4 weeks ago, I took 5 grams of magic mushrooms.

I've been told that's a heroic dose. Within an hour of taking it, I found out why.

Let me tell you how it went down (this is pretty personal and will take 10 minutes to read—grab a cup of tea).

A chance meeting

2 months ago, I was training at Virgin Active in Green Point, Cape Town.

The gym was busy, so I shared equipment with a guy.

As we trained he noticed the scar on my neck.

“What happened” he asked.

I explained I was diagnosed with a neurological tumour and a broken neck as a teenager. Turns out he was diagnosed with stage IV brain cancer.

…Definitely trumped my card.

Like me, he emerged with a different perspective.

He quit his job as a London banker and became a shamanic singer. Soon, he was singing at a mushroom retreat and invited me along.

One of my rules is to say yes to serendipity. After all, life is meant to be lived.

But, for this, I was a little sceptical.

"How do they decide the dose?" I asked.

"The spirit guide will tell you."

“Riiiiight,” I thought to myself. He’s off his rocker. Surely I'm not gonna do this.

A couple days later, I bought my ticket.

Turning up (and freaking out)

I arrive at the house on a Friday night.

I love it. It's filled with spiritual artwork. There’s an outdoor pool and seating area with a fire.

And beds are laid out in a semi-circle in the living room for the ‘journey’.

I meet the owner, Merrisa, and the two sitters—who facilitate the session. Merrisa is a warm and welcoming older British lady. She has two huskies. So whilst everyone was mentally preparing, I was playfighting with the dogs.

But as the start time approached, my gym friend didn’t arrive.

Turns out he was robbed earlier that day.

“Oh great,” my cynical side joked. "This is how a horror movie starts. I'm probably going to wake up without any organs.”

Merrisa calls me into the kitchen.

“Time to see what the spirit guide is saying,” I joke to myself, trying to keep a straight face as I walk to the kitchen counter.

I'm half expecting her to be holding a knife.

But instead, she pulls out a pendulum and sets it in motion.

As she begins weighing out the powder, she explains the pendulum will change direction at the correct dose.

“Cool.” I say, sounding more confident than I feel.

“Will Kieran take 2 grams?” she asked…

The pendulum continued it’s back and forth waltz.

“Will Kieran take 3 grams?” she continued. No change.

“Will Kieran take 4 grams?”

Nada. Goddamn it spirit guide.

“Will Kieran take 5 grams?” The pendulum began to spin in circles.

She looked at me as she tipped the final gram into the dish.

"Is that okay?" she asked.

“Yeah sure” I reply, ignoring the small voice in my head thinking Jesus this is going to be absolutely bonkers.

The voice was right.

Descending into madness

Merrisa tips the mushrooms into a tea and gives me a cube of homemade chocolate.

My stomach rumbles.

It's the first thing I've eaten in 14 hours. Mushrooms hit harder and faster on an empty stomach.

…Precisely what I need.

I return to my mattress, smiling sheepishly at the four people joining me.

I’m more excited than anxious.

The past year I’ve been taking self-awareness seriously—meditating, journaling, walking, and reading a lot about human conditioning.

I was keen to crank it up to the next level.

I began doing breathwork to get into the zone.

After 15 minutes, a funny sensation began creeping in.

I lay down and closed my eyes.

Mushrooms feel like magic. A slow warmth spreads through your body. Colors bloom behind your eyelids, teasing something just beyond reality.

I saw beautiful pinks and purples bloom and dance like flowers in the wind.

I felt like I was watching a kaleidoscope slowly build itself, pulling the visuals from my imagination.

This is where the problem began.

It had only been about 30 minutes. This train was just taking off. But I realised I was more f*cked up than I’d ever been before on mushrooms.

Alarm bells began to ring. This was strong. Really strong. “If I have a bad trip it’s going to be hell,” I think to myself. I replay scenes from previous bad trips.

Shit. Now I’m having a bad trip.

The warm fuzzy feeling turned dread.

The pretty colours go dark. Sharp black triangles slashed across my visual field. Peace turned to panic. Opening my eyes made it worse. The ceiling waved like a flag in the breeze, morphing in and out of focus. The floor tilted beneath me like the deck of a ship caught in a storm.

It made me realise how little control I had.

And this is where the first realization hit me.

Your mind creates your reality (and the importance of letting go)

The sane part of me clicked together the connection:

When I felt calm, the visuals were fantastic.

When I started worrying, the issues began.

But I only thought about a bad trip because I was trying to avoid it.

This is something I do far too much. You might too. We let anxiety control our thoughts, without realising it often creates the thing we fear.

It’s why letting go is important.

You should only focus on what you can control.

I realised I couldn’t control the dose. But I could control my mind. I began breathing again and focused on positive thoughts. The trip took a nicer turn.

Then I let go, and the journey truly began.

Unconscious… and unresolved trauma

Any description I give of what happened for the next two hours wouldn't do it justice.

I felt like my brain bounced around in a bender. Time and space made perfect sense yet no sense at all. My body was in that room, but I was on another planet (if they wanted my organs, I’d have probably helped them).

As the peak levelled out, my thoughts started to rescramble like pieces of a puzzle.

Strangely, I began watching scenes from my life.

It felt like a movie where I was both actor and observer. Scenes I thought insignificant now showed me much more of myself.

As I raced through the previous years, I arrived somewhere unexpected and incredibly uncomfortable:

Hospital.

My mind dragged me to the moment the surgeon told me about my tumour.

“Huh,” I thought to myself. “I thought we had dealt with this shit a long time ago.”

I couldn’t say why, but I felt resistance welling up inside of me.

I wanted this scene to be brief. To be over.

But as if reading my fear, the movie slowed down.

I could see the surgeon laying out the X-rays. I could feel my mum’s hand warm in mine as he began speaking.

“There’s a problem.”

I’ll save you the sob story. But I was 16 and had recently had a scan for scoliosis (a wonky back). They called us in a week later for CTs and MRIs.

This was the follow up appointment.

“There’s a shadow at the base of your brain,” The surgeon explained.

“It’s a tumour stopping your spinal cord fluid from flowing. The pressure is slowly degrading your nerves. You’ve also fractured your top vertebrae in 4 places. We need to operate as soon as possible or else you’ll be permanently disabled by 30.”

The movie began to fast forward.

I saw moments I hadn’t thought about in years. Perhaps ever.

The drive home, my mum softly sobbing.

The conversation with my parents where I told them I didn’t want the operation until I was 18. I said I needed to pass my exams. Really, I was just shit scared to face the music.

The nights lying in bed, playing out scenarios where things wouldn’t work out. Sometimes I’d cry, other times I’d pray. But mostly I’d feel angry. Like life wasn’t fair.

Going back to military school where I already felt like an outsider. Except now I was trying to comprehend something extreme. And dealing with it terribly.

How did I feel watching this?

Honestly?

Surprised. And really f**king sad.

I thought mushrooms were meant to be fun. This felt like grief. It didn’t make sense. I’m one of the most positive people I know. And the neck shenanigan was the best thing to happen to me.

It changed who I was as a person. It made me appreciate the fragility of life.

And it turned me toward writing—the best blessing I could ask for.

But as I watched in my drug induced stupor, I realised something I never considered before:

This wasn’t a positive life experience that guided me somewhere good.

This was something horrible that I’ve been running away from.

I’d been using Stoicism to plaster over a problem that was too uncomfortable to face. But denying something is not the same as solving it.

The movie continued.

And the joy began.

Acceptance and euphoria

I don’t think I cried, but I came close.

I saw the moment I rolled into the operating theatre. My mum looked so scared. I watched with pride as I told a joke to make her laugh.

I started making a lot more jokes after that.

I watched scenes from recovery. My mum was looking after me full time because I could barely stand without help. She never complained (shitting and showering was a different story—thanks mum, I know you’re reading this—and yes, I do drugs).

I saw myself make great friends at university. As a lonely teenager, I never thought I would.

I watched as I graduated and worked ridiculously hard to ‘prove’ myself (never underestimate a young man with a chip on his shoulder).

I saw the early mornings as I tried to become a writer. The pain of no momentum for a year. The many times I almost gave up. And the joy my first viral post (ironically, the story about my neck).

I saw myself quit dentistry. It was the first big bet I’d made on myself. Then I grinned as I saw myself run up and down the flat fist pumping and shouting. My first digital dollar.

Throughout, I felt immense gratitude.

…And relief.

I’ve never felt positive emotions for my younger self. Mostly just resentment. I thought I was a loser, a victim, a weirdo.

I’ve always carried a feeling of internal conflict. Like there was something wrong with me. Or that I constantly fighting to be someone else.

But for the first time I saw it in a different light.

I’d had a tough couple of years. I didn’t react poorly—I reacted like any kid should.

“Good for you,” my drug-addled self passed on to kid Kieran.

You’d been through real shit, and managed to come out flying. You’re physically fit, you have a great attitude, your dream job, and you’re travelling the world.

The feeling was strange.

I think they call it self-love. Or acceptance. All I know was that I hadn’t really felt it before. It was like a weight being lifted.

I hadn’t noticed the pressure I was putting on myself to make up for what (I believed) was missing.

I guess that’s what they mean about facing trauma (instead of the stiff-upper-lip that’s so common amongst us guys).

I began feeling waves of euphoria.

So I did what I love most:

I began to write.

7 Realisations that have changed the way I think

Bear in mind, I was still messed up. Everyone around me was deep in their trip. My notebook looked as you’d imagine: attacked by a madman on drugs.

I was curious to see what ideas would pour out of me if I wrote with no plan.

7 have stuck with me till today.

Who are you trying to impress?

This came up most, and surprised me. I’m not a flashy guy and feel awkward sharing my success. But I realised I treat every interaction like a performance. I'm always trying to control how I'm perceived.

This stems from good intentions. But it only creates a caricature of yourself.

There’s no one to impress. There’s just you and your life. To live authentically, you must focus internally.

You don’t need to explain yourself

I have an internal monologue. But I realised most of it is explaining myself to other people. What a weird wiring. Such a waste of time and energy. And a guaranteed way to not be okay with who you are.

You are allowed to do what you want, and you don't need to explain yourself to anyone.

You are allowed to suffer

I take pride in the fact that I can suffer better than anyone I know and keep smiling. It’s one benefit I’ve taken from my teenage years.

I enjoy the challenge of perspective. But denying pain isn’t suffering. Feeling it—and responding well—is.

If you don’t experience the full range of emotions, you are limiting your spiritual growth. Man up and grieve.

Who the f*ck cares

It's too easy to live your life in the shadow of expected outcomes and people’s opinions.

But attachment leads to anxiety. It creates misery. Very few things are as important as you think. Most of your fears and desires are just unquestioned conditioning. Especially when it comes to other people and achieving status and success.

Life is not a competition to win. It is a joy to experience. Stop taking it so damn seriously.

The opposite of freedom is fear

One of my favourite quotes from Epictetus is, "Freedom is the only worthwhile goal."

I used to think this meant having money or a clear calendar. But freedom is not what you own. It’s how you feel. It’s an absence of fear. And fear is a product of the mind. You can have everything you want, but if you haven’t resolved fear, you’re still in prison.

You’ve just got prettier bars.

It's a topic I'm still thinking a lot about. I’ve been experimenting and I’m reaching one conclusion:

The solution to fear is love.

If you love what you do, who you are, the world and people around you, and the fact you will die someday—it is impossible to feel fear.

And that’s when you can truly live.

(I’ve made some great business and life changes as a result of this, one explained below).

What are you trying to solve?

My mind is constantly trying to solve problems.

It’s fun. And the results are addictive. But you’re not smart if you’re constantly putting out fires. You’re dumb. It reflects poor judgement—it shows you don’t understand the importance of space.

Pause. Think. Breath.

Decide which problems are real and which are not. You’ll realise most issues are much worse in imagination than reality.

They don’t need to be solved. Just understood.

All is cool

I laughed when I wrote this. It was my final summary before I needed to lie down again.

“You've taken five grams of mushrooms and written for five years, and that is the only statement you could come up with?” I thought to myself.

But...

I’m right.

(and the Twitter-bro inside of me was happy with my 3 syllabul compression).

Perspective is the lens in which you view the world.

Life is good. All is cool. Why think otherwise?

Finishing the trip

As the mushrooms faded, I stumbled outside, collapsed on a sofa, and stared at the night sky.

It was beautiful. Bright stars pierced a dark blanket of space. If I looked closely, galaxies faintly brushed behind like patterns of a snowflake.

I lay there for an hour, stunned and shellshocked, reflecting on the paradox of life.

To the universe, we are so small and insignificant. A blink of an eye in existence. And yet to ourselves, life is so special and unique. We have such an amazing gift to explore the world and our curiosities.

To create, love, and laugh.

It’s easy to forget this in the blur of hustle and bustle. But there’s a beautiful reality rolling by. You just need to wake up and see it.

I headed to bed with a deeper appreciation of the opportunity.

And woke with a refined perspective.

Conclusion: Are Mushrooms Worth Doing?

You’re still reading.

You’re either waiting to see if I shat myself from taking too many drugs (I didn’t), or are considering doing something similar.

I want to wrap up with the biggest benefit I found.

It’s been a month since my trip.

I was worried that when the mushrooms faded, I'd forget, or disagree, with my realisations.

…I’ve had my fair share of 5am rave ideas at university to know that drug-induced thoughts are often not as good as they sound.

But this was different.

I didn’t burn my business down and become a hippy.

But I felt like I had an updated compass for navigating life.

Every thought felt more clear. Every choice more aligned. I’ve made decisions around relationships, business, and life that I wouldn’t have done before.

I'll give you one example.

A week after my trip, I was hiking with a friend. We were discussing how people avoid fear by keeping busy.

But as we spoke, I was struck dumb:

I was doing it right now.

See, I'd always wanted to write a book. But over the past two years, every time I had the opportunity, I would launch a new business venture. I’d tell myself it wasn't the right time, that I was the making the ‘smart’ move.

Only now I saw the truth.

I thought I was brave in my business.

But I was terrified.

Terrified of being exposed as a sucky writer. Terrified of finding out I wasn’t great at my craft despite the years of effort. Terrified of pouring my heart into an asset that could flop.

I immediately thought back to my first realisation.

"Your mind creates your reality."

By giving in to fear, I was creating it.

You don't write a book because you're an expert writer. You write to become one. And again, who cares? There's no one to impress. The outcome is irrelevant. A book will be fun. It will help your audience.

And that’s all that matters.

I began writing it the next morning.

And I've never felt more alive. More creative. More filled with purpose.

That’s the point in psychedelics (and meditation, journaling, and walking etc).

Not to get f**ked up and trip your nut off—although that’s fun.

But to work on the most important skill:

Self-awareness.

We’re all carrying unhelpful beliefs. It’s baggage weighing us down. If you think otherwise, you just haven’t thought about them enough. You’re running a script in your mind without realising you can rewrite it.

The more aware you become, the less you let conditioning and fear impact your judgement.

You make better choices, correcting the trajectory of your story.

And that’s how you find what makes life special.

What makes you unique.

So yes, the trip was worth it. But it’s just one day in a journey of self-awareness. Hopefully you’re on the same path too.

Life is too short to not think clearly.

Cheers,

Kieran