Tales from the Other Side, Volume: #19: Peyote
Welcome to the Psychedelic Blog. I write about the Impact of Psychedelics on Grieving, Relationships, Culture & Death. Periodically, I dedicate this blog to detailing my Psychedelic journeys to the other side. Well-crafted trip reports are rare, so I strive to share my journeys to the other side with genuine authenticity.
This past weekend, I communed with Peyote. The active ingredient in Peyote (Lophophora williamsii) is Mescaline, a naturally occurring Psychedelic alkaloid. It is highly potent and known to destabilize our understanding of reality.
I’m not recommending the use of Psychedelics; anyone interested should consult with their doctor or therapist first. Alright, let’s dive in.
“There are worlds within this world, and the peyote knows the way.” — Huichol Saying
Fear, Gratitude, and the Spirit of Ceremony
I spent the day leading up to the ceremony with the familiar pre-transcendence nerves I’ve come to know so well. There’s something about venturing into the unknown that catalyzes a sense of angst. Over time, though, I’ve grown adept at creating space between the feeling itself and my relationship to it.
Days like this remind me of the importance of regularly inviting things into our lives that terrify us. Constant comfort kills us in many ways. It’s essential to step outside our comfort zones and explore parts of ourselves and the world that remain hidden. There are many ways to do this, but Psychedelics offer a unique path—one that also serves as an expression of gratitude to those who came before us.
Peyote, more than any other Psychedelic, is deeply rooted in ceremony. Bufo is a single player game—even in a group setting, each person communes with the medicine one at a time, and every journey is unique. Ayahuasca ceremonies are a hybrid: part communal, part individual. But Peyote is entirely a group ceremony. Everything is done together, and the experiences of one person can ripple through and impact the entire group.
Cold Nights, Warm Spirits
I arrived at the ceremony around 8:30 pm. Peyote ceremonies last through the night, and when the sun rises the following morning, everyone gathers for a Temazcal ceremony (more on that later). We circled around a fire, as is customary with Peyote. People spread out blankets and put on hoodies—nights in Mexico can get surprisingly cold, and the medicine has a way of making it feel even colder.
The Shaman presiding over the ceremony looked well into his eighties, maybe even his nineties. He wore a beautiful, handmade white garment adorned with vibrant colors running up & down its fabric. It was paired, unceremoniously, with a high school-style letterman jacket—even Shamans get cold I suppose. He would spend the majority of the 14-hour ceremony singing... remarkable. Shamans always seem to carry an unmistakable energy & presence. When they look at you, it feels as though they can sense your energy—which can feel intimidating. Yet, there’s no judgment in their gaze. Their energy carries the weight of deep wisdom, something akin to what we would have experienced if we met figures like Jesus, Gandhi, Alan Watts, or other awakened souls from history.
A Ritual of Release
After some opening words from the woman who either managed the property or worked directly with the Shaman (I wasn’t sure—my Spanish is still a work in progress), a pen & paper were passed around. Each of us—about twenty in total—was asked to write down the names of everyone we’d slept with that we no longer wanted a connection to. I turned to my friend and joked, “I’m going to need a bigger piece of paper.” In hindsight, probably not the best moment for jokes, but this is who I am.
As I stared at the blank page, I recalled something Sir Anthony Hopkins once said in an interview: “Nostalgia is a siren’s call luring us back to people & places we once knew.” Reluctantly, I began writing down every name I could remember. Some were easier than others. A few were downright painful. It reminded me how revisiting the past is almost always a bad idea. We’re always growing, evolving. The person I was with them isn’t who I am now, and they’ve changed too. Trying to go backward in life is like gripping the riverbed while the water flows—you only end up getting hurt.
Once everyone was done, we each tossed our lists into the fire. In this tradition, it’s believed that sexual energy lingers long after physical connections end. Burning the names serves as a ritual cleanse, severing those residual ties. It’s said that once the paper burns, the person—unaware their name has been offered to the flames—will no longer feel that pull toward you, if they still did.
Where Energy Meets Matter
I’d been dealing with a stomach issue all day leading up to the ceremony. It’s been an ongoing thing since relocating to Mexico—my body still adjusting to the new environment (fortunately, my soul’s assimilation process was far quicker). The first of several remarkable moments happened even before the Peyote entered my bloodstream.
The Shaman moved around the circle, blessing each person with a ceremonial stick—perhaps purifying our energy before we took the medicine. Maybe it was both; I’m not entirely sure. When it was my turn, as soon as the shaman stood directly in front of me, a sharp jolt of stomach pain hit me out of nowhere. It vanished the moment he moved on to the next person. Then, when his assistant stepped in to perform another blessing, the same pain struck again, just as intense, and again disappeared when they moved on. I don’t know exactly what to make of it, but I’m certain of one thing—something energetic triggered the pain, maybe even releasing it momentarily in their presence.
These are the kinds of fascinating moments that happen during ceremonies—things material reductionists would quickly dismiss. But, of course, that crowd almost always lacks personal experience. They’re like the liberal arts professor who can wax poetic about abstract ideas with no real stakes in the game. It’s easy to hide behind theory when fear keeps you out of the arena—where the unexplainable actually happens.
“What Matters Most Is How Well You Walk Through the Fire” — Charles Bukowski
The Spirit in the Jungle
Peyote’s onset is slow & subtle—nothing like the rocket ship launch of Bufo or the steady ascent of a commercial airliner that is Samadhi. Peyote feels more like a gradual uphill climb, with small markers along the way signaling that you’re leaving this realm. Though, in truth, I’m not sure Peyote takes you out of this dimension at all. I believe something fundamentally different happens. I’ll come back to that.
Before we began, the Shaman and ceremony leaders warned us to stay close to the fire. If we needed to use the baños, we were to go there and return immediately. The warning wasn’t just about the dangers of wandering into the jungle at night—it was about spirits. They said there are energies in the darkness that can lure you into unsafe places. We were deep in the jungle, after all. I recalled a tree I’d seen during my Bufo ceremony, its bark covered in jagged spikes sharp enough to tear through skin. If something like that appeared as a friendly ancestral spirit under the medicine’s influence, the consequences could be devastating.
This warning proved ominous. My ongoing stomach issue flared up, forcing me to purge, so I headed into the woods. To give my stomach some relief, I decided to walk around. The movement and fresh air helped ease the discomfort. I walked between the bathroom and the group, hoping not to raise any suspicion.
Then I saw a dog.
I assumed it was a dog that lived on the property. It began walking toward me, slow but direct. I felt my heart race. Please be friendly, I pleaded internally, fully aware that I was deep in a Peyote high and in no state to defend myself. As the dog drew closer, just as it was about to reach me, it vanished.
An apparition. Or was it?
I believe it was the spirit of a dog no longer in this world. Peyote doesn’t take you to other worlds; it reveals the hidden ones within this one. There was no life review, no encounters with Jesters or Machine Elves, no Sacred Geometry. Buddha didn’t make his usual cameo. Instead, Peyote lifted a different kind of veil—the one that conceals the spirits moving around us all the time.
Many traditions speak of these spirits, and countless stories affirm their presence. Countless more are bullshit, of course. But most people reading this can likely recall some moment of synchronicity, some serendipitous or enigmatic event that defied logic. Maybe it involved a recently passed loved one or a figure from the past. There’s a mysterious undercurrent of energy at play, and Peyote grants us access to it.
As for the meaning behind the dog—I’m not entirely sure there is one. It didn’t resemble Coconut, my late Chihuahua, so it wasn’t him returning to say hello. A friend later suggested it might have been some symbolic "face your fear" moment since I was once chased by a Doberman in Brooklyn years ago. But that didn’t feel quite right. I believe it was simply the spirit of a dog, no longer in this world, who found a brief window through the Peyote to step into mine.
Burn Bright, Fade, Return
While staring into the fire, three small embers caught my attention. They were almost insignificant—tiny flickers within a blaze of much larger, more powerful flames. Yet, I couldn’t take my eyes off them. The way they moved was hypnotic. They would flare up, burning brightly for a moment, then flicker out and disappear into the darkness—only to suddenly reignite, as if refusing to be forgotten. This cycle repeated over & over. Each time they vanished, I thought they were gone for good, and each time, I felt an unexpected sense of relief when they returned.
The symbolism wasn’t lost on me. Those embers felt like a message, a mirror of life & death. They reminded me of my late siblings—the three of us together, perhaps now in the spirit realm, represented by that fire. The embers became more than just flames; they were a metaphor for existence itself. We arrive in this world, we burn bright for a time, and then we fade away. But in that fading, there’s a promise—a return, a rebirth, or at the very least, a lingering presence that continues to dance just beyond the veil of what we can see.
Watching those embers felt like a quiet conversation with the universe. It reminded me that even in loss, there’s continuity. The flames that go out don’t disappear entirely—they leave traces, echoes, embers waiting for the right moment to glow again.
The Ultimate Synchronicity
The sun was beginning to rise when the Shaman made his way around the circle to bless each attendee’s wallet. This ritual was meant to bring financial prosperity not only to those present but also to their families.
I don’t carry a traditional wallet—just one of those cardholders that sticks to the back of my phone. Since I hadn’t looked at my phone since the day before, I figured I’d quickly check my emails before the Shaman reached me. I cleared out my inbox, set my phone on the ground, and watched as the Shaman blessed it with his smoking stick. A few moments later, as he moved on to the next person, I impulsively picked up my phone again.
I had one new email. It read: “New paid subscriber to The Psychedelic Blog.”
Goosebumps. In the span of less than a minute—between my last email check and the Shaman’s blessing—this had happened. To chalk that up to pure coincidence felt laughable, especially given the number of serendipitous events and strange synchronicities that always seem to unfold during potent Psychedelic journeys.
And there was more to it. My intention going into the ceremony had been clear—I’d asked for guidance about what I should do professionally in the second half of my life (should I be fortunate enough to live it fully). This moment felt like an answer. A sign from God, the universe, spirit—or whatever term won’t spark a holy war in the comments section—that I’m on the right path. That this blog, this work, is my truth. And that it will take me where I’m meant to go.
Into the Heat
After this blessing, it was time for us to head into the temezcal. A temazcal ceremony is a traditional Mexican sweat lodge ritual rooted in pre-Hispanic Indigenous cultures. The word temazcal comes from the Nahuatl word temāzcalli, meaning “house of heat.”
Structure of the Temazcal
The temazcal itself is a dome-shaped structure, symbolizing the womb of Mother Earth (Tonantzin). Entering the temazcal represents a return to the womb, and emerging from it is akin to a rebirth.
The Ceremony
A trained guide, known as the temazcalero or temazcalera, leads the ceremony, which typically follows this flow:
Preparation:
We set intentions before entering, through quiet reflection or prayer. The temazcalero prepares the fire (abuelita fuego) where volcanic stones (abuelitas) are heated until red-hot.Entering the Womb:
We entered the temazcal in a specific order, clockwise, to honor the four cardinal directions. Once everyone is inside, the entrance is sealed, creating a dark, humid space.The Four Doors (or Rounds):
The ceremony is divided into four rounds or "doors," each representing an element (earth, water, fire, air) or the stages of life (birth, youth, adulthood, and death/rebirth). With each round, the temazcalero brings in hot stones, called abuelitas, and pours a mixture of water & medicinal herbs over them, creating intense steam.During each door:
Chants, prayers, and drumming fill the space, invoking ancestral spirits and connecting us to the earth.
Medicinal herbs like copal, sage, and rosemary are burned in the water poured over the stones.
Physical & Spiritual Cleansing:
The heat induces intense sweating, promoting detoxification. The ceremony aims to clear not only physical toxins but also emotional blockages. I have experienced deep catharsis, visions, and spiritual insights in the temazcal.Closing & Rebirth:
After the final round, we exited the temazcal, crawling on hands & knees, symbolizing rebirth. We then rinsed off in cold water to complete the purification.
Benefits of the Temazcal
Physical: Detoxification, improved circulation, relaxation of muscles, and boosted immune system.
Emotional: Release of trapped emotions, reduction of stress & anxiety.
Spiritual: A deeper connection to nature, ancestors, and oneself; a powerful reset.
The Communal Aspect
Temazcal ceremonies are deeply communal. The shared vulnerability within the womb-like space fosters a sense of unity, trust, and collective healing. We expressed a profound sense of connection to both the earth and each other.
A temazcal isn’t just a sweat lodge; it’s a holistic ritual intertwining physical, emotional, and spiritual healing, embodying the sacred connection between humans & nature.
I love it in there—the heat, the singing, the ritualistic energy. Partaking in a tradition that spans centuries. I couldn’t recommend it more.
I’m reminded of a previous Temazcal ceremony when a fellow American joined us in the dome. He was overweight and, on his way in, must’ve tripped, letting out a loud “fuck.” (Few people are more profane than me, but there’s a time & place—especially during a sacred ritual.) Within minutes, he started complaining about the heat and stormed out, fleeing a space so uncomfortable that women and the elderly managed to endure.
Imagine being so terrified of even slight discomfort that your only instinct is to run. That man embodied so much of what’s wrong with our culture—our inability to sit with discomfort, to face heat, pressure, or challenge without fleeing.
Waking Up from the Dream We Call Life
My biggest takeaway from Peyote is that life is like a dream—layers upon layers of dreams within dreams.
I’m no fan of Matthew McConaughey. He strikes me as one of those performative dudes who uses your full name when he sees you at a party, even if no one’s called you that since grade school. He does it to seem different, unique. (I could be wrong about this, but I’m not.)
That said, credit where it’s due—his portrayal of Rust Cohle in True Detective was phenomenal. There’s this scene where, after years of staring into the eyes of countless murdered victims, Rust lands on a chilling conclusion: that at the moment we die, we realize it was all a dream inside a locked box—a dream that told us we were a person. I found myself reflecting on that scene a lot during the Peyote journey.
"We are not human beings having a spiritual experience; we are spiritual beings having a human experience" — Pierre Teilhard de Chardin
The Cosmic Joke
Alan Watts was right: we suffer because we take seriously all the things the gods meant for fun. We spiral into anxiety over our partner leaving, getting fired, or not being invited to the party—completely forgetting that we’re the ones dreaming all of this up.
That’s the truth Peyote delivers: all our angst, our worry, the way we let life’s small challenges unravel us—it’s meaningless.
As my friend, who sat beside me in the ceremony, said, “Life’s too serious to be taken seriously.” Peyote must have reminded him of that truth—he spent most of the ceremony laughing uncontrollably.
That’s really what it’s all about—joy, lightness, and making the most of the brief sliver of time we have here. That’s Peyote’s message.
Subtle Shifts After Ceremony
In the days following the ceremony, I had phone calls with four close friends. Strangely, each of them said the same thing within minutes: “Your voice sounds different.” Kinder, softer—just… different. I wasn’t sick, didn’t have a sore throat, and hadn’t noticed any change myself.
I still have no idea what it meant.
It reminded me of something similar after communing with Bufo last summer. Right after the ceremony, the friend who co-led it told me my eyes looked different—softer, clearer—like something deep inside had shifted.
With Bufo, it was my eyes. With Peyote, my voice.
Maybe these are surface-level signs of the soul waking up—expressions of something deeper stirring within. We activate parts of ourselves that most people never touch, and it ripples outward in these subtle, yet noticeable, ways.
Closing Thought
And maybe that’s the gift of these medicines—not just the grand visions or profound realizations, but the quiet, almost imperceptible shifts that ripple through us afterward. A softer voice, clearer eyes, a lighter heart. Little reminders that we’re waking up, piece by piece, from the dream we’ve been lost in. And in that awakening, we become who we were meant to be.
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Thanks for sharing your experience.
Assuming you have work with Ayahuasca, what do you find to be the main difference between the two?
Cristiano
Great article. I just started getting your blog in my inbox. I live in Mexico and I wonder where is a good place to participate in Peyote ceremony. I have come to believe that the use of plant medicines do not cause us to hallucinate but open us up to dimensions that are around us all the time but we are not in a state of mind to experience them. Thank you.