Relational Medicine

Two Relationships

To know oneself is to recognise the dynamic web of existence, where everything is in relationship. We are never truly separate; connection permeates all things in varying degrees. In this network of interbeing, everyone and everything is, in some way, a relative of yours.

The people I drank with were families—interwoven, multigenerational, and grounded. Children, elders, professionals, and seekers sat side by side. There was no easy label to apply, no way to dismiss them as a singular movement or ideology. The diversity itself was a testament to the depth of what was happening. It wasn’t an event or an escape—it was a way of life, an art, something deeply integrated into relationship.

It taught me that spirituality isn’t something separate from the everyday. It must be maintained in relationship—with others, with the ordinary rhythms of life, and with the responsibilities we carry.

Before speaking about relationships with people on this path, two other relationships must be acknowledged.

The first relationship is with yourself—your mind, body, and inner landscape. Psychedelic work, at its core, is self-exploration. The medicine reveals what is hidden—your fears, patterns, and conditioning. It strips away illusions, leaving you face-to-face with yourself. If you approach it with honesty, you will uncover both wounds and strengths. Your inner relationship shapes how you interpret and integrate these revelations. Without awareness, insights fade. Without compassion, the process can become overwhelming.

Most people who seek out ceremony have spent years tending to their inner world. They have learned to sit in stillness, respect silence, and find resilience in discomfort. They have faced resistance without running, chaos without breaking. Many have explored therapy, examined their histories and traumas, and taken an active role in their own healing.

When someone comes to this work without ever having turned inward, I wonder what they believe they are doing. The inner and psychedelic landscapes are vast. If all we have ever done is look outward and take things at face value, we should be cautious when stepping into the depths within.

Once I had three young men join the session, who were in their very early twenties, so I jested with them, trying to convince them that they were better off going to the other town where there were parties with plenty of other substances to help them have a good time and forget about their worries. I warned that this medicine is not a joyride. They enjoyed the banter, but assured me they were in the right place. 

Two of them, from outward appearances, were overtly religiously Jewish, each wearing a kippah on their head with the tzitzit fringes of their tallit visible beneath their shirts. The third friend looked as if he fit in with their religious orientation. 

When it came down to drinking the sacrament, the third friend expressed resistance and fear about being there. I explained that religious people are very welcome here; in fact, this is quite a religious affair that moves between faiths—a universal current. He quickly corrected my assumption and said, “No, that’s just my two friends. They are Jewish. I’m not. I’m just travelling with them because they’re my friends. I don’t believe in God.” I responded, “Well, if you do not believe in God, then what are you worried about?” Accordingly, he took the glass out of my hand and drank. 

His night was a struggle, to say the least. Sometimes we do not need God to fear God. Sometimes we do not need religion to feel tormented about the things we have done, the things we do, the things that rest upon our conscience, or the way our moral compass has deviated from our inner knowing. Sometimes when we come to the mirror, we see all the things we have put in the way, all the mindless distractions, all the perverted and rogue beliefs that come and go, when we don't know what ground we stand on, or who we are.

So, the first basic relationship is to have an affinity with yourself: to not fool yourself, to not hide from yourself, to be honest when you look in that mirror, even if it is a hard pill to swallow. Fooling everyone is one thing, but who are you to fool yourself?

The second relationship is with the sacrament. Just like your relationship with yourself, it is a path no one can walk for you. No one can take the journey on your behalf. You must rise to the occasion with curiosity, faith, and presence to discover what it has to show you. All we can do is set the table, light the candles, dim the lights, serenade some music and create the conditions for you to see what is there.

But relationship is never one-sided. The sacrament is not simply a tool to be used or a means to an end; it is a living intelligence to be met that must be approached with respect. It is not about what you can extract from it, but how you show up in return. It does not reveal itself on demand or bend to personal expectation. It teaches in its own way, in its own time. If you come to it only to take, without listening, without gratitude, without care, the relationship remains shallow and you might get knocked down.

Reciprocity is key. The way you meet the sacrament determines what unfolds. Do you approach it as a consumer, seeking an experience, or as a participant in a dialogue? The medicine is not separate from the land, the people who steward it, or the traditions that hold it. It does not exist solely for personal revelation—it asks something in return.

A genuine relationship is not measured by how often you drink, but by the depth of your listening and the sincerity of your approach. Do you honour it beyond the moments of ceremony? Do you listen when it calls for patience, restraint, or integration before returning? What you receive is shaped by how you show up, not just in ceremony but in life. Your relationship with the sacrament is reflected in how you carry its teachings—do you walk with more integrity, more care, more reverence?

Beware the Lone Wolf

The medicine paths are meant to be relational. For many, it seems to be the path of the lone wolf, and sometimes it is, as initial initiations appear to tear us apart, isolate us, and send us through dark nights of the soul. There is no one who can walk the inner road for you. However, without a mirror it is hard to tell our own reflection. Without relationship, we can be deluded by our own ego. 

We need the reflection of the community—of elders, of guides, and teachers—to see that we are not alone, to see that these paths have been walked and stumbled upon before. It is a dichotomy, for on one side, someone who is called must go it alone and find themselves in the wilderness learning to navigate home; on the other side, it is an old road, heavily worn with warnings, myths, and stories about how to navigate the inner realms.

It is very easy to be deluded on this path. To think we are walking our own way without any mirror or accountability from the community can lead to interesting exacerbations and assumptions in the personality. It can be treacherous. One must heed the experience of the wisdom traditions and the people of wisdom they have near them. At least, or especially when it comes to entheogenic circles, one should be extremely wary of lone wolves or those who do not have the outward transparency and accountability visibly upheld by their community, their family, and those who maintain and uphold the person of wisdom in their place.

In that place, it is not self-designated, and perhaps it does not even need to be outwardly expressed. Many of the teachers I have had in my life, if you saw them on the street, you would not think anything of them. There is no peacocking, posturing, or outward show. No need necessarily to put on the feathers of performance to entrance you into their displays, primarily because presence is simple, realisation is of the ordinary and direct reality that is before us. I heard it said somewhere that we should pay attention to those who excel in their field, but who do not look like a stereotypical person of that field—because that person isn't bothered by stereotypes. Likewise we should exercise caution with those who outwardly “play the part”.

The shaman is quite often the showman, and, unfortunately, there are many trying to perform that show without understanding the psychodrama at play. You know what Jung says, right? Beware of unearned wisdom. That's what I'm speaking about. This path is not all love and light. It can be brutal. Sometimes one has to come to the point of extinguishment to see that there is a flame at all. Sometimes we sign up for the Light Work, and we must walk through the deep, dark night to understand what it is to really hold the light. Sometimes we ask for heart-opening, and we are shown all the places where we close our hearts. Sometimes you say you want liberation, but the “you” that asks has to die. What then? To gain wisdom here is to go beyond your life. To wrap up the play and places of pretence. To stop pretending and hang up the masks you wear and stand naked, unhidden, and unharnessed in the face of yourself.

Slow down. While there can be a lot of light, sometimes the darkness comes with just as much intensity. As high as you may rise, you can fall to equivalent lows. It is a tightrope. In some ayahuasca traditions, only the ayahuasquero drank the brew—they drank on behalf of the patient. They drank to navigate, to see, to discern, to learn. Now, in our arrogance, we feel we must jump into the fire ourselves, because we want to see for ourselves. But we don’t always learn. It takes extensive training to discern and navigate these places, and the titles come not from lofty elevations one reaches, but from the depths of hell they have faced in their trials and returning with humility, sincerity, respect, and reverence for the path. 

The path is narrow, and it is easy to fall. Go slow. Ask yourself why you are drinking this tea, why you are seeking medicine from these plants. Is it curiosity, healing, escape, or transformation? What path are you walking? Which direction are you facing? What is your aim?

The sacrament is not a shortcut, nor a guarantee of wisdom. It reveals, but it does not walk the path for you. If you do not know where you are going, it will not decide for you. If you do not ask the right questions, it will not hand you easy answers. Pause. Listen. Be honest with yourself. What are you truly seeking? Why are you here?

Expand the Heart of Presence Through Relationship

Relationship, friendship, and the sangha serve to keep one humble and motivated, while also holding up a mirror so that one can better see their blind spots.

Even though we may have enlightened realisation, we can still hide from unintegrated parts of ourselves and put on a safe face for the world. It becomes a spiritual materialist stickiness where one looks the part and acts the part, but inside is falling apart. It is somewhat of a fragmented orientation that is hyper focused on the finite individual's sense of themselves as a unified being rather than actually getting to the core of who they are. It acts out with self-serving and seeking pursuits, in what they can do, who they can become, and how others perceive them.

There’s a cautionary tale here for one walking the path. Indeed, even thinking you are walking a path can create a dichotomy and a conundrum: sometimes you’re just creating a new identity, a new mask, only to start the cycle over again, this time in white clothes.

So, it is good to have wise friends close by to give us perspective. For myself, my wife and children help me with this without even trying. There is that old saying: “If you think you're enlightened, go see your family.” I think it should be: “If you think you're enlightened, then have a family.”

Relating to the Whole

Consider what it means to relate. To relate is religare—to bind together, to unify. This is the root of the word religion. It is not just belief or ritual but a state of integration, a way of perceiving connection rather than separation. To be in true relationship is to move beyond fragmentation and recognise the whole.

I think of the Lakota Sioux saying Mitákuye Oyás’iŋ—“all my relatives” or “we are all related.” If all is one, what is left out? What exists apart from the whole? Nothing. Every person, plant, and animal is a relative.

The Buddha called this interdependent co-arising—the understanding that all things arise in dependence on causes and conditions. Nothing stands alone. A tree exists because of soil, water, and sunlight. A thought arises because of memory, perception, and stimulus. Even our sense of self is woven from relationships, shaped by the world around us.

To realise this is to shift from isolation to participation. Individuality does not disappear, but it is understood in context—like a wave in the ocean, distinct yet inseparable from the sea. Community is not just an external gathering but an inner recognition: we belong to each other. The lines between self, other, and world are drawn by habit, not by truth. When we see clearly, we find ourselves already held within a vast, shared being.

A Mirror for the World

Just as relationships reflect the truth of our interconnectedness, the mind, when at peace, becomes a mirror that reveals the world not as fragmented and separate, but as a unified, luminous whole that reflects our deepest reality. 

Clinging to the fleeting promises of the world is like the worship of false idols: to grasp at what slips through our hands, to place our faith in what does not last, to elevate and praise that which takes us away from reality. It is an entanglement, it is a confusion, it is an unskillful direction to orient. The knot is tied by our beliefs, by our opinions, by our pride and our fear. If we did not have these, then what would we look like?

The more we cement and justify our ideals in this world, the tighter the knot becomes. The tighter the knot of self is, the more bound to it we are. Being bound, we lose perspective and forgo that yielding equanimity of awareness. With the struggle, the sting of the sense of separation grows and reinforces the feeling of self righteousness, otherness, and estrangement.

A knot cannot be undone by force—it must first be loosened. What in you must soften to be unbound?

If we begin from the awareness of our fundamental unity, we hold up a mirror. In that reflection, our individuality is not separate but an expression of the infinite. The mirror does not strain to reflect—it simply does. A relaxed mind, unshackled from attachment and resistance, rests in itself as itself.

Look deeply at this mind, and you may glimpse its origin. With that glimpse, a little peace dawns. And isn’t that what we all seek—peace of mind?

If you find peace in the mind, then perhaps you are then a peaceful person. Perhaps then you stop fighting, controlling and condemning the world.

If you stop the war in yourself, then you become a friend. If you are a friend of the world, you are like a warm tea on a cold and rainy day. You are like a soothing salve for a freshly grazed knee. 

If the mind is at peace with itself, it is like a calm pool. A calm pool has a surface like a mirror. Tell me, what does the still surface of the water reflect the world to look like? Just as it is. The world just as it is—without the opinion of what it should or could be like, without the pride of it being yours, without the distortion of the ripples of belief, without fear that it is out to get you and corrupt you. What is that mirror? What is that reflection? What is that world?

That world is in you. You are a mirror for the world. Make peace with yourself, and perception follows. The lake calms. Clarity emerges. And isn’t that what we are after—clarity? That is the cure for confusion: to discover the light of clarity within your own being.

The Yoga of Relationship

If we are able to cultivate a reflective mind and a clear view of it, then we are able to recognise its basis and support. When you don’t allow the mind to rest on objects in the world, then where does it rest, and what does it rest on? Some call it spacious emptiness, some call it luminous presence. 

Reconcile yourself with this. Form a merging relationship here. Turn it into an altar to which you bow your head in worship, for this is the most intimate relationship that one can enter into. It is the relationship with the infinite.

First, start with your inner being and then open it to include the totality of all that is. For no piece is missing from this puzzle, nothing is separate in the universe. The mirror in which you see God is the same mirror through which God reflects you.

This is the yoga of relationship: to see everything as the manifestation of the whole and to continuously embrace it in the heart of love. It is a devotional purification that reveals our true personality as an expression of Truth, of Love, and of Beauty.

In the fire of that love all things are transformed. It is a holy burning, a holy longing, a holy yearning, and an internal turning to know the clarity of reality. It is said that this longing is the one that liberates all other longings. It is the thirst that quenches all other thirsts. 

Yet to long for it is like chasing the horizon. The more you walk toward it, the farther it drifts. The more you seek, the further you seem. But if you stop, if you rest completely as you are, you see the horizon was never elsewhere—it has always been right here, inseparable from your mind.

Its fullness is not something to reach but something already present. Not something to pursue or hold but something that has always held you. It is to say that love, that reality, that truth— is none other than you.

The final relationship is the realisation of this.