DMT: The Spirit Molecule: A Doctor's Revolutionary Research into the Biology of Near-Death and Mystical Experiences

by Rick Strassman M. D.

  This space between channels, or the absence of channels, is not empty; rather, it is itself full. The content of the programs replaces this perfect emptiness with their busy fullness. Neither is its nature necessarily “potential.” Rather, it is complete unto itself. It needs nothing to exist as it is. But it needs something in order to take shape or form, to manifest.

  For some volunteers, DMT’s ripping away of consciousness from the body was the stimulus to seek that space between the various levels of perceived reality. They went straight to that empty totality underlying their sense of themselves and the outside world, no longer supported by the body. As Freud commented years ago, “The ego is first and foremost a body-ego.” With no body, what’s left? These research subjects, like Carlos and Willow, experienced mystical consciousness by virtue of leaving their bodies behind.

  Other volunteers found their way to their essential nature through a more direct use of their own will. Sean gave himself permission to go further and deeper into the unknown. Elena disengaged from the wild display of psychedelic colors that obscured their formless foundation. Both succeeded in pulling back and moving forward with just the exquisite knife-edge balance required to make that daring leap into the space between thought, perception, and feeling. The spirit molecule led them to the edge, but it was up to them to take the final step.

  Now that we’ve covered some of the ways in which naturally occurring or outside-administered DMT may provide us with access to such remarkable and astonishing experiences, let’s consider the evolutionary significance of naturally produced DMT. In other words, why is there DMT in all of our bodies? Is it a coincidence? Or is it for a purpose?

  From the perspective of plants, mushrooms, and animals that contain DMT, it is reasonable to propose that other species, especially humans, would seek and protect them. Those who smoke, drink, or eat DMT-rich life-forms experience highly desirable transport to worlds beyond the imagination. Those psychedelic experience–inducing species would rank high on a list of essential renewable resources, and their survival becomes important to their neighbors.

  But then why do humans produce DMT? To date we have discovered no life-form that smokes, eats, or drinks human pineal glands, so we must discard the hypothesis that DMT somehow ensured our physical survival.

  Perhaps our ancient ancestors who produced DMT possessed some adaptive advantage over those who did not. Maybe their access to different states of consciousness provided superior problem-solving abilities compared to DMT-less members of our species. Those who had the capacity to synthesize DMT eventually replaced those who did not.

  While there is some appeal to this argument, the presence of DMT in so many other readily available forms weakens it to some extent. That is, if someone could not make their own DMT by, for example, deep meditation, there are plenty of plants full of DMT much easier to use than austere spiritual practices. This would certainly be the case for people who live in a DMT-rich environment, such as Latin America.

  A more fruitful line of reasoning emerges from the implications of DMT release at death and near-death conditions. These are the times in which the life-force or spirit moves into, out of, and through our bodies. We discussed the biological mechanisms of this proposal in chapter 4. Here, let’s use those ideas to investigate their possible significance.

  At first glance there seems little evolutionary advantage to the individual or the species in releasing enlightening chemicals as we die. However, Karl Jansen, a British psychiatrist, proposes that one particular type of near-death brain chemicals does indeed confer benefit to the nearly dead. This is because of their “neuroprotective” properties.

  In the presence of ketamine, strokes and other acute forms of brain injury are less destructive. Animal data suggest that ketamine-like substances exist in the brain. Thus, during near-death experiences the brain may release these substances in order to minimize brain damage in case that individual survives. The nature of the near-death experience is due to the psychedelic “side effects” of ketamine.8

  However, there remains the question of why ketamine has psychedelic, rather than, say, tranquilizing, effects. While the release of neuroprotective compounds near death certainly is a useful response, the psychedelic side effects are not as obviously beneficial. We must therefore wonder, are these spiritual properties a coincidence, or do they have a purpose?

  I suggest that near-death chemicals released by the brain are psychedelic for this reason: They must be. It is similar to asking why there is silicon in computer chips. Silicon works. It does the job. Near-death brain products are psychedelic because those are the properties consciousness requires at that time.

  Psychedelic compounds released near death mediate consciousness exiting the body. This is their function and this is what they do. DMT is a spirit molecule, just as silicon is a chip molecule. Rather than just causing the mind to feel as if it were leaving the body, DMT release is the means by which the mind senses the departure of the life-force from it, the content of consciousness as it leaves the body.

  These theories refer solely to DMT’s role in unusual states of consciousness. However, might DMT exert an effect on our normal everyday awareness? The fact that the brain actively transports the spirit molecule across the blood-brain barrier suggests this might be the case.

  In chapter 2, “What DMT Is,” I pointed out that the brain seems to “hunger” for DMT; it expends precious energy actively transporting the drug from the blood into its inner recesses. It is as if DMT were necessary for normal brain function.

  Perhaps just the right amount of DMT is involved in the brain’s maintenance of the correct receiving properties. That is, it keeps our brains tuned in to Channel Normal. Too much and all manner of unusual and unexpected programs appear on the mind’s screen. Too little, and our view of the world dims and flattens.

  In fact, these types of numbing, vitality-draining effects are what normal volunteers describe when they take antipsychotic drugs. These drugs may block the effects of endogenous DMT. Perhaps we see and feel what we do on this level of existence because of just the right amount of endogenous DMT. It is an essential component maintaining our brain’s awareness of everyday reality. In a way, we might consider DMT to be a “reality thermostat” keeping us in a narrow band of awareness so as to ensure our survival.

  When all the speculation, no matter how exciting, stimulating, and revolutionary, is over and done, what are we left with? Even if it turns out that what I’ve proposed is one day proven true, what do we truly gain from DMT? Once more, we return to “if so, so what?” To what purpose? As the New Mexico research drew to its complicated ending, I began to work through the deepest question that I brought to the studies.

  In the beginning of this chapter, I raised the issue of how difficult it is to accept the existence and effects of the spirit molecule in our bodies. In a similar way, can we accept the conclusion I have finally reached? That is, that the nature of DMT is essentially neutral and value-free?

  The spirit molecule is neither good nor bad, beneficial nor harmful, in and of itself. Rather, set and setting establish the context and the quality of the experiences to which DMT leads us. Who we are and what we bring to the sessions and to our lives ultimately mean more than the drug experience itself.

  Nevertheless, DMT and other psychedelics will never disappear, especially those we make in our own brains every minute of the day. We must take into account all of their complex and mysterious power in any reckoning of human consciousness. So, this one “neither-nor” answer does not mean that there aren’t many unqualified “yes’s” to important questions about the best use of these drugs. The set and setting we used in New Mexico provided a tremendous amount of information about what is and isn’t possible with the assistance of the spirit molecule. Now it is time to turn to what to do with that knowledge. Is it possible to convert that information to good use?

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  The Futures of Psychedelic Research

  Thi
s closing chapter discusses possible futures for using and studying DMT and other psychedelic drugs. These scenarios assume a willingness to enlarge the scope of discussion about psychedelic drugs, much as Willis Harman yearned for during our walk along the California coast years ago. Well-informed opinion shapers and decision makers will best determine how accessible and acceptable these drugs become. The most fruitful applications will emerge only if we can set aside the fear, ignorance, and stigma associated with the psychedelics. We also must avoid the naïve and wishful thinking that mars the arguments of some advocates for their use.

  These proposals are based upon years of intensive reflection and discussion over the events at the University of New Mexico. While the overall picture this chapter will paint may look overly optimistic, it is, on the contrary, more realistic than my original research designs. This is because it is based upon anticipating and dealing with most of the implicit assumptions about working with psychedelics that inevitably lead to negative outcomes and premature closure.

  One of the most important of these is that psychedelic drugs are inherently beneficial. All that’s necessary for a positive outcome is to take them.

  Another is that psychedelics are “only” drugs. That is, their effects are independent of the environment in which people take them, and of the goals, expectations, and models held by those who give them.

  We have rediscovered for ourselves in the DMT research that neither of these common beliefs is true. Thus the model I will present avoids these two most basic and pernicious fallacies regarding working with psychedelic drugs.

  Before peering into the future, let’s take a brief look at the present research situation. It will be a quick glance.

  Several human psychedelic research projects using mescaline, psilocybin, ketamine, and MDMA are active in the United States and Europe. No one is studying DMT. All these projects use the “psychotomimetic” model, comparing psychedelics’ effects to symptoms of schizophrenia. These are pharmacology and brain physiology studies.

  Two psychedelic psychotherapy programs are underway. One, in the Caribbean, is an ibogaine treatment program for substance abuse; the other, based out of St. Petersburg, Russia, is studying ketamine-assisted psychotherapy, also for drug abuse.

  I see many forks in the road when imagining future work with DMT and other psychedelic drugs. One of the major branches divides into “research” versus “use.” Some wonder if “psychedelic” and “research” are two words that even belong anywhere near each other. Let’s first address this concern.

  In the research setting there is the expectation of getting data from your subjects. This affects the relationship between those who administer and those who receive psychedelics. Volunteers know they need to give something to the project, and scientists want something from them. For the person under the influence, just having his or her trip is not enough. For the investigator, helping that person have the best possible outcome isn’t fully adequate, either. This sets up expectations, with the inevitable possibility of disappointment, resentment, and miscommunication. The interpersonal setting is fundamentally altered.

  There are several alternatives to this model, all of which are much more popular than the research one. However, popular doesn’t necessarily mean “best.” And the argument against the research model often is just that: there are better ways to experience these drugs.

  Indigenous cultures continue using psychedelic plants much as they have done for thousands of years. Members of African churches in Gabon take ibogaine to contact their ancestors; in Latin America, the DMT-containing brew ayahuasca provides the soul access to other worlds; and in North America, peyote opens spiritual realms for healing and guidance.

  Modern Western use of psychedelics in non-research settings continues to grow. Many people take psychedelics, by themselves or in intimate group settings. In these cases of “popular” use, psychedelics might be used to gain different perspectives on the self, our relationships, or the natural world. Some use them at large communal gatherings, indoors or outdoors, with or without music and dazzling light shows. A small number of psychedelic therapists administer these drugs in individual or group therapy. Pockets of religious use also exist—for example, ayahuasca-using churches are spreading to North America and Europe. In all these cases, the illegality of psychedelics’ use stunts open dialogue about their effects in these settings.

  There is nothing wrong with any of these models, but it’s important not to confuse or interchange them with the research format. Research may one day lead to ways of using psychedelics that don’t require obtaining data from participants and adhering to relatively rigid rules of interaction. In the same way, new medications and therapy techniques, if shown helpful in research, make their way into everyday professional and social interactions.

  Much of this conflict seems to come from muddled thinking regarding the underlying motives for using psychedelics. Thus, the answer to the question “What is the best way to take psychedelics?” is “It depends.”

  If you want to have fun, take them alone or with friends and spend the day in a beautiful setting. If you want to learn something about yourself and your relationships, take them with a therapist. If you want to feel part of humanity, take them at a concert, rave, or other large gathering. If you want to experience a deeper relationship with the divine and its creations, take them with a religious teacher, community, or in Nature. If you want to contribute to the research endeavor, volunteer for a scientific study. These categories are somewhat arbitrary, and all sorts of effects might occur in any one of these possible settings; spiritual experiences may occur in a research study, for example, and psychotherapeutic ones in a religious context.

  However, trouble and conflict emerge when trying to blend different models because of confusion regarding authority and permissible behavior. This was the most obvious to me when dealing with the friction between the wide-open, rough-and-tumble, trial-and-error methods of science and my Buddhist community’s competing priorities of faith, discipleship, and doctrine.1

  We need an open dialogue about how best to employ these drugs in our lives and society. Because legitimate research is significantly more likely to provide a context for that level of discussion than any other type of use, I will limit this discussion to a research viewpoint.

  At the research level, we can divide projects into those that could be done as opposed to ones that should take place. That is, while there are numerous possible questions we can ask and study, doing so may be misleading or dangerous. Those dangers may affect us directly or indirectly. They also may be dangerous to other living things.

  The overarching concern I have about the use of psychedelic drugs has to do with applying them in the service of being helpful, rather than in being smart. Knowing how enlightenment “works,” near-death states occur, or alien abductions take place is not as useful as learning to be more kind, wise, and compassionate. That is, the biomedical model, “taking it apart and seeing how it works,” may be antithetical to the most fruitful applications of the psychedelic drugs.

  I come to this conclusion with a certain amount of irony, as many of the studies I will suggest are ones that I conceived some years before actually performing the research. Now that this stage of my involvement with psychedelics is over, I don’t necessarily feel they are as important as I once did, nor that I would want to do them myself.

  Let’s examine the range of research studies possible with these drugs, and their potential benefits, limitations, and drawbacks.

  Mechanisms-of-action projects will provide increasingly refined determination of the types of neurotransmitter receptors involved in psychedelic effects. Modern brain-imaging technologies also will allow us to localize brain sites affected by these drugs.

  However, while it may be possible to relate specific changes in brain physiology to certain subjective effects, we are far from knowing how one translates into the other. This, of course, is the holy grail of clinical neuroscien
ce, but it may be an unattainable goal, similar to finding the center of an onion: we can pull back deeper and deeper layers, but the center eludes us.

  Nevertheless, we will discover theoretically and clinically important information. A more sophisticated understanding of thinking, perception, and emotion may lead to new treatments for patients for whom brain damage or psychotic illness limits their ability to process information. It’s also important to be able to reverse acute negative effects of psychedelics in an emergency setting. Finally, we may be able to develop new psychedelic compounds with unique properties.

  This type of research is heavily dependent upon animal studies. We should balance our “need to know” with basic tenets of compassion for non-human animals. This pertains even more to those interested in psychedelics for therapeutic and spiritual purposes. Is it “spiritual” to kill countless laboratory animals so as to enhance our religious ecstasy or creative process?

  We already know a great deal about how these drugs work. Primarily focusing on mechanism of action or new drug development may lull us into believing that we are studying psychedelics in the best or most important manner. Perhaps we can spend as much time and energy learning how best to use the drugs we already have as we now do studying how they exert their effects, or designing new agents.

  We can investigate even the most unusual and controversial experiences to which the spirit molecule leads us by breaking them down into smaller component parts. No matter how exotic, however, these remain mechanism-of-action studies. We should remember the “if so, so what?” mantra as we probe, analyze, and experiment within even these lines of inquiry. How is what we learn helping us?