A reflection on preparing psilocybin tea and how plant allies gently guide us to open, soften, and feel again.
There’s something sacred about the pause before the pour.
When the herbs are steeping and the mushrooms are soaking. It's as if the spirit of the medicine already knows what's needed… and begins working long before it’s consumed.
When I prepare psilocybin tea for ceremony, I’m not just crafting a drink; I’m curating a moment.
One where vulnerability is welcomed, where truth is safe, and where the Self has full permission to rise.
Plant medicine doesn’t force you to confront your pain; it invites you into it, asks you to sit next to it, and offers a different perspective:
"What if your wounds weren’t failures, but passageways?"
"What parts of yourself are still waiting to be seen, not fixed?"
"Can you allow joy to be as sacred as grief?"
Each herb I add: Tulsi, Skullcap, Peppermint, Ginger; does more than heal the body. They create layers of support, saying that, You’re safe to feel this. You don’t have to armor up here.
And a Mazatapec Ceremony…
She doesn’t barge in loud or wild. She lingers at the edge of your awareness, gently pointing to the closed doors you’ve learned to ignore. With her guidance, I’ve found the courage to open up, not just to others; but to myself.
So much of our pain isn’t from the experience itself,
but from the parts of us that never got the chance to speak about it.
💛 What stories in your body are waiting to be witnessed?
💛 What does your inner voice sound like when it isn’t edited by fear?
💛 Can you be tender with yourself in places that were once hardened by survival?
This is the heart of the tea ceremony:
It’s not about tripping. It’s about returning to your breath, your truth, and your softest parts.
It’s about remembering that the body has wisdom. That your spirit is not broken. That silence can be medicine too.
So if you find yourself holding the cup in both hands, eyes closed, heart trembling…
Know that the work has already begun.
