My husband and I take psychedelics together. We have rules for doing LSD and ecstasy safely, and it's helped us through tough conversations.
Courtesy Louisa Rogers
Editor's Note: This is the author's experience, and others may have different experiences. Some have reported "bad trips" on both LSD and ecstasy. There could be risks involved with using psychedelics, and research is still being done to evaluate therapeutic uses.
Barry, now my husband, was the person who introduced me to LSD almost 50 years ago when I was 23. We were camping one summer at Manning Park, one of British Columbia's provincial parks, and we each took acid as we strolled along a gently winding trail called Lightning Lakes. I had smoked grass before, but nothing psychedelic — in fact, I had been afraid of it until Barry told me how transformational his first trip had been.
Later that day, while we ate apple pie at the park restaurant, Barry scribbled on a napkin, "Louisa is treating herself very delicately, like porcelain china." Later still, we went up to a lookout. As we sat watching the fading light, he turned to me and said, "Well, Sarah Louisa." Hearing him address me using my first name brought tears to my eyes.
Ever since, psychedelics have been an essential companion in our relationship.
I rarely outed myself as a user of psychedelics until Michael Pollan popularized it in his best-selling book "How to Change Your Mind: What the New Science of Psychedelics Teaches Us About Consciousness, Dying, Addiction, Depression, and Transcendence." Since then, I've become increasingly open about it.
Barry and I use psychedelics on average two or three times a year. Our experience ranges wildly, from silliness and laughter — a few months ago, I laughed more in one day than I felt like I had in 10 years — to tearful, poignant, and serious, sometimes all of that in one day.
Through much practice and commitment, we have developed an open, honest communication style, and we can have hard conversations without being high. But the advantage of psychedelics — usually in the form of acid or ecstasy — is that they help us to be vulnerable by quickly dropping our defenses, listening to each other more easily, and hearing the unpleasant truths that the other might offer. Without psychedelics, the conversations would take longer and be more painful.
Taking psychedelics has also enabled us to help each other reframe deep regrets and stubborn pain so that we can more easily let go of the difficult parts of our past, or as the Buddha put it, "our ancient, twisted karma."
About 30 years ago, we were talking to a man who offered guided psychedelic journeys. When he mentioned that he always gave men a larger amount, I asked why. He shrugged. "Men are more defended," he said.
This has since become a family joke. While I, for one, agree with him (Barry thinks such a sweeping generalization is glib), I've also observed that I can be just as defended as Barry in certain situations, if not more so.
Whenever we do acid, we have certain rules to make the container of the day safe. We set aside a whole day in advance, and it's agreed that we each have to want to do it, and one or both of us might change our minds, or other circumstances might affect the decision. For example, not long ago, we thought we'd take acid while camping in southern Oregon, but I got poison oak. It was a mild case, but itchy enough that I knew I wouldn't enjoy myself.
We might also find the environment unsuitable. We need a private space with access to the outdoors, somewhere to walk, and plenty of shade if it's warm and sunny.
We take psychedelics very seriously, normally taking half a dose or less. After we swallow and drink water, we put our hands together in a prayer position, look at each other, and each of us says something to the effect of, "I will take care of you, me, and us." During our trip, we stay within earshot of each other and don't go online. At the end of the trip, we again put our hands in prayer position and "bow out." Afterward, we almost always feel at peace with ourselves and each other.
About 10 years ago, a friend dropped me off after a writers' retreat. As we sat in the car outside my home, we discussed another friend's troubled marriage. She said, "It's hard to know how to repair a relationship that isn't working well."
I turned to her. "Ecstasy," I said. Only later did I find out she thought I was talking about erotic pleasure. I wasn't. Psychedelics have been more helpful to us than orgasms, therapy, meditation, or spiritual retreats. They really are the key to the success of our long-lasting marriage.
