Sarah Napthali has issues – 28 of them, according to the appendix at the back of this book, which lists her failings under the heading, “Things I’d like to change about myself.”
Most are pretty run of the mill. Who doesn’t feel “crankiness when doing any form of admin”, “impatience for social occasions to end”, wish they were smarter or find snacks hard to resist?
But if many of us – most of us, I’d guess – share her weaknesses, what most of us don’t do is try Napthali’s way of dealing with them: ingesting a catalogue of psychedelic drugs and recording the results.
This is a deeply personal quest and there’s nothing remotely scientific about it. Napthali, who wrote the bestseller Buddhism for Mothers, appears to be a restless soul who is really, really hoping the drugs deliver an experience that will help her make peace with herself.
And she’s certainly energetic, working her way around the world and through a long list of psychedelics and therapies: psilocybin in the Netherlands; to Portugal to try some bufo (often gathered by squeezing toads, now available in synthetic form); “holotropic breathwork” in Sydney; Queensland for some MDMA; ayahuasca in Costa Rica; back to Sydney to try LSD; DMT near Newcastle; then Sydney again for mescaline and ketamine.
These may not be mainstream treatments, but nor are they quite as fringe as they would have been a few years ago. These days, psychedelics such as LSD aren’t just for drug-crazed hippies but are increasingly being investigated as treatments for conditions including addiction and depression. The bestseller status of US writer Michael Pollan’s 2018 book on the subject, How to Change Your Mind, as well as Andy Mitchell’s Ten Trips from last year, are signs of the growing interest in using psychedelics for purposes other than just having fun.
That said, Napthali’s recounting of her experiences may not convert hardened cynics. Such as me. I have no idea what “merging with the universe” means and even less inclination to find out. Nor do I yearn for “ego dissolution”, as many psychedelic drug users apparently do. And as for Napthali’s drug-induced meeting with the Buddhist goddess of compassion, that’s light years away from my reality.
But, if it works for you … some people obviously do find comfort, and self-knowledge, in their psychedelic journeys.
Not that Napthali’s descriptions of her own drug trips are always a hard-sell for the experience. Yes, she sees beautiful colours, hears soothing music and chats with talking animals, which all sounds rather lovely. But not every trip is a good trip: under the influence of psilocybin, she feels as though she is being raped, then has delusions that her son has died.
To her credit, Napthali repeats some standard warnings about the potential dangers of psychedelics, such as being risky for people who are predisposed to bipolar disorder or schizophrenia. It also pays to check your stuff, especially since psychedelics are illegal in most jurisdictions, which means your supplier may not deliver the genuine goods. And if you must do this sort of thing, it’s best done in a safe, supportive environment with someone you trust to keep you from harming yourself while under the influence.
But what about the big question: does any of this actually work? In Napthali’s case, not in a single-blinding-flash-of-light-that-changes-everything kind of way. But, she says, her trips “made me happier than I ever remember feeling and, given the afterglow, for longer periods than I’d ever experienced, sometimes weeks”. She also credits the drugs with helping her deal with past trauma and revealing the meaning of happiness.
And if you’re not in the market for an expanded consciousness, there may be more down-to-earth benefits: she reckons psychedelics fixed her sciatica and even reduced her craving for ice cream.
My Year of Psychedelics, by Sarah Napthali (Allen & Unwin, $37.99), is out now.
