Navigating Spiritual Energies

There are many schools working with ayahuasca that are deeply involved in mediumship. It's about being open to it, or not. Some have a deeply nuanced understanding of it that is transmitted through the lineage; others have no idea where to begin or where to stand. Some people are receptive, while others are not, and it can be surprising. 

For instance, Western psychology often suggests that our problems or pathologies are internal manifestations arising merely of our own neurosis. In contrast, many indigenous cultures, animist cultures, and old mythical religious beliefs acknowledge these internal aspects, but also recognise that there may be more influence of external forces than meets the eye. 

More and more, however, Western practitioners, especially in the therapeutic psychedelic space, are finding an elephant in the room: there is oftentimes a striking otherness, other forces, other beings, and other dimensions at play. And clinical practitioners are wondering how to talk about this mystical dimension. 

Who is trained? Who is skilled in the mystical arts when for time immemorial it has been the inner initiations undergone through many years of trials and tribulations, dark nights made light, psycho-spiritual enemies made allies, verified by the elders, verified by the leaders, verified by the community, verified by elemental deities, the wind, the fire and beings of thunder who have dominion of spiritual landscapes and territories?

How, then, does one select the appropriate academic and clinical model to prepare someone for navigating and negotiating spiritual warfare, and, ultimately, attaining supreme spiritual peace? Can these persons be trained or is there a unique edge and blend and flame that is born every now and then that is apt for the undertaking?

A friend of mine, a well-regarded neurobiologist and philosopher, mentioned that a couple of decades ago, research on the brain was limited, resembling the study of isolated parts in a box. Now, we understand the necessity of considering the brain's environment, upbringing, societal conditioning, philosophy, beliefs, and geographical context. This broader approach makes the study far more holistic and sophisticated and reflects the complex interplay of various factors that influence brain function and development.

Similarly, there's a narrative in Western psychology that doesn't fully capture the whole picture. It often attributes illness solely to neural patterns or internal factors, frequently overlooking the societal and systemic influences on our well-being and subsequently we let the individual take the blame for these failing human establishments. 

Conversely, engaging with these sacraments can turn one inside out, revealing that beyond our consciousness lies a vast array of life, presence, and beings. It shows that the inner plains are infinite, with no threshold between what is out there and what is in here. It may well be “all in the mind”, but isn’t the mind infinite, after all? 

This realisation, while sometimes disconcerting, is not new, and is discussed and practised across various cultures and religions. One of my teachers, Padrinho Jonathan M. Goldman, succinctly describes mediumship with sacrament as the discernment between ego and inspiration. 

In the spiritual realm, the desire to manifest or create something special can sometimes be driven by ego, leading to fabrication and fantasy. Shamanic cultures often employ dramatisation, in which attire, dance, trance, and actions facilitate psychological shifts. Some need an entertaining show, a little sleight of hand, to feel like something is moving. Others see that the show never stops moving.

In the Gira de Umbanda, the conga drums sound and the clapping begins as the group starts to sing, thereby creating a refined space of trance for spiritual opening to happen. A dynamic space filled with catharsis and ecstatic exorcism emerges, along with profound messages and wise counsel, which lovingly arrives from discarnate groups of entities through the mediums of the house. 

The types of boundaries and relationships we have in the astral are reflected in the nature of the entities that enter the ritual space. These entities bring various qualities, including healing and clarity, strength and forgiveness. But not all spiritual influences are positive, so it's important to manage them effectively. We do that first by managing ourselves. One must first occupy themselves before occupying or being occupied by another. That means discerning between your own deception and sincerity, your conceitedness and your contentment, the ego and the inspiration.

Learning to Discern

The mind can be likened to an open field. Observe your next thought—where did it come from? Who thought it? Did you consciously decide to think it? In much the same way, we often encounter various "unwanted guests" passing through our mental landscape in the ritual space. 

The first lesson in both spiritist and shamanic schools is discernment. Discernment is the art of discrimination; it allows us to distinguish this from that, truth from falsity, and light from darkness. The power of discernment lies in our ability to recognise these differences. Discernment is the sentinel that guards the door.

While spiritist schools like that of the Afro-Brazilian cultures, the Tibetan Buddhist and Bon initiates, and perhaps neo-shamanic practices around the world can offer profound and invaluable insights, I advise against dabbling or experimenting in these realms without proper guidance. It's crucial to have mentors who are well-versed in the nuances of this field and to not try to navigate it alone. There are maps, there are pathways, there are allies and right relations, there are songs to call and songs to clear. Yet, the trespasses of the uninitiated can often lead to unpredictable outcomes.

Ego and Inspiration

Another important aspect of discernment is distinguishing between ego and intuition/inspiration in order to better understand the true source of our impulses. Genuine inspiration involves a deep, unguessable knowing and presence. 

In these traditions, the virtue of the medium is charity, as they offer their bodies and minds for use––a commitment not everyone is eager to make. It requires humility and piety. Therefore, mediums who flaunt their abilities openly often operate from a need to be seen, to show or to perform, whereas the truly inspired ones are typically more reserved, not seeking to show off and other times even reluctant. This distinction is crucial in understanding the essence of one’s own mediumship.

Much of what is presented in the neo-shamanic world is merely theatrical—a captivating drama designed to make you feel as if you've gained something, made progress, or achieved healing. It's a sleight of hand, diverting your attention while deceiving you but ultimately and hopefully giving you a gift in the act.

Sometimes the deception is to lead you round in a circle to see what you did not or were not able to see before. Sometimes they wear many masks so that you begin to see all of the masks that you yourself wear. The psycho-drama serves a great purpose and guides us through a mythical journey to rediscover lost experiences or missing parts of ourselves. The spectacle, the setting, and the roles we play within it are often necessary catalysts for a good shift in perception.

I have learned to appreciate the art, but at some point I become deeply disenchanted and disillusioned by it. I needed a deeper truth, one that I could stand in. If you are here reading this, then most likely you are not looking for a convoluted description of acts, and are probably not so interested in the act, but more with the removal of the mask and the lifting of the stage's veils. To that we return to the guiding questions: What does it all rest on? Where is Truth? What stands behind it? Where do I stand in relation to it, and to whom do I forge my alliances?

I am aiming the arrow to demystify the process and eliminate any aura of enigma that suggests I possess supernatural powers that you lack. This isn't a healthy dynamic for me or for you. I have placed many people, ideas, and practices on pedestals, and they all eventually fell over. The goal is not to place anyone or anything on a pedestal; rather, I want you to become self-reliant, learning to stand on your own two feet, and to follow the teaching of truth as you deem it from the ground that you have found to stand on.

Thought-Forms and Concept-Based Entities

As we refine our discernment, we realise that not all forces we engage with come from external entities. Some are the products of the collective and our individual minds, shaping and being shaped by the worlds we inhabit.

Nations, ideologies, religions, and organisations—these are more than collective agreements or systems. They are shared abstractions, born of human thought, that take on a life of their own. These entities, fueled by collective belief and participation, manifest with a momentum, sway, and power that influence those under their charge. They are not static; they exert force and create influence, often independent of the individuals who sustain them.

This principle is reflected in the dynamics of shamanic practices all over the earth, from the Andean paqos and mesa carriers to the Tibetan chöd practitioners who offer themselves to the spirits of the charnel grounds. Practitioners can concentrate the accumulation of merit and wisdom they have gathered, anchoring it into their practice, ritual, and sacred objects, which then serve as talismans of healing and reservoirs of power.

One may also allocate and locate, and also cast out, these forces in all types of objects and paraphernalia, such as feathers, stones, and scents, as well as mantras, mandalas, or even the ritual itself, which can be utilised and anthropomorphised to assist the acts under the knowing or unknowing intentions of the one entering into relationship with these forces.

The forces encountered range from benevolent guardian and protector spirits that guide and support to obsessive and possessive spirits that disrupt and bind. They can be conjured simply through one’s own mind and thought, but this is not to say that non-human and non-corporeal beings do not have their own existence. It is both-and, and thus discernment is essential for navigating these relationships and understanding the nature of the energies at play.

When practitioners summon or invoke, they often call upon powers or beings that are both external and internal manifestations. It is about knowing who your friends are, who your allies are. Sometimes, the “friends” a powerful master or sorcerer wields are conjured through their own inner initiations—manifestation and collections of their personal thought-forms. Over time, these thought-forms solidify into entities with their own autonomy and momentum, seemingly working beyond the mere direction of their creator. We call it an egregore.

When harmony exists between the conjurer and the entity, this force can be directed toward good, acting as an ally in service of balance and healing. However, when discord arises, these forces can become chaotic, unpredictable, and disruptive. Thus, the practitioner must develop discernment to understand the nature of these relationships and the forces at play.

If we are to follow the thread and act as if this were true, it would mean guiding the initiate to observe the beings and forces present within the ceremonial space—both those in leadership and the collective energies being gathered. By cultivating discernment and attention, one may begin to perceive the astral formations, allegiances, and alliances being nurtured within the movement. 

From this awareness, they can identify their place, purpose, or reason for being there—whether it serves them skillfully and contributes to their learning, or if it does not and instead reveals underlying motives that may be out of alignment or agreeance.

The initiate must recognise how their personal beliefs and constructs shape their inner world, binding them to the very dynamics they seek to master. Only then is one truly free to work skillfully and harmoniously with beings of power.

Ultimately, the highest task is liberation—not merely freedom from external forces but freedom from attachment to thought-forms and conceptual entities within one’s own being. This is achieved by realisation, the realisation that all manifestations are not separate from oneself, and thus like the chöd practitioner can allow everything to be devoured leaving only what is essential, and in the process purifying the ‘demonic’ energy that came to destroy.

In this purity all is seen as the light of presence. Everything else is grasping shadows. It is delusion and mistaking reality to be other than what it is. 

A Cautionary Tale

A word of warning to those dabbling in spiritual practices, particularly with entheogens and master plants: anyone who has walked far enough in these territories knows the seriousness required. 

It is a wilderness filled with many winding trails, and though nature may evoke images of flowers, butterflies, waterfalls, and hummingbirds, not everything in nature is benign. 

There are vast realms and beings who may seek to consume you, feed off your energy, or prey upon you as a host. The questions we must continually ask are: What am I feeding? What is it that feeds me? And what is it that is feeding off of me?

In the jungle, survival is often associated with the 'fittest,' but the reality is of course more nuanced, isn’t it? One must walk forward on their path and take care not to trespass by maintaining awareness, balance, and a degree of reciprocity. It is not merely the strong who survive, but those who cooperate, those who pay attention, those who honour, acknowledge, and respect the forces around them.

The inner plains of consciousness are as vast as oceans and as open as meadows. Many things can enter, leave, swim around, feed, and live. One must learn to discern the currents of these waters, the depths, the waves, the temperatures, the species that inhabit them, as well as the impact of one’s own footprints upon these territories.

The mind is like a radio receiver, an open channel on the airwaves. If we do not consciously tune the radio, it might get stuck on old reruns or be left idle, tuned to directions not entirely of our choosing. We can get ‘stuck’ in all types of beliefs and philosophical loops, ideologies and perceptions that shape the way we see reality—usually a vision that is quite far from actual reality.

When I was in my mid-twenties, after several years of intense spiritual discipline, I seemed to believe my presence resided above the clouds, in some lofty and romantic ideal. From that perspective, through my experience of deep, sincere, yet intense inward practices, I found myself revelling in the “love and light”: ānanda, bliss, and the abodes of heavenly realms that often arise in a state of openness and receptivity. As I found out, however—and see time and again with seekers—such experiences are usually a honeymoon phase. They require more perspective to stabilise, ground, and root in order to fully comprehend them within the context of the world. 

When one has the first tastes of the fruits of their practice and are opened into a blissful realm of connection and synchronicity, I have to name it an immature spirituality; that is to say, one that hasn’t had time to ripen, to gestate, and fully land on the ground. 

We could say that the path doesn’t begin until one re-falls from the clouds of their bliss and hits the ground hard, and with a mouthful of dirt, then finds the strength to get back up and carry on with all of the same problems still present. 

In this process, there is a maturation in our perception and relationship towards the suffering, which allows us to see with new eyes, to go ever more slowly, head bowed near the ground, and heart open, despite it all.

While I was traversing my immature flight of fancy—that at the time I conceived of as having reached the final goal—I left myself overly open, too suggestible and easily influenced. I assumed that everything was held in non-dual light, and thus, there was no need for protection, shielding, or deeper discernment about these 'lower matters.' This assumption was a form of spiritual naivety, a kind of navel-gazing, an underestimation, and even a subtle gaslighting of oneself in contrast to the greater astral arena.

In my folly, my prayer was to be open to everything—to surrender to all, to allow everything in. That sounds like a pretty prayer, but one must always be careful of what they wish for, because in "the all," there is much that we might not want to allow into our being. There are things we don’t want too close, things we’d rather keep at a distance. If you have a beautiful house, you don't open your doors to just anyone off the street. Some may take advantage, manipulate, overstay their welcome, or not care for the housekeeping necessary to maintain that beauty. Before long, your home could fall into disrepair, taken over by strange squatters and tenants who should never have been invited.

I asked for it all, and was engulfed by a darkness as vast as the night sky. This is a story I won’t go too deeply into here, but it left a scar on me and remains with me and shapes a major part of why I am doing the work I do today. It taught me to heal, taught me to teach, and, most of all, taught me peace.

For the better part of four years I found no peace, I wrestled with unwanted spiritual influences—forces that were possessive, obsessive, controlling, chaotic, and confused. Perhaps they were even malevolent. They weighed down on me, pulling at me, pecking at me like a flock of parasitic vultures tearing me in my inner world limb from limb.

Outwardly, thanks to my priming and preparation in preliminaries and mind training, I appeared composed. Inwardly, however, it was hard to discern up from down. This darkness haunted me, tried to destroy me, and pushed me into some of the most dark places one could ever imagine. I spent those years with my mind trapped in what can be called the hell realms—the most vile places of suffering that a human can endure. 

It gave me immense compassion for those who suffer and a deep understanding of mental illness. I came to know the torture of confusion and the hopelessness of anguish. I learned what it was to be on my knees, pleading for mercy, for forgiveness, for pity, crying out like Yeshua in his final moments, “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?”—“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”—to feel forsaken, cursed, and abandoned.

And yet, it is somehow in that deep abandonment, when one fully surrenders and repents, that one finds something that has never left. When the ground is broken, shaken, and taken, I discovered that which everything truly stands on. When a prisoner has been in solitary confinement long enough, something in them breaks, never to be restored as it was. When it breaks, it can shatter what was holding on, or it can leave us with what remains. It can destroy us, or in its destruction, liberate us.

There are many ways to approach these accounts, and indeed, there are many such accounts. They are always unique, but in their uniqueness, they have much in common. These are the “dark nights of the soul,” as St. John of the Cross described them, when “spiritual persons suffer great trials.” He believed that these challenging passages of the soul are a necessary refining and purifying process, preparing the individual for a deeper union with the divine:

“Although this night brings darkness to the spirit, it does so in order to illumine it and give it light.”

There is a light—it shines at the beginning of the tunnel, at the end of the tunnel, and even in the middle. Some who sign up for light work soon find themselves placed in darkness, so they may come to understand what it truly means to live in the light. 

Sometimes, the light is so bright that we must avert our gaze, and in doing so, what is revealed are the shadows that we cast. At times, the force of this illumination is like the fires of hell, except it serves to burn away and pry from our hands all which we tightly cling to. 

The dark night of the soul is a painful yet purifying experience, where the soul is emptied of all attachments and desires, allowing it to enter into a deeper relationship with the non-dual reality of God.

I say this not to frighten or dissuade anyone from the work, but rather to encourage discernment and caution, and also to share, in brief, because many of you who know me often ask about such matters. The reminder must be clear: 

Know who you are, and you will know that which cannot be taken;

Discover the true ground upon which you stand, and you will not be shaken. 

Know where and how you place your faith. Be firm, be alert, and be full of love for the suffering that exists on all plains by coming to an unshakable stance that, in the end, everything returns to truth.

These experiences are not uncommon or isolated incidents, but are found within all contemplative and religious traditions and can be an essential part of some people’s path and karmic trajectory. Some individuals are more equipped to deal with these challenges than others. Such experiences can sometimes cross into the realms of mental health—psychosis, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, depression, depersonalisation, dissociation, and more. 

Speaking to this, Joseph Campbell, the mighty mythologist of the last century, reflected on the connections between mystical experience, contemplative practice, and psychedelic exploration. He observed: 

The LSD phenomenon, on the other hand, is—to me at least—more interesting. It is an intentionally achieved schizophrenia, with the expectation of a spontaneous remission… Yoga, too, is an intentional schizophrenia: one breaks away from the world, plunging inward, and the ranges of vision experienced are in fact the same as those of a psychosis. But what, then, is the difference? What is the difference between a psychotic or LSD experience and a yogic, or a mystic? The plunges are all into the same deep inward sea; of that, there can be no doubt… The difference—to put it sharply—is equivalent simply to that between a diver who can swim and one who cannot. The mystic, endowed with native talents for this sort of thing and following, stage by stage, the instruction of a master, enters the waters and finds he can swim; whereas the schizophrenic, unprepared, unguided, and ungifted, has fallen or has intentionally plunged, and is drowning. Can he be saved? If a line is thrown to him, will he grab it?

As Campbell illustrates, similar experiences can lead to vastly different outcomes depending on how one navigates them. For the mystic, immersion in deeper realities might lead to a transcendent realisation that liberates them, while for someone unprepared, overwhelmed, or overly confident in their naivety or unearned wisdom, it can result in confusion. Such individuals may find themselves navigating the vast open waters of the mind without a compass, lost, and adrift. 

During my counsel and time with the lesser-known ayahuasca church of Brazil, A Barquinha, the Preto Velho who I worked most with, Pai Joaquim do Congo, told me plainly when I sought his counsel, “You have a spiritual problem.” The simplicity of his words surprised me, and at once, it softened the blow. It’s just a spiritual problem, no big deal, he seemed to say.

We must not disregard traditional systems and allopathic methods for diagnosing and treating mental ailments, just as we must also recognise the importance of spiritual sources, manifestations, and the role of the psyche in psychiatry. 

There is a growing body of research concerning destabilising experiences during intensive meditation retreats and esoteric yogic practices. Spiritual crises and emergencies can arise from this kind of spiritual emergence—of opening the psyche, of pushing the edge, of kundalini syndrome, of Shiva fever, and ego dissolution. Could it be that many psychological ailments are rooted in the complex unseen and invisible? And that beneath much of our worldly and personal issues lie spiritual problems requiring spiritual cures?

Malidoma Patrice Somé, a Dagara shaman from Burkina Faso, visited a mental institution in the U.S. and was shocked by how patients were treated, particularly with the reliance on medication and restraints. In his culture, symptoms of mental illness are often seen as signs of a spiritual awakening or “the birth of a healer.” Somé observed that many of the patients were highly sensitive individuals who were overwhelmed by spiritual energies or "beings" attempting to communicate with them and bring “good news from the other world.” 

Somé explained that in his African tradition, people undergoing such crises would receive support from the community, wise guidance and spiritual direction from elders and those skilled at navigating such matters through rituals designed to help them integrate the energies from the spiritual world. However, in the West, these individuals are often medicated and isolated, which blocks their potential spiritual growth and healing abilities. He saw this as a tragic loss, as these people were being prevented from fulfilling their potential roles as healers in society.

Rather than seeing a problem that needs to be stopped or solved, in some traditions, it is viewed as a path to be walked. In my case, this great wound has become a great friend. It has tethered me to my work, to what I must do—to what I cannot not do. Though it gravely threatened my life, health, and sanity, it is precisely because of this experience that I am here today. Without it, I would not understand the perils and chasms of this path. I would not hold the high standard of precision and impeccability required to consecrate these medicines. Without this trial, my spirituality may not have matured; I may not have garnered the reverence and respect necessary to truly comprehend the way of discernment, the way of humility, the way devotion and guardianship.

I offer this cautionary tale as hundreds of thousands of people around the world are now dabbling with refreshed vigour and decreased stigma in the ceremonial arts and sacraments, often without first tending to their relationship with themselves or reconciling their place within the world—let alone the worlds beyond this one. 

I cannot foresee the karmic patterns, waves, and ripples that such actions may create. If one does not have a contemplative practice, how will they stay afloat when they step into the mystic’s river? If one does not know how to stand on the groundlessness within themselves, what will anchor them when the carpet is pulled out, or the curtain lifted? How will they stand, and in which direction will they look? Perhaps too, sometimes, we simply must stumble and fall in order to get back up, course-correct, and call it grace.

My own dark night, I will say again, feels, in some ways, to be a naïve trespass, and, in many ways, a clichéd initiation. There is a fascinating pattern among spiritual teachers, directors, contemplatives, and mystics: quite often, what they teach is not the path they themselves walked to learn what they know. Perhaps this is because we believe that not everyone needs to learn through fire—that students may, with guidance, glean wisdom from our trials and thus lighten the burdens of their own journey. And yet, our children will grow as they will, make their mistakes and find their own way.

As I emerged from the wilderness and began to find ground beneath my feet, I turned to communities and traditions skilled in navigating these realms. Something wonderful began to transpire. The great dark bird of the astral—its claws that had once pierced my soul, its form shifting and twisting, its parasitic presence inhabiting every corner of my being, twisting my mind like rope, crushing it like a pea, and toying with it like a marble—began to open its wings to me. 

That razor’s edge I had walked, cutting me with every misstep, became a profound path and teacher. When I finally stepped into the mystery of the ‘spiritual problem,’ I began to see every movement of my suffering churning within me. I learned to bend my knee and revere the living presence at the charnel ground. I paid my dues in attention and offerings to the discarnate. In this way, the spiral of my suffering brought me full circle—to initiation.

Somehow, that dark, winged mass became my ally and a constant reminder of trepidation and my humble place in infinity. Its claws, once shredding me, now fiercely protect me. The wounds it left behind became openings, and through them, light poured in. Pain transformed into seeds, and from those seeds grew forests of joy. Non-duality resurrected itself—not as an escape from the world but as the very world itself, as the dance of polarities at play and there in the little flame inside of my heart I found that burning fire of devotional love, and their at its altar I consecrated and blessed all the difficulties that brought me to kneel before it.

To come before that flame and dance around the fire where the mystic prays and the shaman plays is to dabble in powerful forces. One must not be overcome by temptation to wield these powers, but instead attune oneself beyond them to their source—to the real power in the universe. Nothing else will suffice for one’s surrender. Nothing but Truth can be trusted. Nothing but Love can love. Nothing will endure, spare the eternal turnings of unspeakable grace, and everything that steals one from this grace must be watched from the vigilant gaze of one’s unshakeable presence.