“And immediately there fell from his eyes as it had been scales.”

Acts9:18 KJV

Medieval European maps often grew outward from the Mediterranean Sea, which they believed was the centre of the Earth. At the edges of the known world was the great unknown, terra incognita, and here the maps were often illustrated with fantastical beasts of every imaginable and horrific kind yet were simply labelled HC SVNT DRACONES, “here be dragons.”

Much like the uncharted worlds beyond the farthest borders of the known lands, there are dragons lurking beyond the unexplored borders of ourselves. These great, fiery, iron-scaled beasts thrash and roar just beyond the edges of our comfort zone, scraping their bloodied and bronzed claws over granite boulders to mark the limits of where we may safely go: here and no farther. We call these monsters ‘phobia’, ‘grief’, ‘loss’, ‘trauma’, and ‘abuse’ among other names.

Dragons are formed of all the unacknowledged and rejected emotions and experiences from our past. They are old pains, unmet needs, sorrows, betrayals, and angers that we once encountered but turned away from, hoping that if we simply don’t look at them they would vanish. Or they are traumas so painful we daren’t look at them else we re-live the horror all over again.

In order to heal we must contend with these horned beasts. They limit us and contain us within artificial and harmful boundaries. There is an instinct to confront the dread creatures with force and flame, but we are not St George and these beasts will not be vanquished with sword or spear. Heroic frontal assaults laden with heraldic bravery, purity of intent, and a maiden’s scarf tied to our sword arm are doomed to fail. Dragons can see us coming from a thousand leagues away, predicting and avoiding our most cunning ploys long before they are attempted.

Dragons feed on confrontation. A dragon is only undone with tenderness and humility. Only when we lay down our arms, set aside our armour, and lie next to the dragon with throat bared will the truth of the dragon’s nature be revealed- a dragon is nothing more than a wounded part of ourselves left untended. Fully and completely accepting the dragon as an injured part of us takes away its power to harm and hinder.

This is how we heal.

Healing is not linear. We don’t walk a straight path to the dragon’s lair, surrender ourselves, and claim the treasure of victory. Like any hero’s journey, there are pitfalls and detours, side-roads and challenges that seem entirely unrelated to the quest at hand. Odysseus could not return home to Ithaca until he had escaped the cave of the Cyclops.

None of my dragons have fallen as I thought they would. In the end it always happened without conscious control or intent. My heart and spirit had to be unreservedly ready to see past the dragon’s fierce defences and love it for the injured innocent it is.

—

The call had come to gather again at the domed temple in the woods. In this wellspring of healing my beautiful brothers and sisters had shared many quests with me. Though often we tilted at windmills or gamboled in the sheer joy of spiritual communion, they never shied from jousting with me against the ravening beasts come to assail us. My heart yearns for the coming communion.

2017 was a difficult year for me. I had withdrawn from my friends and the world at large. I rarely left the house and had fallen into a chronic torpor. I had made so much amazing progress but had suddenly seemed to reject it all. I had come to a boundary and screeched to a halt. Here and no farther. I hoped the wonderful community and sharing of this weekend would help.

As the days grew short leading to the circle I had no plan, no dragon whose name I whispered silently in dreaded incantation. I was coming with only a desire for connection and community, to feel the bliss of this wonderful place and remind myself that I am alive.

Tuesday before the circle, however, I read two passages in Soulcraft by Bill Plotkin which I highlighted for reasons that were vague to me in the moment:

“Alongside our greatest longing lives an equally great terror of finding the very thing we seek.”1 “But the implicit and usually unconscious bargain we make with ourselves is that, yes, we want to be healed, we want to be made whole, we’re willing to go some distance, but we’re not willing to question the fundamental assumptions upon which our way of life has been built, both personally and societally.”2

My fear is the fear of a young man who learned to mistrust himself to his very core. I was insidiously taught by my father that my needs did not matter- only his did. He was an extremely abusive and emotionally violent narcissist. I had to hide the authentic parts of myself and my childhood in order to survive. I learned that any shred of authentic expression of self would be met with violent outbursts of rage and disgust, that he would shut me down and supplant his own views of how I should be. He trained me body and soul to be a reflection of him during the years when he should have been helping me become the man I was born to be. That which did not honour him was despicable and offensive, filth not worthy to be scraped off his boots. This is how I came to see myself.

The narcissistic parent sees his/her children as an extension of themselves, as nothing more than a means to glorify and aggrandise themselves.3 The child lives only to serve the needs of the father and the child’s needs are ignored, discarded, and shamed.

I learned to fear myself, to fear my needs and my wants as a survival tactic. Being authentic or having a need brought only pain and injury. Because of the constant emotional beating I received from him I have been terrified of judgement and ridicule, real or imagined, my whole life. My father’s voice has echoed in my head for all these decades, not just his words but the actual sound of his derisive, sneering voice:

Are you fucking stupid? You can’t do anything right, can you? What the fuck is wrong with you?

Because I was never allowed to grow past this point I had become stuck. Part of me remains trapped in the past, a wounded child desperate for love and safety yet unable to ask for or receive it. I fear everything and everyone as potentially hurtful.

Such is my dragon. It feeds on and creates this fear, it is the fear. It is an ancient creature, cunning and ruthless. It hides in the dark, quiet places of my soul whispering poison and insinuating despair. It lives behind the eyes of others and around the corner of every moment eager to turn me from my path, to keep me within the safe boundaries it sets.

Despite the months and years of work I’ve done coming to terms with my history of abuse it was daunting to discover yet another stratum of pain and wounding deep within my soul. As I sat with this and felt into it I realised how pervasive and all-encompassing this fear was. It had ruled me, limited me, and defined my life in ways I may never fully understand.

Here and no farther.

It is also the fundamental fear that Mr Plotkin so clearly describes- the fear of completely upending one’s integral, elementary beliefs. My trauma-born convictions about myself had become the bedrock of my world, everything within me grew from them. I know my fear limits and harms me, but to challenge it is to step into terra incognita and threaten the universe as I know it. Better the dragon you know than the dragon you don’t.

Somehow it has been nearly a year since I had been here. It is hard to believe I have denied myself the healing balm of this place for so long. The beautiful domed temple from which I have emerged transformed so many other times is unchanged, as is the quietude and harmony that it breathes. As the eight other travelers trickled in over the next hour, a palpable sense of loving community grew.

The work we do in the psychedelic healing circle is actual work. It’s hard, exhausting, and in no way easy. This work takes bravery and strength for you will face the darkest parts of yourself. Nestled in the quiet temperate rainforest of Puget Sound we face our most violent and raging dragons, question the most immutable beliefs of our existence, and truth, our own individual truths, are revealed regardless of whether or not we like or want them.

I learned some time ago that the only way out is through. You have to explore these dark places or they will harbour and keep your pain intact until the end of your days. With the medicine we open secret doors and bring healing light to that which wants to remain hidden. Thus do we heal ourselves.

As with previous circles, we began fasting late in the morning to clear the path within us for the medicine. To prepare our minds and spirits we shared with each other our purpose and goals, our hopes and trepidations, for the coming quest to the edges of the map.

Around the circle, we each speak in turn. I reveal my new-found understanding of my fear and how integral I am coming to understand it has been to my adult life. Even though I only became conscious of it a few days ago, I also know it as a very old and constant companion.

I had finally unmasked this dragon but I do not expect to encounter him today. It had always been months or more between discovering the lair of a beast and achieving the grace necessary to accept it back within the boundaries of myself, to hold it as I would a scared child.

The day passes quickly from morning to afternoon, the sun bathing us in warmth through the windows and skylight. My brothers and I share our hearts and sorrows, commiserating and accepting each other.

A coyote scampers past the window, flitting cautiously through the brush and high grass, the spirit of the mischievous trickster come to giggle at our sincerity. The time for ceremony has come.

The leader, Dr Z, asks us to stay in noble silence to encourage inward contemplation. We each lie back on our mats as he leads us through a guided meditation, softly inviting us to seek within ourselves and listen to the quiet places in us. The temple echoes only the soft susurrus of relaxed breathing as the medicine washes over us, swaddling us in a peaceful embrace. I can feel the calm settling into the room as we enter the loving, connected space the medicine creates.

I am having none of this shit.

Long before I’m consciously aware of the medicine taking effect my hands begin to shake. Soon my arms twitch and my legs are rocking from side to side under the blanket. I feel a pressure, a twitchy, frantic, random energy building in the deepest parts of my gut. I want to leap up and run outside, run through the trees screaming until the woods tell me what is happening.

I can’t concentrate on the meditation, I barely hear the words when Dr Z speaks, asking us to contemplatively look inside. There is panic rising in me and I know I won’t be able to hold it much longer. I respect my brothers’ journeys; expressing this energy inside at this moment would break the spell being woven for them. The medicine has a different plan for me today. It calls and I must listen.

I slowly get up, working to keep my gesticulations contained. Softly to Dr Z, “I’m ok, I just need to move. I’ll be right outside.”

He nods, with a look of concern in his eyes. I know he and his co-leader, Dr Y, will be watching over me but I am no danger, I just need to let this fucking crazy bursting maniacal energy express itself.

In a small clearing I give the energy the freedom to do as it wills. I move from side to side, swing and flail my arms, jab and thrust at invisible adversaries, stomp the earth in staccato rhythm. The energy swirls inside but this is not precisely what it wants. It wants out, it needs to be out but the movement feels…inadequate. I gyrate and bend in strange ways. Grunting and growling, I speak the languages of my ancient ancestors. The pressure builds in my throat and chest; this is how it wants to come out. It needs to be heard.

They call me back to the circle after a few minutes. There is speaking in turn again; I am barely aware of it. I can’t hear or listen to or understand anything the others say. The energy is loud within me, huge waves crashing against the inside of my chest. White noise assails all my senses. I am the only one standing, the only one moving. The rest of the circle sits quietly in peace and harmony. Words are spoken, sound without meaning.

After what seemed like months it is finally my turn. I know what I need to do. The energy’s voice is clear. I stumble over the words, struggling to get them out, “I need to ask your permission…I…I need to scream.”

Without waiting for acknowledgement or assent it bursts from my lungs. An entire adult lifetime of hiding from my father’s voice of ridicule, decades spent wallowing in fear and pain, an undeniable and righteous demand to know joy and be released from bondage…it all comes out at once.

It is not a scream or a yell or a shout…it is an eruption of torment, a raging volcano of pent up fear, stress, frustration, angry for being held back for so long. In an instant I give voice to a thousand thousand moments of anguish and silenced self-worth, every time I wished I had stood up to him, every unspoken rejection of his vile insults. I howl at the absolute limit of my physical ability, I never have and may never again make any utterance this loud.

One breath, then two. Eyes closed, my body contracts and extends with my breath to add power to my voice as I drag air into my lungs only to hurl it back into the room laden with decades of grief and long-overdue proclamations.

I have come to the border of the dragon lands. I will allow no resistance, I will be free.

A third breath and a fourth, each as loud as the last. White noise, a brutal monotone of defiance. It is my turn to make a stand, to draw a line in the earth. HERE AND NO FARTHER! Rebellion and fire explode out from my chest, this is the voice of the boy silenced so long ago who will be quiet no more.

Here and no farther, this moment is the last in which the fear will rule me. No longer will I listen to the whispered venom of my own demented Iago conniving in hushed whispers with the voice of my father.

As I empty my lungs I slump to my knees, spent. A quiet breath, another, and something else moves in me, something newly uncovered that was hidden by everything that had just escaped. Something finally set free.

This is different; a squirming, needy feeling. It begins small, it was hidden inside itself for so long, but its urgency can not be ignored. I look over to the leader and ache to curl into his lap for comfort and shelter.

More speaking, more words I do not understand until the last man has had his turn. Both of the leaders come over to me, seeing the crisis still brewing.

A moment ago the energy went outward, now another energy has turned inward. Fear and shame are gone, all that is left is a small boy who only wanted to be loved but did not dare ask for it. This is the energy of need, of woundedness.

Dr Y reaches me first and I beg him to hold me. In this moment I am nothing more than a small, hurting soul who wants someone to come find him and make it better. Dr Y wraps his arms around me and I cling to him in desperate, child-like need. He is a life ring in a bestormed sea.

For the first time since I was very young, I accept myself as vulnerable and truly human. I accept that I was afraid to ask for help because of fear of being ridiculed. My father had always called me weak so I acted tough. He called me soft so I acted hard. He stole my childhood from me and forced me to be a man long before I was ready or capable.

That little boy that was turned away never got to be held again until today. I had to hide him away because our father was killing him. For over thirty years he cowered in the dark waiting, pleading for this moment.

Being held, I feel safe for the first time that I can remember. I feel protected and watched over. This is real and authentic. Something inside relaxes, a decades-old tension is released. I quietly surrender to this vulnerability. I accept the caring and nurturing being offered without question or qualification. My younger self sighs with long waited for relief.

I accept and love the dragon within me that once ruled me with fear. I love it because I can see now that it was trying to protect me. It was guarding my borders, not trying to keep me prisoner, all the time unaware the protection perpetuated the pain and did not diminish it. It was my misdirected ally, a loyal soldier fiercely doing its duty whose mission was now over. A smile, a sigh, and the dragon dissolves into a mist that surrounds and melts into me. He is not defeated, we are rejoined and are exalted.

He now becomes a part of me who will continue to protect me in healthy, uplifting ways. No longer will he limit me, but rather he will help us both live a life we could barely have imagined a few days ago.

After a while, the relief and freedom work their way into me and I rejoin my brothers. I spend the rest of the ceremony free of fear and shame for the very first time since I was a child and I glory in it.

—

This medicine, MDMA, saved my life. Three years ago when I wanted to die, when I had a gun and a plan, I found hope and healing in the miracle of MDMA-assisted psychotherapy. In a single session the cause for my pain, the soul-crushing loss and emptiness that had overwhelmed me for years, was tended to and healed; the first step in a lifelong, ongoing process of discovery and acceptance. Since that day I have actually lived my life and not for one moment did I again desire to leave it despite the horrors further therapy would unearth from my past.

A week has passed since the circle and the lightness of spirit I took away from the circle continues. I feel changed and liberated. A weight is gone from my soul. The unhealthy fear and shame can’t be entirely erased in an evening. They were a part of me for too long to be completely wiped out, but their voices are much quieter than they were before.

My scream of noble defiance was the not the victory, it was a catalyst. It was my Cyclops, Siren, and passage through Scylla and Charybdis all in one. A trial that had to be completed before the Odyssey could continue. It paved the way for the true healing of allowing myself to need, to be comforted and protected. It was not the scream the dragon surrendered to, it was the little boy with teary eyes standing before him with open arms.

I am cautious about being overly optimistic but this feels different. I feel different. I don’t think I am done dealing with this fear but I believe that I have crested the craggy peak and the rest of the journey will be downhill.

When Dr Z had finished smudging me with sage smoke as we performed the ancient cleansing rite before ceremony he placed his hand on my chest and said, “May you have that journey that you need.” That is exactly what happened.

References

[1] Plotkin, Bill. (2003). Soulcraft. Novato, California:New World Library.

[2] ibid.

[3] Golomb, Elan. (1992). Trapped in the Mirror: Adult Children of Narcissists in Their Struggle for Self. New York: William Morrow and Co.