The Allegory of the Cave, Matias Delcarmine (2020)
“The strength of a person’s spirit would then be measured by how much ‘truth’ he could tolerate, or more precisely, to what extent he needs to have it diluted, disguised, sweetened, muted, falsified.”
-Friedrich Nietzsche
“I do not forget that my voice is but one voice, my experience a mere drop in the sea, my knowledge no greater than the visual field in a microscope, my mind’s eye a mirror that reflects a small concern of the world, and my ideas - a subjective confession.”
-Carl Jung
Read the introduction first if you haven't yet: https://psychedelicmemoir.com/introduction/
Volume 1
Chapter 1: Divine Journeys
Doctor Strange
Fresh from the movie’s closing scene, I opened my notepad to pin down the endless list of thoughts before they evaporated. It’s a familiar ritual—yet this time something feels different. I feel an urge to share these raw reflections with the world, as if the words themselves demand an audience. So, here I am, mid-trip, writing my thoughts in real time, a snapshot of my experience, unpolished but alive. If others find it helpful, all the better. If they fade away into obscurity with no interest from the world, they’ll still have served their purpose, helping me make sense of my own inner cosmos. Perhaps that’s all any written word aspires to do—writing for oneself.
The journey begins today, March 12, 2017. Each chapter of this work will capture a single session. My writing will be free-flowing, just as it is now. Perhaps it won’t qualify as a traditional book—it might resemble a collection of unfiltered thoughts, more akin to a compilation of drunken social media posts. Yet, I feel each LSD session should follow a structure, which I envision as five distinct phases.
The first phase is The Rising, a time of meditation and focus. This phase is about preparation—a moment to ground yourself and approach the journey with calm and respect for the sacredness it entails. Next comes The Opening, when the drug begins to take effect. This is the time to receive new material, and art, in any form, serves as the ideal stimulus. Alfred North Whitehead once described philosophy as an attempt to express the infinity of the universe through the limitations of language, but I think that description is better suited to art. Art pushes the boundaries between the known and the unknown, much like psychedelics. It manifests the subconscious—the unknown—and makes it accessible to the ego, the known. The third phase is The Analysis, which occurs as the LSD’s intensity begins to fade but remains active. This is the phase for intellectual effort, a time to explore and dissect the symbolism and philosophy of the art or ideas you’ve engaged with. Following this is The Realization, the fourth phase. Here, metaphysical truths come to light. Art becomes meaningful only when it connects to our values, and by dissecting it, we uncover deeper insights into those values and, by extension, into ourselves. The final phase is The Integration, where the truths you’ve uncovered are embedded into your model of reality. By refining your understanding of the world, you move closer to embodying the logos—the ultimate principle of order and meaning.
In addition to the five phases, the experience should aim to achieve three overarching goals. The first is removing inner pathology—identifying and eliminating toxic values, behaviors, and patterns that hinder growth. Psychedelics can act as a powerful tool for this transformation, clearing the mind and soul of destructive elements. The second goal is understanding the pathology itself—analyzing what it was, how it manifested, and how the psychedelic experience facilitated its removal. This reflection helps you trace the process of transformation and comprehend the mechanics of your healing. The third goal builds upon this understanding: to develop methods for addressing pathology in others. This involves extracting the curative processes of the psychedelic experience into frameworks that could apply to non-pharmaceutical interventions or enhance the psychedelic experience itself. The aim is to make personal transformations faster, deeper, and more successful while translating these lessons into a broader context. It’s about leveraging individual insights to create tools for collective healing.
I just experienced a profound vision. When taking LSD, you enter a new reality. It’s important to clarify that this is not an alternative universe as depicted in science fiction, but a dynamic construct shaped by the interplay of your perceptual systems and the external “real world,” which we can never perceive directly. Reality, in this sense, is a synthesis—a “rendering” generated by the brain from sensory input, filtered and shaped by cognitive processes. Consider light as an analogy: the visible spectrum represents only a tiny fraction of the electromagnetic spectrum. Similarly, our perception of reality is limited to what our sensory and cognitive systems can process. When that perception shifts—whether through psychedelics or other means—you truly experience a new reality. This transformation extends beyond sensory changes, encompassing cognition, emotion, and interpretation. For this reason, calling it a “new reality” feels not only valid but deeply accurate, even if the term might sound clichéd.
The vision was as follows: As the effects of LSD take hold, two worlds begin to diverge. There is the familiar world we navigate daily, and then there is the “LSD world”—what I call the realm of the divine. I mean this in a philosophical sense, not a religious or supernatural one. In this state, my ego feels split. One part remains tied to ordinary reality, serving as a bridge between the two worlds, while the other ventures deep into the divine realm, gathering insight and knowledge. The intensity of this division depends on the dose. With higher doses, the ego’s capacity to maintain this connection strengthens, allowing the exploratory self to journey deeper into the divine. This feels like an explorer venturing into an uncharted jungle, bringing back discoveries from the unknown. Yet the deeper this explorer ventures, the more the superego dissolves into the experience, making the return to the original self increasingly challenging. The superego in being the part of the psyche that upholds moral standards and societal norms. Communication between these two selves becomes strained, as if the explorer has journeyed so far that the language needed to describe what it saw no longer exists.
This experience closely parallels Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, where prisoners are chained in a cave, facing a blank wall, with their understanding of reality based solely on shadows cast from objects passing in front of a fire behind them. These shadows represent the prisoners’ perceived reality, but not the truth of the external world. When a prisoner escapes and experiences the outside world, he sees the sun and the true forms of objects, gaining genuine knowledge. This escapee, now enlightened, returns to the cave to share his profound insights, but finds communicating them challenging because his fellow prisoners cannot comprehend realities they have never seen. Similarly, with LSD, a low dose keeps the connection between the two worlds relatively intact, making it easier to articulate what was learned. However, the insights gained are often surface-level, like skimming the ocean’s surface. In contrast, a higher dose allows for a deeper plunge into the divine realm, but the cost is clarity. The metaphors and language we rely on to describe the experience begin to break down, leaving only fragmented truths that resist translation. This creates a delicate balance. Push too far, and you risk losing the ability to integrate what you’ve learned. Stay too close, and the insights remain shallow. The key might lie in understanding the threshold—how deep you can journey without severing the line that brings you back to yourself.
Culture embodies truth. Systems of shared values, beliefs, and practices of a group of people. Passed down through generations and shape the way individuals perceive and interact with the world around them. They are not static; they evolve over time, adapting to new circumstances and incorporating new ideas. However, certain core elements often remain persistent, reflecting enduring values and interpretations of reality that hold deep meaning for the people within that culture. Anything significant enough to endure across vast stretches of time carries with it some form of truth. This is not necessarily scientific truth—not in the strict, technical sense. Rather, it is a truth rooted in how we interpret reality within the confines of subjective human experience. Cultural legacies persist because they hold meaning, and that meaning reflects a truth—provided we examine it with the proper level of analysis.
Consider traditional music as an example. When a particular style of music endures for generations, it is because it resonates with something profoundly meaningful to us. But why does this resonance occur? What mechanism imparts such significance to a cultural artifact like music? Understanding this mechanism offers more than just an explanation of cultural persistence; it provides insight into reality—not the objective, quantifiable universe, but the reality shaped by our lived interactions with it. This is the domain of human experience, where meaning emerges and persists. In exploring and uncovering this domain, we come closer to grasping the nature of truth itself.
This principle extends to every aspect of culture: lore, clothing, religion—every expression of human life. These are not arbitrary artifacts of history; they are reflections of what matters to us, what has shaped us, and what has enabled us to survive and thrive. To study culture is to study ourselves. It is a mirror, revealing the values, fears, and aspirations that define who we are as individuals and as a collective. When we examine the differences and similarities across cultures, this introspection deepens. We begin to uncover the threads that connect us as human beings—the universal patterns that bind us and the unique divergences that illuminate the rich variety of our shared story. In this way, culture transcends its surface form as a collection of artifacts or traditions. It becomes a map of our shared and individual truths, a code embedded in our existence. Through it, we can trace not only where we have been, but also understand who we are and glimpse where we might go.
The perfect human is the one who exists in a state of true, eternal peace—just as I do now, though I know this fleeting equilibrium will vanish the moment sobriety returns. In this state, there is no worry, no bias, no ego. There is only the pure perception of reality as it is, paired with an unyielding pursuit of truth, regardless of where that truth may lead. It is the antithesis of how we navigate everyday life, even for those who claim liberation from such constraints. Intellectuals strive mightily to transcend worry, bias, and ego, yet these elements persist—they are integrated into the very essence of our humanity. And paradoxically, it is precisely this worry, this bias, and this ego that define what it means to be human. Our flaws, struggles, and toxicity do more than hinder us; they shape and anchor our existence. Without these imperfections, what remains of us? Stripped of these layers, who or what are we?
This thought leads me to the idea of a perfected consciousness—a version of ourselves that is pure, complete, free from imperfection. Yet that notion feels fundamentally wrong. It isn’t us. We are flawed by design, our chaos integral to what we are. Whatever that perfected state might be, it is not human. It is something other, something beyond comprehension. Perhaps it represents the beginning of a post-human existence, a step in the evolution of transhumanism, or perhaps it is nothing more than an illusion—a fleeting glimpse of what lies beyond the boundaries of our flawed and chaotic selves. Either way, the idea raises an unsettling question: if we were to shed the traits that make us human, would we lose something valuable and irreplaceable? Or would we, at long last, become what we were always meant to be?
It’s strange how my current state is often perceived as enlightenment. Yet paradoxically, it carries with it the most profound contempt for human existence I’ve ever experienced. This clarity doesn’t bring solace—it strips away every comforting illusion, exposing just how pitifully limited we are. We’re little more than puppets, our strings pulled by Nature, enacting a script authored by biology and circumstance. From the moment we are born, we are limited—restricted by the limits of our bodies, driven by instinct, and molded by the relentless influences of our surroundings. And it doesn’t end there. As we move through life, we are pulled in countless directions by forces we scarcely notice, prey to biases we don’t even realize exist. Everyone believes they are the architect of their destiny, meticulously crafting the masterpiece of their life. But in reality, every brushstroke is guided by factors beyond their control—by unseen, unnamed, and misunderstood forces. The tragedy isn’t simply that we lack control; it’s that we remain oblivious to how little agency we truly have. We walk through life blind to the strings manipulating us, unaware of the currents shaping every decision, every action, every thought. Worse still, we are blind to our own ignorance. It’s a revolting condition—to live in a perpetual delusion, convinced we are free agents while being anything but. And enlightenment doesn’t ease this burden; it only makes the delusion harder to endure. The more clearly you see the strings, the more unbearable their presence becomes.
There is always a persistent tension between practice and theory. Many people consider them two halves of a whole, meant to merge into a single, cohesive approach. However, I believe the relationship is more complex. While practice and theory should indeed inform and enhance one another, they are best understood as distinct entities—complementary, but separate. This nuance became particularly evident to me while reading Jung’s work on dream interpretation. Jung placed immense importance on dreams, regarding them as windows into the inner life, illuminated by archetypal symbols. His approach, however, did not align with the rigorous standards of contemporary scientific methodology. It was speculative, often ambiguous, and left ample room for interpretation, which understandably invited skepticism from critics. Yet, Jung was not only aware of these limitations; he embraced them. For Jung, the speculative nature of dream analysis did not diminish its therapeutic potential. Even if interpreting dreams sometimes felt random or uncertain, he believed that, when approached with care and intuition, the process could lead to profound insights. Jung observed that dreams, when properly analyzed, could achieve breakthroughs in therapy that conventional methods often failed to reach. To him, this potential justified the practice.
From the therapist’s perspective, Jung argued, the goal was not merely to dissect every theoretical nuance of how dream analysis worked but to facilitate healing and self-discovery for the patient. If interpreting a dream led to meaningful psychological progress, that success mattered more than achieving theoretical precision. For Jung, this belief stemmed from a deeply moral stance: the therapist’s duty to the patient took precedence over strict adherence to scientific clarity. Yet, Jung did not abandon his scientific curiosity. He was deeply driven to uncover why dream analysis worked. He sought to explore its mechanisms and the collective unconscious—a deeper, more universal layer of the psyche beneath the personal unconscious, which is composed of individual memories and experiences. This collective unconscious contains the psychic inheritance of human beings, a set of shared memories and archetypes that are not acquired but inherited. These archetypes manifest as universal themes and symbols found across various cultures and historical periods, providing insights into the universal aspects of the human psyche. However, this intellectual pursuit—his desire to understand the underlying principles—was distinct from the immediate goal of the therapeutic process. For Jung, these were two separate but interconnected roles - and they are both essential.
The practitioner addresses the here and now, resolving specific issues and providing relief or insight to the patient. But the scientist’s work is just as critical—it provides the understanding necessary to improve the practice and adapt it for future cases. Without that deeper understanding, any success doesn’t guarantee external validity. External validity refers to the extent to which findings can be generalized to other situations and to other people. In a scientific context, it means assessing whether what worked in one instance would apply to another. Without external validity, a practitioner might attribute an outcome to the wrong cause, mistaking correlation for causation—a fundamental issue the scientific method aims to resolve.
This dynamic extends far beyond the field of therapy. It is a universal pattern across disciplines. When tackling problems, we often begin with the knowledge at hand, applying what we already know to find solutions. In many cases, this approach works. But when it doesn’t, deeper investigation and experimentation become critical. Here, practice feeds back into theory, offering real-world insights that challenge existing knowledge and refine our understanding. The newer and more complex a field, the more this interplay between practice and theory matters. Fields like psychology and neuroscience, still evolving and filled with unknowns, exemplify this dynamic. Practitioners may achieve remarkable results without fully grasping the mechanisms behind their methods. Meanwhile, scientists strive to uncover those mechanisms, ensuring that successes can be replicated, improved, and adapted. This creates an ongoing cycle where practice informs theory, and theory, in turn, elevates practice. Together, they drive progress, each role indispensable to the other.
For progress to occur, one must first acknowledge the existence of truths that remain beyond understanding—a concession to the immense complexity of reality. Jung grasped this notion deeply, and it became a cornerstone of his practice. He built upon the work of Freud, Adler, and many others, using their insights as a foundation. Yet, he also recognized the limitations of their methods. When Jung encountered approaches that proved effective, he adopted, refined, and incorporated them into his own evolving philosophy and methodology. This cycle of discovery and refinement did not end with Jung. Those who followed in his footsteps applied the same process to his ideas, taking what worked, discarding what didn’t, and adapting his concepts to new contexts. This iterative process has repeated endlessly, generation after generation. Over time—through decades, centuries, and even millennia—the collective model improves, becoming more precise and sophisticated. In this way, humanity inches closer to the truth, never fully attaining it but steadily illuminating its boundaries.
Aldous Huxley, an English writer and philosopher whose seminal work The Doors of Perception documented his experiences with mescaline and explored human consciousness and perception, offered a perfect analogy for this: the Platypus. At first glance, the Platypus seems to defy comprehension. When European naturalists first encountered it, they believed it to be a hoax. A mammal that lays eggs? A creature with the tail of a beaver, the webbed feet of an otter, and venomous spurs? It was absurd, seemingly incompatible with the scientific frameworks of the time. Yet the Platypus existed, undeniably real. Its reality could not be dismissed simply because it did not fit existing theories.
The Platypus serves as a powerful metaphor for the countless phenomena that exist in the world yet elude our understanding. Their reality is independent of whether we can explain them. For the practitioner, this is a crucial lesson: you don’t need to understand every aspect of how something works for it to be real or useful. What matters is recognizing that these truths exist and being willing to engage with them, even when they challenge or surpass current knowledge. This openness is essential for the practitioner. Progress depends on navigating the unknown with humility, embracing what works even when it defies explanation or disrupts established frameworks. Without this willingness to engage with the “Platypuses” of the world, progress stagnates. The practitioner’s role is to accept the unexplained and use it for the benefit of others, while the theorist works to bring those mysteries into sharper focus. Together, these roles drive humanity forward, deepening our understanding of reality step by step.
Previous: Preface