Unlocking the Power of Plant Therapy: Trippy by Ernesto Londoño

 Trippy: The Peril and Promise of Medicinal Psychedelics by Ernesto Londono

Trippy book cover

Author Ernesto Londoño

Thank you to Netgalley and Macmillan Publishers for sharing this book with me. I was a little surprised to find an email with the opportunity to read this book, but I am glad that I was able to read it. Initially, I thought this might be in the same vein as Michael Pollan’s How to Change Your Mind. And in some ways it was- Londoño explores some medicinal and traditional or ceremonial uses of psychedelics, specifically ayahuasca. However, Londoño also takes a more personal and humanizing approach by exploring his own past and experiences with dealing with trauma, shame and depression, and how psychedelics helped him confront these powerful emotions in his life. He also explores the experiences of others—soldiers experiencing PTSD, queer participants in an LGBTQ only psychedelic ceremony, as well as addicts and others looking to regain a sense of self in the grip of past traumas. I also appreciated that this book looked at the history and current state of Ayahuasca, the sacred vine of the Amazon that has been growing as both a psychedelic therapy and a recreational trip that adventurous psychonauts seek out. It was fascinating to learn more about its use in Brazil and other Amazon areas. I remember reading William S. Burroughs’s The Yage Letters about his quest for Ayahuasca in the 1960s, not realizing that it was the same plant. I think that Burroughs came away somewhat disappointed, but Londoño shares both the benefits and harms in this increasingly popular plant therapy. While it was heartening to learn more about the increasing awareness of this plant’s powers, it was also sad to see the darker side of this plant therapy, where Londoño identifies some so-called shaman and spiritual guides who seemed more intent to take advantage of people’s desire to feel better and find a quick fix to negative emotional states like depression or past trauma. I was really surprised to learn how expensive some of the retreats were, considering that they are in the middle of the jungle and are a means to connect with nature. It was also shocking to learn more about how some of the curanderos, or healers, have also taken advantage of women. Londoño had some uncomfortable experiences with a healer in one retreat and shares the experiences of other women who experienced assault and harassment from another curandero. It seemed like a theme that these curanderos are treated with empathy and seen as fallible yet are still able to engage in the same kinds of behaviors. Londoño’s journalistic background helped to uncover this unsavory side of the Ayahuasca scene. Londoño also shared his own experience as a war correspondent, as well as his own family trauma. While I loved the investigative reporting of the Ayahuasca retreats, I also was enthralled by his fearless recounting of his family’s history of mental illness and his own experiences with past trauma and family of origin issues. Sharing his stories also allowed us to see how Ayahuasca allowed him to confront some of these feelings and come to grips with the unresolved issues that have plagued him. His experiences as a war correspondent were also part of the need to escape and not have strong ties, yet also left him with some incredibly traumatic experiences of violence and death that it seems like were impossible to process in a war zone as a reporter. This was also a common theme of the soldiers, who frequently felt like they undeserving of a PTSD diagnosis or were concerned about the baggage that label might bring. Londoño’s own experiences, as well as those of the soldiers were gripping, yet somewhat graphic. Be warned that while the book often recounts stories of those who overcame mental health and illness struggles, it also depicts some of the past traumas and issues they confronted. The book ends with the exploration of two other psychedelic therapies—ketamine infusion and MDMA. I liked how this part of the book ended on a high note, sharing the positive development of these alternative therapies and the soldiers that the MDMA treatments are helping. It leaves us with a slightly more hopeful look at the potential for psychedelic therapies, and I also think that with sharing some of the bad actors and grifters looking to capitalize on others seeking relief from traumatic emotional issues, the future regulation and clinical use of psychedelics seems necessary as a means to bring about change in both people and society. I really enjoyed Londoño’s book, especially his reporting and use of individuals and his own experiences to present this new and amazing field. This book is such a wonderful combination of many different genres—part investigative journalism, part history, part memoir, and social commentary. Highly recommended read that will hopefully change a lot of minds. 

Exploration and Exploitation: A Short, Strange Trip by John O'Connor

 A Short, Strange Trip: An Untold Story of Magic Mushrooms, Madness, and a Search for the Meaning of Life in the Amazon by John O'Connor

Short Strange Trip book cover

Author John O'Connor

Many thanks to Sourcebooks and NetGalley for the advanced copy of John O’Connor’s fascinating exploratory book about the life of psychonaut Terrence McKenna, A Short Strange Trip: An Untold Story of Magic Mushrooms, Madness, and a Search for the Meaning of Life in the Amazon. This was a fascinating book that is hard to categorize as it covers travel and adventure writing, which are O’Connor’s specialty, but it also includes elements of biography, memoir, and critical analysis of areas like mental health care, pharmacology, history, indigenous rights, and equity. In fact, I was surprised at the scope of the book’s various topics, but it does somewhat mirror the life and wandering (or maybe wondering) focus of Terrence McKenna, a man who was neither a scientist nor a philosopher, but seemed to have an impact on mycology, psychedelics, and even rave culture in the 90s before his untimely death at age 53 in 2000. I first learned about McKenna from Michael Pollan’s book How to Change Your Mind, where the esteemed food writer explores the history and influence of psychedelics, especially mushrooms. I remember the surprise that I hadn’t heard of McKenna before since he was an advocate for magic mushrooms who proselytized their use for finding deeper spiritual and philosophical meaning in life. McKenna had a fascinating life which included a trip to the Amazon in the early 70s chasing psychedelic plant medicine indigenous people have used for some time, but without much understanding of the history, reasons or cultural aspects of the uses. O’Connor’s book paints a detailed portrait of McKenna’s complications, raising questions of cultural appropriation, questioning whether McKenna’s intentions were genuine or whether he was just looking to continue exploring psychedelics. Interspersed within McKenna’s story and pursuit of higher consciousness is O’Connor’s own exploration of psychedelic therapy for his father, a retired, ivy-league educated lawyer whose struggle with alcoholism has distanced him from his family. As a kind of last resort to help his father, O’Connor convinces his father to try some forms of psychedelic therapy, highlighting the ways in which psychedelics like LSD, magic mushrooms, and ketamine have been used to treat addictions and other mental health issues like PTSD. It’s one of the more heart-felt and humorous parts of the book, with a strangely funny anecdote about his father’s heroic, McKenna-sized dose of mushrooms that has explosive results. Nevertheless, what O’Connor’s research into McKenna’s life reveals is that McKenna’s advocacy for mushrooms may have been empty, despite maintaining a public façade of support. After a bad trip sometime in the late 80s, he did not use mushrooms for about 10 years, according to interviews with McKenna’s ex-wife and brother, Dennis. These interviews, along with others who knew McKenna like anthropologist Wade Davis present a picture of a talented and enthusiastic psychonaut who lived much of his life underground, prior to the larger-scale interest and emerging industries in psychedelics, yet was never accepted by the intellectual or academic communities where psychedelic studies were building a foundation in collaboration with areas like medicine, pharmacology, psychology, philosophy, and religion. McKenna was kind of a like a man out of time, preceding many popular trends yet maintaining a small, but dedicated following in a field that has been growing in prominence and popularity.

There’s a lot to like about this book, especially if you enjoy books about travelling and exploring the jungle, history, and psychedelics. I remember seeking out Burroughs’ The Yage Letters for some time to learn more about his quest to locate ayahuasca, and similarly enjoying the more recent book about exploring the psychedelic tourist scene in Ernesto Londoño’s book Trippy. O’Connor’s book focuses primarily on McKenna’s journey to locate a rare plant oo-koo-he, mentioned by another ethnobotanist, in La Chorrera, an area in the Colombian Amazon. Instead, McKenna, his brother, and some friends ended up discovering psilocybe cubensis, a mushroom that led them to conduct a psychedelic experiment. I give credit to O’Connor for trying to make some sense of McKenna’s experiment since it’s not really an experiment, but actually a trip that led to some strange insights. It’s unclear what initiated Terrence’s belief that they might be able to transcend his consciousness into another dimension, seeing the mushroom as a kind of vehicle capable of this transportation. I found it somewhat humorous. Although Dennis seemed to suffer a bout of psychosis as a result of the heroic dose of mushrooms, this experience launched Terrence’s career as a psychedelic explorer and cultivator of mushrooms. Interestingly, Dennis went on to earn a PhD in botanical sciences, and with Terrence, authored a book on their experiences cultivating psychedelic mushrooms at home, bringing this species into the US counterculture. I found this part of the book fascinating as O’Connor recreates the journey through his own experiences traveling the same areas around the Colombian Amazon. O’Connor not only creates a compelling travelogue and story of exploration for a region rarely traveled by many Americans. However, he also raises a critical perspective, noting the region’s infamy as a site of exploitation by rubber companies in the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries. Frequently referencing the Belgian exploitation of the Congo and Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, O’Connor details some of the worst violence and butchery that the indigenous people of these areas faced from company bosses. O’Connor tells the story of John Brown, an American who ended up in this region working for a rubber company, who Terrence encounters. O’Connor’s research raises critiques about Terrence’s dismissal of indigenous ways while also ignoring or discounting the kinds of atrocities these companies perpetrated. It’s what leads to the more complicated portrait of Terrence, who despite being a countercultural liberal, nevertheless remained blinded by some of his own biases and ethnocentrism.

I really enjoyed reading O’Connor’s details of both his and McKenna’s journeys, separated by nearly 50 years. He paints a detailed picture of the jungle terrain, as well as many of the difficult obstacles and challenges that Westerners might experience trying to traverse this terrain for the first time. However, I also found myself struck by the kinds of observations and arguments about ethnocentrism and exploitation that O’Connor raises. Much like Londoño’s book, O’Connor also notes how the idea of psychedelic tourism has reshaped the region and created a new economy that most likely neglects or redefines the kind of plant medicinal work that may have been a staple for the region for at least a century. I also found it interesting that O’Connor posits that ayahuasca use may have been the result of some of the terror and trauma that indigenous people experienced, seeing it as a medicine to deal with the generational trauma that was inflicted by the exploitation of the land. It’s something that Terrence didn’t seem to consider, imposing his own ideas about shamanism and medicinal plants on the Amazon region, which eventually led to his “stoned ape” theory about the development of consciousness. Although it’s widely dismissed, O’Connor manages to speak to some anthropologists and researchers who acknowledge there might be some truth to the use of psychedelic plants and medicines by our ancient ancestors.

The last section of the book features a kind of psychedelic conference where Rick Perry, of all people, ends up speaking. It’s a completely surreal scene that O’Connor manages to detail with both humor and horror, raising questions about the inclusion of minorities in plant medicine and sharing their own perspectives about skepticism regarding institutionalized medicine. He seems to be saying that the rise of these kinds of alternative medical spaces, where psychedelics have been spilling over into institutionalized medicine, have failed to be inclusive and continue to exploit those who not only originated the practices (appropriation), but also are moving to a kind of commodification of these spiritual and cultural practices as a means to address our current malaises. It’s something that I need to consider more, but I found this section of the book to raise some of the most pointed and important questions that I’ve never considered about psychedelics. Furthermore, with the recent focus on Ibogaine as a drug of importance for therapeutic purposes, it is clear that psychedelics and plant medicine are moving more into the mainstream as both a vehicle for personal exploration and a means of healing past trauma. O’Connor’s book explores not only the complicated nature of psychedelics in America since McKenna’s experiment in 1971, but also the fraught history of exploitation and cultural appropriate of plant medicine for recreational and personal use, as opposed to more communal, spiritual activities. This book is hard to classify, but it appeals to many different genres, including memoir, biography, history, and social criticism. I enjoyed many parts of the book, and found myself amused by O’Connor’s frequent allusions, which seem to sometimes manifest out of nowhere. Nevertheless, he makes these trips both entertaining and emotional. I really want to check out his book on bigfoot (The Secret History of Bigfoot), which also sounds like it has its own unique journey and exploration. However, I recommend this book, especially if you are a fan of reading about plant medicine, psychedelics, and learning more about the fascinating life of psychonaut Terrence McKenna.  

Navigating A Brutal and Catastrophic World: The Unworthy by Agustina Bazterrica

 The Unworthy by Agustina Bazterrica

The Unworthy book cover

Author Agustina Bazterrica

Scene from Ken Russel's 1971 film The Devils, about madness within a cloistered convent. 

Bazterrica's book reminded me a little of this film. 

Many thanks to Scribner and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Agustina Bazterrica’s new book The Unworthy. I was drawn to the nun on the cover and the story about a mysterious convent called the Sacred Sisterhood that borders on a cult. I was also curious about this book due to Bazterrica’s popularity from her book Tender is the Flesh. Although I haven’t read that book, I know that the book was widely popular especially during the early days of the pandemic. I was a little intimidate by the topic of cannibalism, but this book about fanaticism, religion, and cults seemed more up my alley. The first half of the book doesn’t disappoint either. The narrator is surreptitiously writing in her journal at night, detailing the arduous and tedious events of life in this mysterious convent. These early sections detailing the challenges she faces in trying to document the austerity and brutality of the convent are enthralling, but also hard to read. Along with translator Sarah Moses’s artful and descriptive language, Bazterrica creates a terrifying and gruesome world that seemed to exist in some medieval nightmare realm where madness, depravity and cruelty ruled people’s lives without much explanation or hope. I found the different levels of devotion fascinating as well—some members who seem to be pure and untouched are thoroughly mutilated, having their eardrums ruptured or their eyes shown shut to further feel the sacred and beatific emotions of the true god. These moments and their descriptions are brutal and horrific, and I was really amazed at the various methods that Bazterrica developed to further torture the members of the sect. I wondered whether these were invented or if they were based on research. Furthermore, the narrator describes the different areas in and around the Convent, and the mysteries they hold. Interestingly, she often crosses out words and phrases in the book, and I wasn’t completely sure why, especially if this journal is hidden from others, with no real hope of anyone reading it. This choice does create a sense of mystery, and I have my theories based on later events in the book. However, Bazterrica also creates a sense of both mystery and dread about the different areas in the convent, and we learn that she entered the convent, like many other women, as a wanderer. These are often strangers who have made it through the ravaged, apocalyptic landscape to this seeming refuge where there is shelter and seemingly those who could help. However, due to a kind of virus or plague, those wanderers often have to spend some time in the Cloister of Purification, where the members can see if these wanderers are carrying the plague. Other areas like the Creek of Madness or the Tower of Silence also offer some ominous warnings based on their names, and I loved how mysterious and dreadful these places seemed.

Yet, all is not as it seems, and the narrator also describes the kind of jealousy and tribalism that slowly boils within the confines of the convent. In particular, a new wanderer who arrives arouses something in the narrator, eventually forcing her to unearth her long-buried memories of her life before the Convent. While this second half of the book was compelling and created a kind of twist I didn’t expect, I also felt like it wasn’t as descriptive and developed as the kind of world building she did for the establishing the kind of frozen world of the Convent and the brutality that the initiates faced from the Superior Sister. I won’t detail the twists, but it was surprising and it did hold my attention. If anything, I think this book offers a powerful lesson for how we respond to both tragedies (or catastrophes) and authority, and sadly how these two things are often linked in our society. I also think that The Unworthy is a powerful reminder of how we often lose our freedom and sometimes even our will when catastrophic or tragic events occur. Whether we look for meaning and leadership or whether we retreat in fear and sorrow, the book is an important reminder of the need to persist. I also think there is an important message of love and connection, and how we need to maintain these kinds of relationships in these challenging and often brutal times. Reading and stories also play an important part in sustaining the narrator. She seems to feel a sense of relief in sharing her story, and when she recounts her past life before the convent, she shares how important other stories are to her and those she loves. I also really loved this aspect of the story, and how when we face tragedies, challenges, or catastrophes, we can find some solace in reading and writing. I know that this book is not for everyone, and in looking at reviews, I can see that the book is somewhat divisive. However, I appreciated the book, and I thought it was a compelling read. With the brutality and drudgery of the narrator’s life, it’s hard to say that the book was enjoyable, but I did engage with the book and found her story enthralling. Reading this book reminded me of the kind of brutal world that Ottessa Moshfegh created in Lapvona, where elements of folk horror are mixed with a cruel society and leadership that relies on brutality and fear. 

Exploring the Magic of Magic Mushrooms

 Have a Good Trip: Exploring the Magic Mushroom Experience by Eugenia Bone

Have a Good Trip book cover

Amanita Muscaria, probably more famous looking mushroom, but not the focus of this book, by Bernard Spragg, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

Psilocybe cubensis, the mushroom of focus for this book by Rohan523, CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons

Many thanks to Flatiron Books and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Eugenia Bone’s great new book Have a Good Trip: Exploring the Magic Mushroom Experience. Bone’s book follows some other more recent books detailing a growing acceptance and use of psychedelics in the general population as well as their application to therapeutic and medical settings like palliative and end of life care for cancer patients. While other books like Ernesto Londoño’s Trippy and Michael Pollan’s How to Change Your Mind focused on different forms of psychedelics, Bone’s book primarily focuses on the use of mushrooms, in particular the Psilocybe cubensis, in various settings, recreationally, communally, spiritually, educationally, therapeutically, and medicinally. I was amazed to learn more about the different uses and applications of mushrooms, and in particular, how technology, especially the internet, seems to have helped facilitate and foster (maybe even cultivate) a growing community of explorers (or sometimes known as psychonauts) who are all seeking different outcomes, whether it is mental well-being, more knowledge of self and self-understanding, or just looking to expand their minds. 

Bone’s book is divided into different sections, focusing on the background of the use of psychedelic (or entheogenic mushrooms), growing and cultivating one’s own mushrooms, and different types of trip settings. The book’s first two sections are informative, but at times delve deep into the science. I found the parts about how brains respond to mushrooms interesting, but I also had to go over this section a few different times, finding myself a little lost in the technical terms. Nevertheless, Bone uses more practical metaphors and explanations to bring these complex biological processes to a more understandable level for the layperson. Similarly, I found the section about growing and foraging mushrooms not as compelling as the other sections that look at the different applications and settings for trips and uses of mushrooms. It is fascinating to learn about the growing subculture of mushrooms, one that has persisted and grown over the past 70 years. However, as someone not that familiar with mushroom cultivation, I struggled at times to keep some of the terms straight. The best part of the book was the last section, Trip Types, where Bone explores the different communities that have grown over time to engage in the use of psychedelic mushrooms. It was fascinating to see different uses and applications and consider the speculation that mushrooms have been used in religious experiences for thousands of years. Whether it is true or not, different cultures, especially in Mexico and Central America, have made use of magic mushrooms in ceremonial experiences to seek insight and growth. I think it is important to consider this kind of sacred and spiritual application when considering mushrooms. Although recreational use has become more popular since the 1960s, it does seem like the spiritual and ceremonial (as well as communal) use has been a more effective use in learning or growing from a trip. One of the greatest aspects of Bone’s book is that the research is all so new and many of the developments in these psychedelic communities have been so recent. I also loved learning about the various medical applications for mushrooms as a way to treat both mental health issues like depression as well as end of life care for cancer treatments, something that Pollan also explored in his book. One of the other more interesting areas that Bone explores (and experiments on herself as well) is the use of microdosing, taking small amounts of mushrooms that have no perceptual impact, but are meant as a way to enhance creative thinking and performance/focus. These small doses have no real effect on functionality beyond enhancing work or performance. Bone regularly stresses that microdosing should not affect one’s ability to do different activities throughout the day, especially things like driving or cooking. It is interesting to consider, but Bone also makes note that it is hard to consider effective dosing since response to mushrooms varies from individual to individual and there’s really no clear dosing protocols. Furthermore, individual responses can be impacted by family histories of mental illness, which takers may not be aware. Thus, it does seem like a potential risk, but an interesting way to consider improving work or performance. Bone also explores her own use of magic mushrooms, noting in the epilogue that she took more trips for this book than she had in her previous experiences with mushrooms. I really enjoyed her writing about Burning Man, seeing how the descriptions and visions kind of gradually meld into flashes and sights not previously seen. 

Bone’s book provides a wonderful addition to some of the other books about psychedelic experiences and how these plants and fungi are becoming more accepted and accessible, as well as their applications to address a broader range of health issues that have previously been challenged by more traditional medicine. Her writing is descriptive and engaging, and she incorporates considerable research into various areas—whether it is the communities that trip together for various reasons, mushroom cultivation, or the ways that mushrooms interact with the brain and nervous system. Furthermore, she writes in an engaging manner that takes complicated and complex ideas and makes them more understandable for a general audience. Highly recommended.