Whispers — I just love a catchy title, right?
Let me set the scene. It’s Sunday Funday and my girlies are already deep into it: unlimited mimosas, a meat and cheese tray, a reserved table in “our” section, and Sunday Funday with sound blaring from every TV. On commercial breaks, the DJ is spinning everything from Reggaeton to ’90s R&B. Yeah — it’s that type of Sunday Funday.
I’m coming from my Sunday sessions, having a bit — well, a lot — of FOMO. I arrive with bells on and am greeted with the, “Omg gurl where have you been, how were your sessions, what are you drinking, have some meat and cheese!” You know the kind of greeting that instantly shoots serotonin into your veins — and also lets you calculate what number of mimosas everyone is on by pitch and cadence alone. I immediately knew this was going to be a long one. And by long one, I mean 3pm to 1am type of long one.
After hugs and air kisses, I ease into the moment, take off my shades, and greet everyone else. I decide I’m not hungry yet and order my right-now usual — mezcal neat, Tajín rim, orange slice garnish. I pop a 10mg gummy and surrender to the ride.
I recently purchased some new gummies — from a brand I like — but a different type, and I really wasn’t feeling them. Headaches in the back of my head, pressure, none of it enjoyable. I decided to try them one more time — against my better judgment — because, ya know, data research. In this economy, who has the leisure to throw money away? I also come from the era of waste not, want not. And I couldn’t, in good conscience, give them away either — because they’re legit horrible.
I could already feel the effects of the horrible gummy, so I turn to my friend and say, “Aye, which ones do you have? Let me get another 10mg.”
Now, mama is well-versed in the land of plant medicine — through smoke and digestion. I’m not new to this; I’m true to this. If you’ve ever taken my Spirits & Substance class — number seven in the year-long Intuitive Development course — you know how we explore the intersection of Spirit communication and substance ingestion: the ritual, the safeguards, the divinity, personal interaction, bias, and how all of that affects readings, holding space, and connectivity to Spirit.
You think Costa Rica ayahuasca trips are new? Puh-LEASE. This ritual is as old as time.
I start munching on crackers, salami, and cheese and realize — after a few makeshift Lunchables — that I am, in fact, hungry. Listen, I’m too old to not know how to hold my liquor. My friend is ready for real food too, so we order sliders and mac and cheese. Honestly, all I remember is the mac and cheese.
I’m standing, bopping to the music, when the thought “I need to go to the hospital” pops into my brain. I flash back to seven years ago when — as a novice in the world of plant medicine — I ate a 100mg Rice Krispy treat on 4/20 and thought walking like Frankenstein (hands out and everything) would help me manage the 1000-lb buttah Timbs I was wearing. That night, I laid on the floor of my studio apartment, between my bed and couch — too high to sleep and too sleepy to do anything else. Just stuck in the in-between. Riding the wave. We’ve all been there.
I tuck myself into a corner, climb onto a high-back bar stool, stare at my mac and cheese, and casually say, “I’m really high.”
And the next thing I know, I’m waking up on what my mind thinks is the deck of a pirate ship, with my friends yelling at me. I’m utterly confused.
Why is there so much commotion? I feel amazing. But I can sense something’s wrong. I start doing psychometry — reading the room — and I can feel worry, sadness, panic, concern. Did I miss something?
Blink. Why are people yelling?
Blink. Is someone holding my hand?
Blink. Is there an ice pack on my chest?!
Blink. Who is rubbing my foot?!
Blink. Ohhhh… I’m on the floor. Not a pirate ship.
Blink. How the hell did that happen?
Blink. OOOHHHH… I’m under the table.
Blink. I recognize my friend. Ohhh — that’s the “Bitch, what the hell?!” face.
Blink. Oooohhhh… I’m in trouble.
immediate shame <<<<<
I look around. “Why are all my friends looking at me? Omg, everyone is looking at me!”
I blurt out, “I was with Spirit. I’m fine!”
Soooooo apparently I hit my head on the wall, seized, looked like I died, and then woke up saying, “I was with Spirit, I’m fine.”
Y’all. That did not go over well.
I have two friends who’ve had near-death experiences. I’ve read Michael Newton’s Life Between Lives trilogy more times than I can count. I’ve taken myself down many rabbit holes. I’m well-versed in the storytelling of “stepping foot in Spirit.” Ironically, one of these conversations happened just weeks before — a friend and I texted about his experience, and I was able to help validate and ground him through it.
What I experienced, I can only describe as being a white, wispy being. Not an angel per se — but I absolutely understand how humans would personify these entities as such. I was flying so fast and so high. Fireflies might be a better description. Everything was white, with touches of pinks and blues. Above us was a supreme energy — all-knowing, loving, powerful. Pure bliss. Perfect harmony. No agenda. No competition. No language — yet we all knew what to do.
I was holding one of the wisps’ hands as we soared together. High, then low. Organized movement — almost like a perfectly choreographed dance — no music, no conductor, no eight count. Zig-zag patterns. Straight lines until the curve of change. There was no time. No reason for time to exist.
And then instantly, I was sucked back through a portal — insert black montage, movie-style — and I began blinking.
Even while typing this, the words feel so insignificant compared to what I experienced. I want this moment custom-painted and hanging in my home. I want it to live outside my body. I want every living being to visit that place. Truly.
What I love about my neighborhood Cheers isn’t the security guard who once tackled a drunk man in a kilt with no underwear on St. Patrick’s Day — it’s the community.
We not only know each other’s names, we know each other’s stories. We hold them with reverence, dignity, and yes, a lot of laughter. I’ve attended wakes, been privy to pregnancy announcements, forwarded resumes. We’re a real community.
And no matter how blissful and life-changing my experience was, I unintentionally caused harm to my community — something it took me a few days to realize.
Seeing fear and concern in their eyes, even after I kept repeating “I was in Spirit,” mattered. One fellow water-sign regular hugged me tight and whispered, “Yeah… you were in Spirit alright. Hmph.”
layer on the embarrassment <<<<
With every being in my body, I didn’t want to go to the hospital. But they had already called 911 — and if a bar calls 911, it’s serious. I declined the police, but the paramedics got me outside and explained that the combination of a low blood pressure reading plus a head injury could be dangerous.
My social worker instincts kicked in. I was oriented to time, date, and place. I knew who the little orange man running the country — tantrum after tantrum — was. I knew all my demographic information.
In my master-level counseling theory class, we learned the importance of never assuming someone’s POV when they share news. If a client says they were proposed to, you don’t automatically say “Congratulations.” If someone transitions, you don’t automatically say “My condolences.” They could be feeling joy, relief, or contentment. You leave space. I sometimes forget this is a learned skill — one I’ve practiced for over twenty years. Not everyone has it.
I had just experienced something that changed me forever. I had been there. I was there. I WAS THERE. And those who witnessed it were — rightfully so — having the opposite reaction.
It’s like when your favorite aunt joyfully announces her divorce at Thanksgiving and everyone responds with concern. She’s full of joy, relief, and freedom — and now she has to spend the entire day explaining why it’s a good thing, because the people receiving the news can’t yet reach her POV.
Those who know me know I talk openly about death — especially after my mother’s transition. In the work I do, death is a continuum of space, time, and spheres. I joke about being bamboozled into another Earth tour. I joke about the messiness of this human experience. Do you know how excited I was to tell others that I was there? Ecstatic.
Let me finish the sequence of events. I got an MRI. Everything was fine. I was home a few hours later. By hour three, I was tracking down nurses every twenty minutes like, “Bro, let me out — when I came in here, I was fine.”
The next day, I brought my favorite bar my famous peach cobbler and a card that started, “Well… that was scary, huh?” and closed my tab.
I try not to cause harm to my village — unless I’m using my Cancer claws, and then it’s intentional. Bits of the story trickled in over the next week. People checked in via texts, DMs, emails. Emails. EMAILS. By Thursday, I was fully expecting a Hogwarts owl to arrive with a handwritten note.
Earth will throw you curveballs.
Once the dust settled, I immediately texted my friend, “I’m in the club now!” — the club no one asks to join, but somehow recognizes you once you’re in. There was an instant sense of belonging, of being understood without explanation. I also shared an abridged version of this experience with a few people in my spiritual community — very selectively — and almost immediately, they shared their own experiences. Different imagery, different textures, same knowing. Same there-ness. That exchange grounded me in a way nothing else could. It reminded me that while this experience was destabilizing in one community, it was deeply legible in another.
Did my friends sign up to witness my unsanctioned plant-medicine trip? I don’t think anyone woke up that morning thinking, “Yup, I might watch a friend low-key die today.” And if they did — I am deeply thankful.
There will be moments in community where no one, or very few people, will be able to pivot and hold space from your POV. That is a skill possessed by highly emotionally intelligent people — and those licensed to do so.
The thing about community is we want to belong. That’s a natural human need. Sometimes you walk a path others won’t understand until they walk it themselves. Do I wish I received the same space-holding I give others? Absolutely. Do I want to scream, I DON’T CARE HOW YOU FEEL, DO YOU KNOW I WAS THERE? Yes. Is that selfish? Maybe.
But intention and impact both matter. If — intentionally or not — you cause harm, you tend to it. That’s how community stays strong. That’s how community stays alive.
Oh, and definitely find your way to the wispy flying place. It’ll change your life. Just… do it supervised.
I’m pretty sure one of the gatekeepers radioed, “We have another trespasser. I’ll let her fly for a few Earth moments, then send her back through the tunnel.”
Energetic all-knowing presence: “Copy.”
