Hallucinogenic healing: what really happens on a psychedelic retreat?
Psychedelic retreats are more in demand than ever, but what are they really like? Journalist Eleanor Fazan reports on her own mind-bending experience.
I’m alone on the edge of a forest clearing. A strong wind is blowing, chilling me to the core; I feel empty, exhausted, unsure of where I am. Then a sob rises in me as the trees wail and rustle. Only I’m not lost and the forest isn’t real. I’m in a cocoon of blankets on the floor of a recreation room, an hour outside Amsterdam.
This was my first psychedelic session at Kiyumi, a company that specialises in legal, psychedelic-assisted programmes and retreats in the Netherlands. The one I’m on spans six days and has, according to the organisers, the power to open the doors of “perception, connection and growth”. A full-price ticket costs €2,900, although a tiered payment system and payment plans are available.
Interest in psychedelics has soared in recent years. The weekend I sit down to write this story (13 months later; there was some processing to do), headlines on the topic range from the bizarre to the intriguing. Hair samples show bronze-age people in Menorca were using hallucinogenic drugs in ritualistic ceremonies. Walkers in the Lake District are rescued after taking a few too many magic mushrooms. Authorised psychiatrists in Austrialia will soon be permitted to prescribe psilocybin to patients with depression.
We’re encouraged to release our inhibitions and howl like dogs
A quick Google Trends search, too, shows that searches for “psilocybin” and “psychedelic therapy” have more than doubled in the past five years. It’s big business: in 2020 more than $139.8 million was poured into startups promoting the medicinal benefits of ayahuasca, MDMA, ketamine and psilocybin. And retreats like the one I attended are more popular than ever, with ever-expanding specialisms and USPs – Temple of the Way of Light works with healers in the Peruvian Amazon, while The Buena Vida in Mexico offer the world’s only female-led psilocybin retreats. Kiyumi recently launched a collaboration with Dr Gabor Mate, a trauma expert with a cult following, to offer a six-month programme of “in-depth preparation, integration and self-enquiry” to accompany their week-long retreat.
Like many others, it was this desire to instigate a change in my life that led me to psychedelics. Fresh out of the pandemic, in March 2022 I set off for Amsterdam – where psilocybin truffles are legal – to see if I could shift the state of my mind. Post-Covid, I felt lost and alone. I’m a natural ‘yes’ person, and so eager to please others that I throw myself willingly into situations without much thought. It’s a chaotic approach to life which has meant I frequently end up hurting others and myself. On top of that, I live alone and found the requirement to be emotionally self-sufficient during Covid extremely challenging. But the enforced period of reflection made space for me. With these boundaries removed, I needed to work out how to navigate the post-pandemic world.
Although I have taken mushrooms recreationally – at festivals and with friends – and read Michael Pollen’s bestseller How to Change your Mind: The New Science of Psychedelics (now a Netflix series), this was still a huge step into the unknown.
At Kiyumi, the six-day programme includes two psilocybin ceremonies: six-hour journeys bookended by yoga, meditation, dance and sessions in ‘integration’ (in the world of psychedelics, integration is a term used to talk about what happens after the ‘peak’ experience). Ahead of the retreat I complete an in-depth application form – led by a psychiatrist, Kiyumi’s team assesses each applicant for suitability – and have a phone call with one of the five trained facilitators who will be on the retreat. We discuss my intention for the trip: we are all invited to bring something, an issue or internal conflict that needs attention. No surprises here, but mine is boundaries. Or my lack thereof.
The 15 people who gather are from their 20s to their 60s. There is a former soldier, a middle-aged man, mothers, couples and an Israeli psychotherapist (my roommate). Amit Elan, who founded Kiyumi five years ago, once a dancer, has carefully choreographed every element to set the right tone: we’re looked after like lambs. For dinner, we’re served delightfully light Ayurvedic food while a group exercise in eye contact helps us get to know and trust our fellow guests. But it’s not all easy going. During a free movement session we’re encouraged to release our inhibitions and howl like dogs. It assaults the very fabric of my Britishness. But then that’s the point.
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The ceremony begins with meditation and music. As we sip our magic tea, Elan addresses the room: “We are here for you. Be curious. Welcome the visions and images that come to you. See what they want to tell you.” Practitioners, increasingly backed by neuroscience, believe that psilocybin lowers the volume on certain areas of the brain – the judgemental, critical, highly defended parts – while other neural connections expand beyond their usual networks.Users commonly report a sense of ego dissolution and unity with the world, along with a wide spectrum of emotions.
So bundled into blankets, I pull down my blindfold and float away into an intricate kaleidoscopic sea. A psychedelic fairground of animals prances upon it. I’m on a waltzer on the very edge of the world, about to be told an important secret… And then the pain of the person next to me nudges me back to consciousness. My fairground animals darken into shades of grey. An overwhelming maternal feeling urges me to reach out to him. But my intention is set, and I muster the strength to turn away. A mighty battle between the fairground characters – now ungainly chess pieces – ensues. My pieces win. I physically turn my back on him. His groans fade into the distance. I finally have the chance to look inwards. I am empty. Black, leafless trees reach towards the sky all around me.
The next day we pass a pink toy seal around a sharing circle. Neither the toy seal or sharing circle were listed on the website. I’m glad. If they had, I doubt I’d be here now. “Sharing can be hard,” says Elan. “Opening one’s heart and being vulnerable is a very powerful collective support system. It requires great courage. Most of us grew up learning to bottle our feelings and pretending to be strong. But this is a space to feel safe and allow an authentic expression of what’s real for you.”
The middle-aged man has found relief. “I discovered it’s OK to just float upstream,” he said. One person flew off the Grand Canyon with her dead mother. Another saw God. No, he corrects himself; he was God. “But then I realised God had better handwriting.” The former soldier sobs. I feel confused about my invaded subconscious, but I’m learning that this experience is all about connection to myself and to those around me.
The over-commercialisation of these substances opens ancient healing practices up to abuse
Tucked up in our bunk beds, my roommate and I talk about our journeys. She’s here to gain a greater understanding about this emerging medicine and tells me that in Israel, they have begun to treat their first patients for Phase 3 trials of MDMA-assisted psychotherapy for PTSD. The UK is also making strides in this field. At Imperial College London’s Centre for Psychedelic Research in 2022, nearly 60 people underwent a clinical study in which they received psilocybin as treatment for depression. Afterwards, brain scans revealed that the drug had enhanced communication between several regions of the brain, reaching places traditional drugs have been unable to.
But Elan is keen to stress that a group retreat with Kiyumi is only for people in good health. People with certain psychological and physical conditions cannot join, he explains, as safety must always come first when dealing with mind-altering substances. Kiyumi focuses on holistic wellness, offering the potential for self-development, inspection and the opportunity to heal from past trauma, with an emphasis on integration.
“Most research [into psychedelics] shows very positive results from clinical trials, but more research needs to be done into group settings,” he adds. “The vast majority of our participants have meaningful and beneficial experiences, but that is not guaranteed. The future of psychedelics needs to be very carefully navigated – the over-commercialisation of these substances opens ancient healing practices up to abuse.”
Psychedelics, in short, aren’t a quick fix. The process of looking inwards is dark and messy. It may, as my therapist later says to me, “have done the work of 12 therapy sessions in six days”, but the real work happens afterwards. The retreat gave me such a clear perception of my problem, and an ability to articulate it: setting boundaries leaves me with a feeling of great loss. “But,” my therapist counters, “you must remember why you set them and learn to use the time you might have filled with people for yourself.”
For me, the retreat opened a doorway for meaningful self-inspection. I’ve been able to refocus my capacity for love on myself and people and things that are important to me. But one of my most important tangible takeaways came from a fellow guest, during a conversation about my incurable ‘yes’ addiction. “I come from a place of no,” he said. “If someone asks me to do something, I say ‘let me think about that’, which gives me time to analyse the situation.” While I suspect I’ll always be a yes person – life is too varied, rich and short to not take opportunities when they arise – he inadvertently gave me a life-changing tool to help manage my addiction.
Back in the recreation room, I’m coming to the peak of my trip; the trees are rustling in the wind and more sobs are coming. But then I realise it’s not the wind. The movement is people. And from beyond the trees appear everyone I’ve ever loved. They come with a message. You are not alone. You are loved. And a laugh gurgles up through me.