us, share the same politics and label others as the enemy. These curated communities frequently bond over a shared grievance but quickly fall apart when someone says or does something that challenges the established norms.

But what if challenging social norms and sharing your full self (even the toxic parts) are an essential part of the community fabric and community healing? What would our psychedelic communities look like if this were the standard?

Being in community with diverse people makes it harder to see toxicity as something that only exists “out there.”  At Spirit House classes, the process usually goes something like this – someone reveals a part of themselves they don’t like, other people in the class judge them for it, and then eventually the judgment they have turns into them recognizing themselves in the part they judged. It involves all of us integrating those parts as a community. 

Deep connections get formed through this shared process. It involves challenging conversations, holding each other accountable, and supporting each other when times are tough. I certainly haven’t held onto all my relationships, but the ones that have lasted have weathered storms and brought us closer together. Because the last part (and the toughest) is staying with the relationship when emotions are fired up. The desire to run gets so big. But whether in a tough conversation or a challenging psychedelic experience, the process is the same – can we stay present, breathe, and be with challenging people, even if we’re the challenging person!