Ernie Wiseman
Next to the state prison in Salem, Oregon, and just down the street from Graveyard Bar, Psilocybin Services is one of 24 facilities licensed to offer legal and regulated psychedelic experiences in the state.・There is a center.
Travel Weekly first wrote about the intersection of magic mushrooms and the travel industry three years ago, and since then I’ve received several emails with “psychedelic tourism” in the subject line. One of her books, which I received in late March, had a hook that appealed to me. Your guide on your psychedelic journey is former NFL running back Ricky Williams.
I’m not a huge football fan, but Williams always struck me as a rare professional. He was a Heisman Trophy winner whose career was most promising on the field, but he was repeatedly suspended for failing drug tests that detected marijuana use. He showed little remorse. He touted the medicinal properties of marijuana and wondered why the league wouldn’t allow its use when trainers can freely distribute Valium and Ambien, for example. He retired in 2012 at the age of 34.
Since then, he has touted not only cannabis for medical use, but also psilocybin mushrooms, which were legalized in a referendum in Oregon in 2020 (Oregon was the first state to legalize, followed shortly after by Colorado). also participated, but its legal use preceded several states (U.S. municipalities and Washington).
I’m also part of the group that experimented with psychedelics in college, and a promo I saw recently talked about stumbling on magic mushrooms as a spiritual journey and mental health therapy, but I’m not a fan of psychedelics from a New Age or self-help perspective. I had never worked on intake. . But trying them out convinced me that, in the computer metaphor, our brains can play host to multiple operating systems. Consciousness is far more malleable than I had imagined, and the insights I gained within my psychedelic-induced consciousness seemed to hold up quite well after the trip.
Psilocybin Service Center in Salem, Oregon Photo credit: Arnie Weissmann
The night before my session with Williams, I spoke with Sammy Kahuku, a close friend of Williams and the owner of the Psilocybin Service Center. He asked for my birth data – the date, time and place I was born – for Williams to create a chart.
I gave it to him, hoping that Williams’ approach to astrology would be more meaningful than what I had seen in newspaper horoscopes.
The center is located behind Hall of Strains, a legal cannabis dispensary owned by Kahook and his wife. (Some of the items are labeled with Williams’ Heisman brand, a play on the trophy Williams won in 1998.) The center itself is larger than I expected. , there was also a room for his group of about 35 participants.
The walls of the small room we entered were lined with framed Op Art posters, and there was a sofa, a recliner, and a chair for the certified kahuku who facilitated our sessions.
Prior to arriving, per Oregon State requirements, I received a Customer Bill of Rights and initialed the consent form before putting down my pen, alongside the sentence beginning “I understand that…” I had to type it 30 times. Among other things, I came to understand that psilocybin is not approved by the FDA, that some people find psilocybin difficult or uncomfortable, and that my facilitator may take short bathroom breaks. Ta.
Upon arrival, I had to sign 13 more documents, most of which agreed to various disclosures, including being hugged and, in some cases, having a hand placed on my hand, foot, or shoulder. I was also asked if I would agree to this in advance.
Ricky Williams is interviewed by KATU’s Christina Giardinelli before his first psychedelic session at the Psilocybin Service Center.Photo by Ernie Wiseman
Williams and I met and were each given one gram of sealed granulated mushroom powder blended to promote creativity and euphoria, Kahook said. We were supposed to open it, mix it with a single-sized Mott’s applesauce (we were wondering why we were asked if we were allergic to applesauce), and eat it. It tasted exactly like pure applesauce.
We were sitting on the couch. Kahuku was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room. He wasn’t there to facilitate conversation, but to observe and act as a calm assistant in case we needed anything.
I started by asking Williams about his interest in astrology and what he learned from my chart. His explanation was detailed, including the various planets and their influences. It was much more than a newspaper horoscope. I asked if what he saw in his own chart primarily reflected what he already knew about himself. he said no. “Astrology doesn’t tell you who you are. It just puts pieces on the board.”
By the end of that discussion, I had gone from being a cynic to fully respecting Williams’ perspective. His use of astrology was integrated into a larger worldview, which we delved into as the session progressed.
After about 20 minutes, I started having trouble concentrating on the conversation. The hallucinations began and everything began to move as the walls, rugs, ceiling, and especially the blank black chalkboard became three-dimensional.
All of this may sound interesting, but I also started to feel very nauseous. Overwhelmingly yes. I skipped lunch, and I started to wonder if that was a mistake.
Kahuku asked me if I wanted to move to the recliner, so I did, but leaning back didn’t help. He asked if the lights in the drop ceiling were too bright. Williams and I both said yes. He turned them off. But I realized that complete darkness is worse. He introduced a small machine that projected moving stars and galaxies onto the ceiling. It didn’t help.
Why was I doing this? I asked myself. The day before, I was in Seattle being interviewed for an upcoming Netflix documentary about last year’s Titan submarine implosion (I was scheduled to dive on the sub a month before the tragedy). Ever since the implosion, I’ve been wondering if I shouldn’t be so quick to say yes to activities on the periphery.
I thought this was very unpleasant. When I looked at Williams, he was sitting cross-legged on the couch, Buddha-like.
But then I started feeling better. I went back to the couch. Williams, who didn’t say anything while I felt nauseous, said he had felt nauseous himself, and that the first thing that happens when the mushrooms he calls medicine takes effect is an old soccer injury. I said it’s something to feel. It starts to hurt.
For the next hour and 20 minutes, Williams and I had a long and wonderful discussion about… everything. Great universe. life. religion. work. Teamwork. relationship.
Williams is very calm and thoughtful and has a consistent view on all of this. Although we didn’t always see things the same way, many of his observations were not only true but profound. He said that his personal goal in these sessions is always to know himself more deeply, but at the same time to be a great guide.
And I concluded that psilocybin promotes relationships. We bonded.
Our session was the first offered by the center and was, in a sense, the equivalent of a shakedown cruise for a new ship. I then sent feedback to Kahuku. Williams and I agreed that the Op Art posters were of no use to us and could be moved to the hall, but the mesmerizing blank blackboard should definitely remain. We agreed that the lights should be muted.
Williams comes to the psilocybin service center once a month on a weekend to guide group sessions, but plans to come more often if demand increases. This experience was pitched to me as “psychedelic tourism,” but for now the sessions are being offered as standalone experiences. Williams and Kahuku are interested in packaging additional experiences to make it a true tourism product.
The cost to join the group is $150. Private sessions range from $800 to $2,500, depending on dosage and duration (sessions last from 1 to 6 hours). The travel advisor receives her 10% commission on the booking.
Shall we do it again? I would. Although the nausea was unpleasant, seasickness never deterred us from returning to the ship. In either case, the rewards are well worth the cost.
