Flames of Reverence: A Story of Sacrament and Togetherness

The last time Courtney and I burned two and a half pounds of psilocybin was two days before we were arrested—on July 2, 2015—fully anticipating a search of our farm, knowing we had been reported. What we didn’t expect was to be charged with possession, cultivation, and distribution of psychedelic mushrooms. Ironically, the arrest happened because we didn’t burn all the mushrooms, leaving behind some that law enforcement eventually discovered. But how could I have completely disposed of these “little saints”? They have been my sacred companions, a sacrament, from the first time I consumed them in 1999. In one form or another, sacred mushrooms have been a constant presence since 2003, when I first began cultivating them.

Rather than be without my sacrament entirely, the decision—for better or worse—was to burn everything except one pound. That dry pound was hidden in a hollow log but was ultimately discovered. The rest, as they say, is history.

Most people can only imagine incinerating that many “magic mushrooms” to avoid incarceration. Ironically, in 2015, we kept that pound out of respect and burned the rest out of fear. In the ceremony I am about to share from 2024, we burned some out of respect and saved the rest without fear.

We documented this ceremony in multiple mediums so there would be no doubt that this account is true.

Living the life I have over the past 25 years—a white, dreadlocked man from rural Kentucky, openly smoking cannabis, promoting post-colonial perspectives, advocating loudly for access to psychedelics and marriage equality—I’ve gotten plenty of strange looks. But perhaps none as strange as when we tell psychonaut socialites that we ceremonially burned several pounds of psilocybin mushrooms.

For me, this was something I had anticipated for ten years. I have admittedly (and reluctantly) sold mushrooms on the black market. I started a trend of psilocybin retreats in Jamaica that has generated millions of dollars for multiple companies. I’ve been paid large sums to hold space for high-profile individuals—the most memorable being one of my favorite reggae musicians. Clearly, there’s money to be made with psilocybin, and that’s fine. But I cannot say any of those models ever truly felt right to me.

From 2000 to 2013, I never charged for mushrooms or for holding space for anyone who needed it. It was a vocation, something that simply had to be done. After launching the retreats in Jamaica in 2013, money became inexorably tied to access. Sure, I gifted mushrooms to Jamaican friends or held space for them, but those were minuscule compared to the foreigners paying $3,000–$7,000 for retreats with three or four dosing sessions.

Studying historical psilocybin shamans such as María Sabina, it’s clear that ceremonies have been held throughout the ages without financial compensation. Offerings like tobacco were sufficient for the curandera or curandero. Nowadays, that approach doesn’t suffice. People want a price, an expected outcome, and even a refund if the outcome isn’t as anticipated. But that’s simply not how mushrooms work.

Mushrooms are a technology with inherent value, though that value is rarely realized immediately. Often, the true benefits emerge months or even years later, exceeding any arbitrary price tag placed on them as a commodity or on space-holding as a service. This is one reason I struggle to attach money to this ministry. Another is that most mushroom sessions are relatively easy and run themselves.

Of course, there are exceptions. We’ve had ceremonies where the care required would have blown any budget. Imagine managing a 300-pound, naked, violent man (a therapist, no less) for six hours to prevent him from harming the other 14 participants or five facilitators. That session alone was worth every bit of $10,000 on the public market.

After leaving the for-profit retreat scene, feeling disheartened by the commodification of psilocybin, Courtney, Athena, and I began creating what is now Psanctuary. Our goals were simple: provide low- to no-cost access to ceremonies and foster an authentic, supportive community built on non-hierarchical, peer support.

In 2021, we were far from flush with mushrooms, and I was the only minister. Now, three years later, our community is vibrant and thriving. We have mushrooms to burn and over 150 ministers holding space for each other with minimal financial exchange. By 2025, we’re committing to completely free mushroom ceremonies, leveraging our community’s strength in peer support and collaboration.

This is what mushrooms look like to me. The most important lesson I’ve learned in working with them is that mushrooms are egalitarian. They don’t care if you’re a millionaire or a meth addict; they meet you where you are and level the playing field. This is why I continue to advocate for low-cost, outdoor camping ceremonies. Why not start together at ground level, since that’s where the mushrooms will meet us anyway?

At Psanctuary, sincerity is baked into everything we do. As a public, proud church with a Schedule 1 substance as our only holy sacrament, sincerity is the cornerstone of our constitutional rights. Yes, we are so sincere in our beliefs that we ceremonially burn our surplus psilocybin to honor its sacred use.

Wherever you stand on the political spectrum, everyone I’ve spoken to deeply values our constitutional rights—especially freedom of religion and freedom of speech. Our foundational belief at Psanctuary is that every member has the freedom to work with psilocybin mushrooms as a sacrament on their own terms. While we offer guidance for building a relationship with mushrooms, we do not allow our sacrament to leave the community or be used non-ceremonially. When nature blesses us with an abundance of mushrooms, we commune with what we can and respectfully dispose of the rest.

As someone who deeply loves these mushrooms, who has had an active, passionate partnership with them for more than two decades, it feels paradoxical to find joy in burning two and a half pounds of psilocybin. But paradox is the way of the mushroom, and so I embrace it with open arms.