How LSD Changed My Perspective on Life

This is a true story of how LSD helped me heal from depression. I had just quit my job and set off alone on a camping road trip across the American Southwest, seeking some sort of vision which would help guide me through the next chapter of my life. The following trip report recounts that magical day spent at Zion National Park, Utah, 2015.

View along Kolab Terrace

I managed to pull myself out of bed by 6:15am in order to get to Lava Point as early as possible to increase my odds of securing a campsite. The drive there was beautiful as I watched the sky slowly illuminate to a red glow, casting a gentle light onto the Virgin River. As I left the town of Springdale and headed toward Virgin, the gateway town to the Lava Point campground of Zion National Park, I had to keep my eyes peeled for the tiny, discreet sign for Kolab Terrace Road on my righthand side. There was no mention of any national campground, unlike every other nook of the park which was clearly marked. I was glad to explore a lesser-visited region of the park as I began ascending to the 7,500 foot elevation campsite, which I later found out was only established and acquired by the park service in 2014.

Along the way I restrained myself from pulling over but a few times to photograph the stunning undulate, umber and maroon rock forms in the morning light, knowing full well that the longer I lallygagged, the slimmer my chances would be of getting a site. After driving out maybe thirty miles from Springdale up Kolob Terrace, I finally saw a brown national park sign indicating that the Lava Point Campground was only a little over two miles away; I took the righthand turn down a bumpy unpaved road, which by now felt entirely familiar and part of the adventure of going into the backcountry.

I pulled in, hoping the odds would be in my favor… success! Two sites had just been cleared out, leaving only four others occupied. Remote, indeed. There was obviously no running water but I was grateful for the pit toilets fully equipped with hand sanitizer — practically a luxury. I pulled into site 1, which was closest to the road, albeit a little traveled one. Still, site 2 seemed a better option, adjacent to a path toward the overlook. I parked in front of the fire pit and got out to register my license plate and duration of stay on the park roster. As I was logging my info, I overheard a man ask his buddy, “Do we have to pay for our site??”

His bro then replied, “No, it’s free — pretty sweet, actually.”
“Oh, well I was lookin’ at that lady over there…” That lady. Hmph.

I started to set up my tent and was silently mocking their bellowing conversation punctuated with YEAHHHs and YA KNOWs and obnoxious belts of laughter. I would think that the types of people coming out to secluded areas would value privacy and relative peace and quiet, but it seemed these two had no awareness that they were disturbing the entire campground with their loud, echoing conversation.

View from my campsite

After I had set up my tent and pulled out a chair to read and journal, debating whether or not I should take LSD that day, to my horror I heard a man’s voice nearby, “Hello, good morning!” Shit.

They both came over, and in a falsely cheery voice I called out, “Hi there, how are ya?”
“We’re good… how are you?” one of them responded, eyeing my body.

I introduced myself and they did the same: Josh and perhaps Jason, or something equally common and forgettable. We chatted for a bit and they suggested that I come over to their fire pit later in the evening after they get back from their hike. Jason, or whatever his name was — the Alpha Male of the dyad, a definite extrovert and smooth talker — asked what my plans were for the day. Evasively, I told them I was just going to take it easy, kick back, read and hike over to the point later on. Nice, nice, well cool… we’ll catch you later tonight. Yeah, rad. I totally omitted the part about me taking LSD. Oops.

Dropping Acid

After they left, I pulled out my drug purse, a knitted and felted clutch I bought in Brighton, England, and pulled out my Ziplock of shrooms and acid, toying with the idea of whether or not I should dose. Well, why not — absolutely!! I came all this way for this, right?

Without further hesitation, I put one of the tabs on my tongue, preparing for the 150ug to hit me over the next 20 minutes.

And hit me, it did. Slowly, my campsite came alive… the black bands across the quaking aspen trees behind my tent became eyes, sentient and watching me. As I sat cross-legged in my chair gazing out into the woods, a pair of oak trees began to glow golden, their gorgeous autumnal foliar hues bringing me to tears in their ephemeral beauty. I felt incredibly grateful to be where I was right then at that very moment.

Autumnal hues bring tears of gratitude to my eyes

Eventually, I began to feel restless, or stimulated I should say, as I so often do on LSD. I got up and slipped out of my Birkenstocks so I could lace up my hiking boots, set on walking over to Lava Point itself. It took me seemingly forever to get myself in gear. What would I need? My hat, an apple, okay all set. Oh wait, camera… open the car door, get the camera, shut the door. Forgot my water — open the car door, zone out. I was so distracted by the beauty around me that I was having trouble focusing on my immediate tasks. No matter, eventually I had everything I might need for the next few hours, so I walked over to the trail right by my campsite which led to the overlook.

Even at 10 in the morning, it was still so cold that fallen leaves along the trail were icy. It didn’t matter to me, though; my bigger concern was predators: bears and venomous snakes. In my heightened, vulnerable state, I caught myself feeling pretty paranoid, a sense of fear which escalated rapidly when I noted bear prints right on the very path I was walking along, completely alone. I looked up and my heart stopped — I saw a huge shadowy figure, convinced it was a black bear. I stumbled backward and did a double-take, realizing then that the black shape was, in fact, a log. Geez, get it together. It took all my courage to continue walking into the forest until after a short while, I came across a junction leading to the overlook. Relieved to be out in the open again, I walked over to Lava Point, unsure of what to expect since, due to the relative newness of the site, there were few pictures available online of the area.

What I saw took my breath away: the canyons of Zion lit by the morning glow, surrounded by the Colorado Plateau; Bryce Canyon was visible in the distance, the Escalante-Grand Staircase monument further west, the Dixie National Forest dotted with golden cottonwoods and aspen, a view which went on for miles.

Lava Point, view of Zions

I stood there admiring the panorama when after a while I heard a jingling come up behind me. An older man, probably in his late 60s or early 70s, came up and exclaimed, “Oh, good morning, I don’t often see hikers around here!” We got to talking for a while, and I could feel the acid coming on more by the minute, but held my composure by trying to seem serene and sober during our conversation while sneaking glances at the rippling sky and spiraling patterns across the mesa. Turned out he’s a man who led a pretty interesting life: teaching English in Korea for seven years, living in Lesotho for several, traveling to Cambodia, New Zealand and South Africa, and many national parks in the US. He gave me a few tips on places to hike and where to visit locally, and after about twenty minutes of us talking, he moved on, setting out back home to do a load of laundry, apparently.

Alone again, I began to wander along the perimeter of the point but soon felt a little uncomfortable with several cars that just pulled up to catch the tail end of the sunrise. I ducked out and walked back toward camp where I ate my apple before setting out on the trails in a different direction, toward Barney’s Trail. What a name. Anyhow, I got to the trail and saw that it was a very steep, narrow path and I had no idea where it led. All I really wanted was a quiet place to sit and sink into my thoughts. Along the trail, I rested on a boulder in the shade… I gazed over to the delightfully chubby-leaved Douglas fir trees and felt a sense of calm and contentment wash over me. I sat there a while, God knows how long, before meandering back to the point. I was alone again and found a quiet nook overlooking the mesa and canyons. At last, alone with my thoughts…

Dawning Realizations

View from my hidden trip spot

Sitting on a rock overlooking the mesa, 1,000 miles away from anyone who knew me, I began to contemplate my life with a feeling of reverence.

I thought a lot about the kinds of people I had recently encountered on this trip and how I almost felt like a “fraud” in a sense up against these bouldering enthusiasts, BMXers, avid hikers, canyoneering pros and outdoorsmen. I thought about how my old worldview confined me, how I held onto false beliefs about the incapacity of my body, and therefore my mind, to achieve certain physical, spiritual and emotional milestones. Why was it that I believed one had to choose what kind of person to be in life? I had created a false categorical system whereby a person could be an exercise junkie, or a spiritual yogini, or an extroverted friend-to-all, but not more than one at a time. Of course I’m exaggerating somewhat, but I was examining my belief that people tend to have certain natural abilities which rarely encompass more than one broad sphere. But why? Why can’t I pursue a spiritual life while being incredibly fit and active, enjoying a rich social life? Why not? Why have I handicapped myself through my belief system?

Thinking back to how afraid I felt walking through the woods just an hour or two ago, I contemplated further how much fear had dominated my life. I was afraid of life, of experimentation, of other people, ever since I was a child. My upbringing wasn’t the most favorable or stable, but regardless of that, I obviously was susceptible to such a mode of thinking for reasons of my own. My mind then began to focus on the role that depression had had in my life. My depression was severe and has colored some of my earliest experiences in life. Depression, I realized, is a total loss of perspective… I suddenly felt disgusted with fear, with depression, with the self-indulgence of it all. I say disgust, but what I really mean is a compassionate contempt, a sort of holy judgement suffused with the redemptive power of epiphany.

Depression was a fabricated “meaning” in my life, which granted me purpose by virtue of something to overcome, a constantly elusive barrier against happiness, a state which once achieved, I would know I had “earned” by grace of having conquered my inner darkness along my own hero’s journey. But it was all a self-indulgent ruse, a distraction from extrospection — from seeing the world as it is, without putting myself, my suffering, my perspective at the center of the universe, or even my own world.

Over the last few months, I mused, something marvelous had begun to transform inside me. As my friend Vickie once said, I was “moving out of self.” My obsessive preoccupation with my needs, my wounded feelings, the supremacy of my belief system and personal biases had all eclipsed and drowned out the call and wisdom of outer experience, of fully inhabiting my body, the earth, and my rightful place in society as I truly am. Not as a misfit, not as a “recluse” (as though such a term were a personality trait rather than justification for narcissistic isolation), but as a woman here in this vast, unfathomably beautiful world for an instant in cosmic time. Reclined on the rocky slope overlooking the valley, I fully felt and grasped, at last, how precious and insignificant my life truly is.

It was almost unfathomable to me that the geologic architecture before me was created, eroded, shaped, inhabited and vegetated over hundreds of millions of years. I pictured an unimaginably long lineage leading to my birth, tracing it backwards from my parents, to my grandparents, onward back through countless generations, figuratively back to Adam and Eve, the dawn of mankind as we know it. I felt an immense sense of oneness, of genetic and karmic linkage to every human being on earth, and my heart swelled with a feeling of unconditional love. Suffering transformed into love…

...Seeing the history and destiny of man, the infancy and barbarism of our civilization in the context of the unknowable future, but one which we may be able to divine: an era of intergalactic travel, of technological supremacy, of mastery over our own fate in the solar system. Or, so our collective human vision seems to be, anyway…

Merging

Who will I now be without depression? My depression was a form of greed, a thirst for experience, an unfulfilled lust and hunger for multiplicity, for endless options, finding none of them satisfactory, consumed instead with ennui and self-created feelings of impotence in the face of being unable, or unwilling, to “choose” — a way of creating a paradoxical alternative world where I had limitless possibilities, and my only enemy was myself, the One who kept me imprisoned in my unfulfilled, stagnant life. But there are factors at play that have contributed to my unwellness… my childhood is fully explored to me by now, but something I began to realize on that trip is that living a so-called “civilized” life does indeed have a price. I don’t mean this in the hippy way, like, “Yeah man, we’re meant to live outside with the Earth, ya knooowww?” But the sentiment finally struck a cord with me in a very primal way. Walking through the woods, feeling a sense of fear for my very survival, I experienced for the first time a sensation that I am entitled to nothing in life, that if a black bear were indeed to appear and rear for attack that very moment, there would be no reasoning out of it, no speed-dialing God to plead my case: I was wonderfully powerless.

Living in a way where one is truly at the mercy of nature and one’s own survival abilities, even if only for a short while, reawakens something deep in the recesses of human nature, which, I truly believe cannot be excised from our being. I felt fully in my body, in my mind, and in the present moment, fleeting, all-powerful, and completely powerless.

I slowly walked over to the Point to watch the sunset and could hear nothing but my own breath: my surroundings were completely silent. It was as though time itself had paused, the wind momentarily holding its breath before exhaling up along the cliff where I was standing.

I felt a powerful sensation in that moment that my soul was being reborn, preparing for my next incarnation, whoever or whatever that might be, and that I stood for nothing, represented no cause and wore no garb of ego or ambition.

I was simply there, unmasked, unaffiliated, fully myself and yet nothing like I ever thought I was. I was not merely the young woman from California who had quit her job and was out on a camping trip — no, I was a conscious entity merged with tree, wind, rock, and humanoid body simultaneously. I felt a complete sense of emptiness, a wellspring of possibility and receptivity, and at last, satiety. There were no tears of joy, no waves of euphoria or release… I was simply there, in the moment, free of the confines of self. It was marvelous.

Coming Down

I felt myself coming down from the acid and walked back to the campground at sunset, noticing it was beginning to cool down rapidly.

Clearing en route back to campsite

I got to the car and unpacked my thermal pants and shirt, layering up for what was sure to be a long night. Taking advantage of the last hour of sunlight, I pulled out my outdoor stove that a friend had lent me and I heated up a can of organic chicken and dumpling soup which I devoured, ravenous from hardly having eaten that day. I rinsed out my tupperware and packed up my gear back into the car before locking it up for the evening. Not wanting to interact with the bros at their fire pit, I crawled into my tent, exhausted and desiring sleep but knowing full well it would be extremely unlikely that evening. It’s hard enough to sleep on acid after tripping at home, let alone in a new environment, in the cold and in my confining sleeping bag. I tossed and turned, laughing at my predicament, trying instead to appreciate the humor of my insomnia. It was worth it, though, it was all worth it…

Visions floated across my eyelids: fractal aspen trees, botanical imagery, my ten year old self in Hawaii wearing a yellow bathing suit, frowning, uncomfortable with her body and feeling alienated from the other children playing in the waterfalls, my sister at home weeping. I felt compassion, but not pity, for her depression. I remembered a dream I had had the night before, one which I only vaguely recalled but the emotion behind it was retained. In it, I was talking to a high school friend of mine, and we were having a long and melancholic conversation by nightfall. I felt, remembering the dream, a sense of departure from that adolescent self, a release from the girl who demanded I keep score, hold grudges, believe in my own victimization… I let it go. I let her go…

...An image of condensation along the ceiling of a dimly lit cave, slowly following the vector of gravity, finally blobbing off and falling freely as a single drop of water: my individuation at last, free from the mother and yet made of her. Departing and no longer fixed on carving out an identity, I will simply be. Without definition, without limiting parameters of who I can and cannot be. I shall transcend my own self-imposed limitations without any attachment to the outcome, without appraisal of my success or failure, for there is no such thing. I am nothing… and I cherish my life. Gratitude.

Sometime around 10pm, I heard Jason come over and holler that I should join them if I was around, so I called out, “Thanks, I think I’m going to conk out for the evening though — good night!” For the next few hours, I tossed and turned fitfully in my tent, absolutely unable to fall asleep, instead entertaining myself with impish scenarios. What if I ducked over to the car and honked the horn incessantly in the middle of the night?? What would the other campers do? And then in the morning I could apologize in a Russian accent, in broken English of course, “I’m sorry, my sister, she does this.” HAHA. Oh boy, I was losing it; I needed to sleep.

The moon was shining brightly directly above my tent… and sometime around 3 or 4 in the morning, sleep finally claimed me after a most profoundly transformative day. A new beginning. The shaping, unification and renewal of my soul.

Like what you read? Check out my other trip report!
• Psychedelic Bliss: Rectal mescaline + LSD + DMT + Kava

Or, take a look at my other travel logs:
• My Road Trip Around Gorgeous Iceland!
• Incredible Iran
• Perito Moreno Glacier, Argentina
• Voyage to the End of the Earth: Antarctica

Who am I?
• Psychonaut, World Traveler, Steemer! Saying hello at last :)