COVID-19 on Mushrooms: A Psilocybin Trip Report | Psychedelic Spotlight

My body squirms as psilocybin rushes through one of life’s most complex biological systems. The sensation starts in the chest, then flows through the nervous system, until a tingling reaches the tips of my toes, the roots of my teeth, and then the grooves of my brain, engulfing my limited awareness, and transporting my conscious attention into a hazy field of dreams, dancing between the fibers of a cloth bandana and fluttering eyelids.

Late into a relaxing Saturday afternoon at home, I made a last-minute decision to ingest 3.7 grams of magic mushrooms. The plan was to lay down on a couch, cover my eyes with a blindfold, and listen to Jon Hopkins’ Music for Psychedelic Therapy as my favorite psychedelic compound intermingled with a body infected with the dreaded Coronavirus. 

I had been quarantining for nine days at this point, letting the virus run its course while suffering mild flu systems, which were largely alleviated by edible cannabis. The fatigue, brain fog, and isolation from my community—including my fiancée’s lips, a human connection of the highest value—were the toughest challenges to navigate. Demons once considered conquered were awakened; old envies and insecurities flooded the mind; my eyes were watching the world continue to turn from the loneliest of vantage points: an Instagram feed. Everyone is out there living their best life, and I’m stuck here, alone, suddenly wondering if I’m destined to be a failure. Unfinished projects, unrealized dreams, and lingering writing assignments stack up as heavy burdens on my shoulders; guilt from procrastination clogs the mind. I’m used to a river of happier thoughts, but poisons have seeped in and infected the water this past week. My daily regimen of reading, meditating, exercising, writing, and singing had been disrupted in favor of junk food and movies—the comfort of my youth. At least I was home to cuddle with my dogs, and pick up their poop in the backyard before they could eat it, a disturbing canine addiction, and a shitty silver lining of a wasted week. 

I was craving meaningful connection, and with the COVID-19 virus still making my body a public pariah, I would have to find it within. 

A comforting mother figure greets me as the medicine goes to work. 

In previous trips, she has been an ethereal voice, but this time, she’s taken on the familiar physical form of a friend. Is this a sign from Mother Mushroom? Perhaps. But the communion is cut short when the Music for Psychedelic Therapy stops. I bask in the silence. Maybe this is an intentional break in the record; time to reflect. But a few more moments and the empty room tone becomes unbearable. I take off my bandana and open my eyes to the dull world of my office, though now bedazzled with a rainbow hue, emanating from the Christmas lights I turned on earlier to set the vibe. But that vibe can’t compete with Mother’s world, and I desperately want to go back. I fiddle with Apple Music and my…