Commence Deconstruction

In January of 2018, I returned to the Vipassana meditation center to serve for a three day course. This involved preparing food and cleaning up daily. We also meditated during each of the group sits, which totaled in excess of three hours a day. Once again, I’m not sure how I did it. I was constipated and in pain for much of the three days. I did meet an amazing woman from Kyrgyzstan who was also a server. We ended up going on a date or two a month or so later. She invited us to come to Kyrgyzstan to film the World Nomad Games. I was head over heels. We talked about dating and I basically went from “ok we’re going to date” to “sure I would have more children with you”. I was delusional. Then it was over before it began, as I’m sure the sheer desperation was leaking from my pores.

If you recall from the last post, during an appointment with the magical pelvic floor physical therapist, Vicky, in March of 2018, I first became aware that my pelvic floor pain, muscle aches, brain fog and general fatigue might have psycho-somatic underpinnings; that it might not be a straightforward medical / mechanical problem that could be fixed with a magic pill. I didn’t really know what to do with that new knowledge. Due to the sales shenanigans of a completely unethical insurance agent, none of my medical expenses were covered in 2017. Business was flagging and relations with the two women I was sleeping with (each of whom knew of the other, by the way) had disintegrated a year prior. I had stopped playing tennis in mid to late 2017. I missed this dearly. I continued to be a generally miserable person to be around.

Chester through the snow. He did love the white stuff. | Harbert, Michigan, December 2017

I went to a Wailin’ Jennys concert at Thalia Hall with my brother in April. They are a truly magical trio of women I discovered in the early aughts who sing with harmonies that can only be described as otherworldly. The last time I had seen them was shortly after the Landmark Forum and I literally cried at the beauty of the sound, so open was I to Flow at that moment. This time I was in excruciating pain and had to tell my brother to slow down as we walked from the car because it hurt so badly. I’m certain they performed as flawlessly as ever; however I was completely unable to be in the moment and my experience of the concert was meh, at best. I couldn’t wait to get home.

My oldest daughter graduated from high school in June and headed out for a gap year in the fall. Time was really flying by. I regretted not being able to play tennis with Maggie or as much as catch with Addie. The girls were empathetic and helpful, however I’m sure it was hard for them to understand the extent of the pain and how hopeless I felt at this point. Nothing was working.

Enough work was showing up to keep me fed and paying the rent, although I generally did the former too much and the latter too late. To recap, photography work is physical. By this time, I had created a look that required lights, modifiers and stands. You just can’t get the quality, consistency and speed without them. I didn’t have a studio, so any job meant schlepping some amount of gear. This meant pain. Thus a strong negative feedback loop was created whereby actually seeking work was not high on my list of activities. In fact, the motion of wiping the counter hurt so badly most days that I would go weeks sometimes without doing it. Fortunately, the counter top was “Uba-Tuba” granite, a pattern so busy you really needed to get up close to see anything. One day I said to the amazing woman who cleaned for me, Helena, “It’s weird, I don’t really go through very much paper towel.” “That’s because you don’t clean.” She replied. Touché!

Maggie with my parents at her graduation party. | River Forest, June 2018

I pretty much gave up dating. Not only was I in pain and miserable, it was difficult to have introductory conversations that didn’t end up with the story of my pain. “Do you have any hobbies?” “Well, I love tennis but I don’t play any more.” “Why not?” And shortly we are talking about how my dick hurts pretty much all the time. Hot, right? On top of that, I was pretty fucking angry. After all, according to me, my parents had pretty much dedicated their lives to messing mine up. I’m an intense, expressive person and despite my best efforts, I’m not good at hiding my emotions, despite my delusions to the contrary. No, don’t ask me to play poker.

Occasional PT and massage was on my calendar, yet in general I wasn’t doing too much to chase down the cause of the pain. Somebody had suggested perhaps my chakras were out of balance. A few years prior I purchased an ebook called “The Complete Idiots Guide to Chakras”. I bought the ebook so nobody would be able to see the cover when I was reading it, so embarrassed was I by the thought of being seen with it. Yet, I had the very vaguest sense that there might be something to this whole “chakra” thing. Much more powerful was the thought that it was all bullshit. I must have read some of the book because I booked a “ChakraMassage” appointment with an intuitive healer in River Forest named Elizabeth Grooms. I thought, “I’ve had everything else massaged, why not my chakras? I’m sure that will fix me.”

While I lay on the table, Elizabeth used a pendulum suspended above seven areas of my body to discern the energy flow (“This is weird!” my brain kept telling me). Her report showed that my Root and my Solar Plexus chakra were “contracted” and my Throat chakra was “chaotic”. My gallbladder was mentioned twice on the report along with resentment toward my father around age 16 and self-blame at age 11. I believe she also did some Reiki work (although I knew nothing about it at the time; this is a form of energy healing) and likely gave me some instructions to follow. Ok. I likely tried whatever she recommended a few times and went about my life. Shockingly to nobody, my condition did not improve. Can you imagine if it had? How cool would that be?

Mayor Emmanuel at a ribbon cutting for OneSpan. | Chicago, September 2018

Over the years since I’d reconnected with my brother, he’d been suggesting I try psychedelics. I knew almost nothing about them. All that I did know was that they were for hippies and degenerates, were dangerous and to be avoided. Hell, I quit drinking in 2001 and hadn’t smoked pot since Amsterdam in 1995. I tried mushrooms once in college (while drinking) and, in retrospect, it was such a small dose as to be laughable. He was the first one to tell me about a powerful psychedelic medicine called Ayahuasca when he moved in with me in 2011. I was curious and researched it a bit and it sounded intimidating (fly to Peru, take a small plane to the middle of nowhere, then a jeep, then a small boat down the river for four hours, then hike three miles through the Amazon jungle where you drink a terrible tasting brew, and trip while you puke and poop uncontrollably? No thanks! Not only that, it was out of my budget. (Yet somehow a five day tennis camp in Florida wasn’t – go figure). Also, my brother has a fairly long and difficult history with drugs and alcohol, which I saw as the reason why we’d been estranged. This is completely unsurprising given what he endured as a child. Needless to say, psychedelics were not exactly calling to me. Or so I thought.

Two things happened to shift my view. First, the spontaneous sobbing that erupted not once, but twice, during pelvic floor sessions with Vicky alerted me that it was possible that what ailed me wasn’t merely physical. I mean, if it had been purely physical, surely I’d have solved it by now, right? Second, author Michael Pollan had recently published the seminal book “How to Change Your Mind” detailing his six psychedelic experiences with underground guides. I bought the book and quickly read it. I was, to put it mildly, intrigued. Now intrigue is one thing; desperation is another. I was running out of things to try and money to try them, at least as far as conventional medicine was concerned. Turns out, desperation can be an incredible teacher. So can surrender - we’ll get to that later.

Me as a “Precision Driver” on set shooting a Hyundai ad. (The camera was at the end of that big arm.) It was here I met somebody who gave me some great advice about psychedelics. | Chicago, July 2018

As near as I can reconstruct, it was early July when I got my hands on a strain of magic mushrooms called “Penis Envy”. No shit. Because what else would it be called, given my condition? Scared I wouldn’t like the taste, I had them ground and put in capsules (“capped”). The active ingredient in magic mushrooms is psilocybin. I started with a 0.5g dose. 3.0g of dried material is generally considered a strong normal dose. Penis Envy is known for being stronger than most strains and I was very cautiously dipping my toe into the water. Wouldn’t want to lose control, right? I don’t remember anything untoward from this first dose. It was a nice little buzz, I think. And, best of all, I didn’t get sick or die or melt my brain!

A week or two later I upped the dose to 1.0g. That was fun. Music was spacious, especially “Acid" Jazz from the 60s and 70s. Who’d have thought? I felt floaty. Life was pretty nice for a few hours. Nothing earth shaking occurred. Interestingly, however, my body went into spontaneous movement. My hips were grinding against one another involuntarily. It was as if my body was trying to communicate or something was trying to get out. Insert shocked face emoji here.

Now I was REALLY intrigued (and remained desperate). It was (finally) clear to me that my body was trying to tell me something. Another week or so later, I cautiously upped the dose to 1.5g. It was a hot summer day. I was in my bedroom. Chester the Magic Shihtzadoodle was with me that weekend. It could have been a holiday Monday. I wasn’t big on journaling back then. I was a little apprehensive before taking the shrooms yet generally in decent spirits. I think I went for a walk after ingestion, as it usually takes 45-60 minutes to feel the effects and physical activity can accelerate this a bit. I’m impatient, remember?

My typical pose during this time period. I never did start that damn book, much less finish it. | February 2018

When I returned to my house, I stripped and got in my bed; my laptop, iTunes and amplified headphones at the ready. I don’t know what music I began listening to, probably some jazz or classic rock. As I dropped in, there was an expansive pressure in my chest for five minutes or so. I took deep breaths and moved through it. The music began sounding more interesting than usual. At some point, I thought, “What should you listen to when you take magic mushrooms?” and the answer appeared - “The Wall” by Pink Floyd. Because, of course.

Almost immediately I was transported to a completely different world. It was absolutely, positively fucking glorious. The contents of actual psychedelic journeys is generally described as ineffable, which means, we really just don’t have words to adequately convey the experience. I do remember thinking, “Wow! Roger Waters is a fucking genius!” “Another Brick in the Wall,” which had been a perennial favorite of mine in high school, transformed into something mythical – biblical even. I lay there thoroughly enjoying the experience. Then the abrupt transition to the darkness of the helicopter and voice over the bullhorn startled the shit out of me. The song “Mother” had me sobbing as I identified with the lyrics so much more deeply than ever before.

Bill Murray and Goldy get down at the BigTen 10k. | Chicago, August 2018

At some point in the journey I was aware of what I can only describe as a massive ball of light that seemed to emanate from somewhere above and off to the left side of me. I wish I could remember what song was playing. For some reason I can’t explain (I WAS on mushrooms after all) I was terrified of this light. I tried to “shield” my eyes (which were closed). As I lay there naked, internally cowering in fear, listening to the music, some part of me encouraged me to reach out “touch” it (whatever that meant). I give credit to my Vipassana experience for this insight. Gingerly, I reached out and dipped a finger in. Almost instantaneously, I was utterly, completely and thoroughly bathed in the most overwhelmingly powerful feeling of unconditional love that I had ever in my life experienced. It surpassed the feeling at the birth of my daughters and it brought me to my knees (figuratively speaking). I began sobbing uncontrollably (are you sensing a theme yet?). It was almost unbearable. All the while, my body was writhing around the bed like a hairy belly dancer. When I got up to crawl, naked, to the bathroom, Chester was looking at me with not a little concern in his furry face.

At some point Chet began getting really freaked out. I couldn’t figure out what was up. He was hopping off the bed and going into the closet. I thought it was because I was tripping my ass off. Then it hit me – it was storming like crazy! Thunder (which I couldn’t hear with the headphones on) was shaking the house. And he hated thunder with the heat of a thousand suns. I’m afraid I wasn’t much comfort to him, which is ok because even stone sober it was impossible to comfort the little guy during a storm or the 4th of July fireworks.

Sunset during a trip to make a little movie about a radio station. | Ann Arbor, Michigan, May 2018

After the peak, I slowly came down into a space of incredible peace, beauty and love. The phrase “Peace that passeth all understanding” came into my consciousness. As I lay there, I thought, “A ha! This is the same place I got to after ten days of silent meditation!” (See post on that experience here.) It was amazing. I wanted to stay there forever. I think the pain had subsided as well. The shoulder was still jacked. At some point, I needed to “land” so I called my brother and thanked him. He laughed knowingly. I called my friend Steve, who was in Manhattan for a shoot. It was at least 11:00pm there. “Duuuuuuuude!” I said as I began recounting the experience.

Fast forward a few weeks and nothing about my life or pain changed. I had had a magnificent experience. I was grateful for it. It felt as though I had, in some way, saw and touched God. Had I? If I had, he hadn’t touched me back because the pain persisted. The Universe was not pouring cash on my head. Women were not (yet) throwing themselves at me. My brother told me about microdosing, which is where you take about a tenth of a psychoactive dose at some regular interval, in my case every three days. I harbored the hope that would shift things. As it turns out, the dose was about 1/6 of what I had taken, which had sent me to the moon and back. Over time, I grew a bit anxious and edgy, which was somewhat out of character. I knew there was something THERE. And I wanted it!

Lucinda Williams performs at Thalia Hall for the Food Pantry fundraiser. | Chicago, November 2018

During a lunch with a woman whom I had dated some years prior, I recounted the details of my recent experience and my frustration and not having been “changed” or “transformed” by it. Immediately, she said, “You need to talk to my friend in San Francisco. She’s a psychotherapist who does psychedelic integration.” Forgetting that Pollan had discussed this in the book, I thought, “Wow! There is such a thing?” She gave me her contact info, I reached out and, after some weeks, we had a call. She said she could absolutely assist me, although I’d need to come to SF for the actual journey. Despite being perennially short on cash, I said, “Ok” with the intent to figure it out later. Then she said something that would forever alter the course of my life, “Or, I can refer you to somebody closer to you.” “Yes, please,” I replied.

I was beginning to find the breadcrumbs the Universe was dropping for me….

Note: This post recounts an intense psychedelic experience. Psychedelics are powerful medicines that, when used with care and the proper intentions, can be incredibly useful for personal growth. They are not for everybody and just because I had a particular experience doesn’t mean you will have the same one. Do your research and tread carefully. That said, nobody in the history of the world has died from magic mushrooms. Don’t believe the BS from the War on Drugs.