05/06/2026
Last week, I traveled to Portland, Oregon, to complete my practicum in psychedelic facilitation. Over four days, I experienced both sides of the process: one day supporting someone else through a guided journey, and the next day surrendering into my own mushroom journey.
The space itself stayed with me just as much as the training.
It was on the sixth floor of a beautiful artistic building in downtown Portland, somehow suspended above the noise and momentum of ordinary life. Down below: traffic, schedules, performance, productivity. Upstairs: softness, intention, trust, eye masks, blankets, quiet conversations, nervous laughter, music, and people practicing the very difficult art of letting go.
Everything about the environment had been thoughtfully designed for connection and safety. And as someone who has spent 14 years designing ceremonies and threshold experiences for others, I found myself paying attention not just to the journeys themselves, but to the container around them. The lighting. The pacing. The transitions. The way a room can quietly communicate: “You are safe enough here to soften.”
On the morning before my journey, I came across a deodar cedar tree. The name comes from the Sanskrit devadāru — “wood of the gods” — and traditionally the tree symbolizes protection, grounding, and a bridge between earth and heaven. It felt oddly fitting for the week.
And afterward, instead of rushing back into normal life, I went to the rose garden and lay watching the light slowly change across the sky. That, too, felt important.
One of the things emphasized throughout the training was that the medicine experience itself is not really the end point. Integration is. The meaning-making afterward. The conversations. The small shifts in perspective that continue unfolding once you return home and start living your regular life again.
