Born Again on LSD: Part 5

by Jonathan Hansen, MDiv

When I took the bold step to enter the ambulance which was waiting to receive me in my parents’ driveway, I believed at the time that I was, in reality, dying and going to heaven. A bold step indeed, but understandable considering the destination. After all, who would say ‘no’ to heaven, especially at the invitation of one’s own mother? What could there be to fear?

However, it wasn’t long before things took a left turn.

Heretofore, I had experienced a deep paranoia on account of my LSD fueled delusions regarding my parents and my brother. If you recall, it seemed as if they were communicating in a cryptic yet highly evolved level, and had been doing so unbeknownst to me all my life long. Throughout the course of my trip, it became apparent that this cabal extended well beyond my family to encompass the world, with the exception of myself and a handful of other pitiful souls who were seemingly incapable of operating at that level. Until this moment, I occupied the place of a stunted dunce, ignorant of my own inadequacies — a boring burden on those around me. And now, though I was able to understand their form of speech, I was nevertheless unable to participate. I lacked the skill, the intelligence, the grace. It was a terribly troubling experience. Humbling, to say the least, and more distressing than anything.

But, I was invited into something more — into Paradise — for I was able to understand, and respond by accepting the invitation to enter the ambulance and die. However, I quickly found that it wasn’t that easy. Upon entering, something strange happened. My heart condemned me.

No doubt that the utter failure of the set and setting to cradle and care for me during this time compounded the issue, as busy impish hands began grabbing me, holding me down, and strapping me to the gurney in a sort of cock-eyed cruciform — one hand bound in leather above my head, the other at my side, and both feet. Something was wrong, and I began to understand that it was me being there. What had I been thinking, imagining myself worthy of going to heaven? How impossible it now seemed; how presumptuous! It seemed so painfully clear now that I was not worthy of such a grace.

That awful truth was a cold, stinging slap to the face. And, interestingly in hindsight, I recollect that I did not blame God for my predicament at all. God was in no wise to blame for my current situation, only myself. It was my heart that rose up to condemn me. What had I done? Who had I been that would allow entrance into heaven? Nothing and no one. On the contrary, I was inadequate in every way. Not only was I an utter failure in living in the highly evolved community that I had so recently grown aware of, but my entire life had been lived in arrogance, and ignorance. I had acted important, when I was nothing — only a burdensome leech who contributed nothing good to the world around me, and now my time was up. I had never so much as said sorry for my faults or sought reconciliation for the breaches I had created in my relationships. I was proud and for no good reason. I was a fool, and now I had earned my just reward. I’ll say it again — I felt as though it was just. I knew in my heart that it was fair.

And it was forever.

This is a concept that absolutely harrowed my soul — the permanency of it all. And this is a concept that I have had trouble truly communicating to my listeners whenever I have told this story. I can only encourage you to take a moment and sit with the idea, and not to pass it by as a banal sentiment. I thought I had died and gone to hell… forever. I had a shot at life, and I blew it in my arrogant pride, and now I was following those who had been damned before me into a world of lasting torment. O, the horror! The pure calamity to my soul! O the absolute and undying terror of it! And who had ever come back from hell to tell the tale? Certainly no one that I had ever heard of.

Eventually, the ambulance arrived at the hospital and I was wheeled into what seemed to be an emergency room. I was screaming out. I was flailing. I remember kicking a nurse, and I also remember a moment of relative calm when a male doctor came to me, cradled my face in his hands and looked long and steady in my eyes, most-likely to better see the dilation of my pupils. To me, in my shook mind, he was Jesus and his face seemed pleading, pacifying.

When he left the room, I continued in my raving, my shouting. I wailed, ‘I don’t want to die! I don’t want to go to hell!’ over and over again as my distressed parents looked on and encouraged me in the best way they knew how. They told me to ask Jesus to forgive me and he would. He would save me from hell.

But, that was only for people who were alive, right? Jesus wasn’t able to save those already commissioned to the pit, was he?

On the other hand, what did I have to lose? I was already in hell for goodness sake. How could it possibly get worse? So, I did it. Right there, in the chaos of the emergency room, with the nurses bustling and my family with me, I cried aloud ‘Jesus, save me! I’m sorry! Forgive me for my sins and save me!’ And, he did. As I remember it now, 30 years later, all seemed to go quiet. The nurses softly finished up and left the room leaving in their wake a sense of stillness and calm. Shortly after, my bonds were loosed, and I sat with my family in an awkward after-glow. Then we went home.

I had been saved from the very depths of hell and born again by one who had gone there before me. This was a feat I didn’t even know Jesus was capable of, but there I was.

And, thus began a very long and winding road to recovery. Though it is not talked about very often in the psychedelic community, for some people, the effects of a powerful experience such as this does not dissipate right away, but rather lingers, and continues with a poisonous festering. Simply put, I remained addled and crazy for months afterwards, even spending a month in a mental hospital and making an attempt on my own life. I was shaken and my grip on reality remained tenuous at best, still entertaining delusions and self-loathing. It was a very difficult time for me, and I wasn’t out of the woods yet.

There were three pillars I began to lean on — Jesus, the Scriptures, and the Church. There were times when my anxiety and fear grew so crippling that all I could do to keep from slipping into a raging panic attack was to ball myself up in the closet and repeat the name of Jesus over and over again. The memory of the grace and forgiveness that I experienced that night lived in my memory and grounded me. 1 John 3:20 says that ‘if our hearts condemn us, God is greater than our hearts and knows all things’ and truth eventually won out. My heart continuously condemned me, but the remembrance of Christ plucking me from hell-fire proved greater than my heart.

And I began to give myself over to a life in the Scriptures. They were a boon and a distraction. As I felt lost and incapable of interacting with other people in a normal way, abiding in the Bible and learning its stories was a welcome reprieve from the distress that went with figuring out how to act normal. I began to memorize it, and found certain passages to be a balm; particularly Psalm 51, which is attributed to King David after he had raped Bathsheba, gotten her pregnant, and had her husband killed surreptitiously under the ruse of battle. ‘Take not your Holy Spirit from me’, and ‘Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation’ became a mantra.

With these, I had my youth group. I don’t know who it was, but someone suggested to my parents that they take me to Cross-Current, one of the nation’s largest youth groups at the time which met in Rockford, a city neighboring our little town. There, I found the most welcoming community of young people, and I will forever be grateful for the love that they surrounded me with. They became my friends, my siblings, and my life-raft in a sea of internal trouble. Not only that, but the brand of worship that they practiced was just what I needed at the time. It was repetitive, steeped in the Scriptures, and very well orchestrated. Whether they knowingly intended it or not, it was perfectly crafted to allow the participant to enter into an altered state of consciousness with the help of a tight band, synchronized light show, and hypnotic lyrics. It was a way I could pursue transcendence with a supportive social group.

And so, I was nurtured and propped up until I could stand. I was encouraged in my interest in Jesus, the Bible, and the Church and eventually went on to help lead a small group, then teach Bible classes in a Christian private school. This led me to continue my education in a more academically rigorous way, and I pursued and acquired a British Bachelor of Divinity through the University of Wales at Spurgeon’s College, London, UK, with the intent to continue on as a Bible or Theology teacher. There, while working the Imperial College Chaplaincy as my field placement, I began to feel stirrings toward the priesthood, which ultimately led me to the Seminary of the Southwest, Austin TX and the Episcopal priesthood.

But, that is a different story, for a different day.

Though this experience wasn’t my first or last with LSD and other sacred plants, it was without question an experience that shaped me in a deep way. It was agony; it was desperate, yet I don’t regret it. It started me down a very rocky path that took years to grow smooth but it was a path that provided a self-awareness that I never would have achieved on my own. I began to take my life seriously afterwards. I began to realize that my actions toward others have import. I began to realize that at the end of my life, my own heart will shout out like a trumpet with a sound I cannot gainsay. I have done things that I regret, and I have been someone that I have not always approved of, and frankly, I lack the power to pardon myself.

I began to also realize that the image of God as an angry judge which had been propped up for me during my youth was superfluous. It was unnecessary, for I did not need God to condemn me. No matter how I might try to paint over it, it was my own heart that condemned me. What I needed God for was mercy, grace, forgiveness, and love. And, it is these attributes that, from that awful day, began to glimmer into a sparkle, a star, a rising sun, a white and all encompassing light. That is what I want you to take from this. It is God’s love and free grace that is the lesson I most profoundly learn through the psychedelic tools that God has made.

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