Guidance for psychedelic experiences and what comes after.

Preparation. Most psychedelic experiences are shaped before they begin. How you enter — the intention you carry, the fears you haven't examined, the context you've chosen — determines what becomes possible inside. I work with people before they go in: clarifying what they're actually asking for, surfacing what might resist it, and building the inner conditions for genuine opening rather than overwhelming.

Navigation. Being inside a psychedelic experience is a skill — one almost no one is trained for. How to remain oriented when things become difficult. How to stop fighting what's arising. When to lean in and when to hold ground. I teach these capacities before you go in, and can be available during if that's what the situation calls for. The difference between an overwhelming experience and a difficult but integrable one is often technical.

Integration. The experience is an opening. Integration is what you do with the door that's now open — and it asks more of you than the ceremony did. Not analysis of what you saw, but whether your body is different, your relationships are different, whether you're actually living from what the medicine showed you. This is the long, unglamorous, essential work. We use meditation, breathwork, somatic practice, and deliberate engagement with the natural world — not as separate techniques, but as pathways back into the life the experience pointed toward.

At ten, I was put on a daily dose of Ritalin. By fifteen I had lost all trust in adults, thought about suicide daily, and lived on the edge — abusing drugs, living recklessly, looking for an exit. By seventeen I discovered mushrooms and LSD and started falling back in love with life again. By eighteen I'd gone too far — chasing psychedelic visions I had no idea how to integrate, collecting insights like souvenirs from a gift shop I'd broken into.

Then the dark night arrived and took everything apart.

What came after — years of silent meditation, disciplined yoga, vision quests in the wilderness, breathwork intensives, multi-day fasts, a slow and humbling return — eventually became the work I do now. I'm not offering shortcuts. I've been on the other side of what happens when you skip the preparation and skip the integration. I know what it costs.

The point of psychedelics — and of healing in general — isn't transcendence. It's return. Changed, humbled, and genuinely useful to the world around you, if you do the work. I offer not answers, but companionship on the walk back.

A word about how I'm wired: I live in my head. Analysis has always been more familiar than feeling, ideas more comfortable than presence. My entire path has been about closing that distance — from the head to the heart, from knowing to being, from insight into embodiment. Psychedelics were central to that journey, not as shortcuts but as teachers. I suspect many of the people who find their way here share this pattern. The medicine tends to go directly for what's most locked away. I know that territory from the inside.

Academic depth. Triple major in Psychology, Philosophy, and Religious Studies at McGill; MA in Psychedelics and Consciousness Studies at the University of Ottawa, where I developed the Psygaia framework. Doctoral research is the next step.

Contemplative training. Zen practice at Enpuku-ji in Montréal, silent Vipassana retreats, Ashtanga yoga, certified instruction in yoga and conscious connected breathwork. I teach in private practice and rehabilitation settings, and have trained in and led ceremonial contexts.

Institutional independence. Founding researcher and director of Psygaia; founder of Woven. I operate outside pharmaceutical models, institutional lineages, and wellness industry incentives. I can tell you what I actually see.