I help spiritually serious people tell the truth about what they’re living, listen for what the Divine is doing in it, and take the next faithful step, especially in seasons of grief, change, or threshold.
As a spiritual director, think of me as a torchbearer in a cave: you do most of the talking, I listen deeply and ask the questions that help you find your way.
Working Together
Writing & Speaking
Thesis: Oregon refined service centers. Colorado designed healing centers. 2026 will reveal which model actually scales with integrity . Top of Mind Policy debates often end too early. A bill passes. A framework launches. Headlines move on. But leaders know the truth: implementation is where intent is either honored—or quietly betrayed . As we head into 2026, two states offer a live case study in how access evolves after legalization energy fades. Oregon and Colorado are no longer asking whether access exists. They are confronting a harder question: What kind of access survives contact with reality? Their answers are diverging—and instructive. What Oregon taught us about operations Oregon’s early days were messy by design. The state moved fast, prioritized openness, and let the system reveal its own weak points. That phase is over. What’s emerged is an operationally disciplined model centered on service centers , and the refinements are telling. Training standards are tightening. Initial facilitator requirements left too much to interpretation. In response, Oregon has begun clarifying competencies—not just hours logged, but demonstrated skills in preparation, holding altered states, and post-session integration. This isn’t about credential inflation; it’s about reducing variance where vulnerability is high. Screening is no longer optional. Early narratives romanticized accessibility. Experience corrected that. Medical history, psychological readiness, medication interactions, and support systems are now treated as foundational—not barriers, but safeguards. Oregon learned the hard way that access without screening creates downstream harm that no amount of integration can fully repair. Integration is becoming non-negotiable. Perhaps the most important shift: integration is no longer framed as “nice to have.” Service centers are increasingly required to demonstrate how insights are supported over time—through structured sessions, referrals, and continuity of care. Oregon’s model is converging on a simple truth executives recognize immediately: outcomes decay without follow-through . Operationally, Oregon has become quieter, slower, and more serious. That’s not a retreat. It’s maturation. What Colorado emphasized from the start Colorado took a different path—not faster, but broader. Where Oregon optimized delivery, Colorado focused on designing the ecosystem itself . Equity licensing is structural, not symbolic. Colorado embedded equity considerations directly into licensing frameworks, aiming to prevent early capture by well-capitalized operators. This wasn’t perfect, but it sent a clear signal: access is not just about who receives services, but who is allowed to provide them. Indigenous consultation shaped the model. Rather than treating Indigenous voices as ceremonial, Colorado engaged them as stakeholders in governance conversations. That didn’t resolve every tension, but it shifted the tone. Healing was framed less as a transaction and more as a responsibility carried across generations. Outcomes data was prioritized early. Colorado placed emphasis on what gets measured—not just utilization, but impact. This includes safety events, participant-reported outcomes, and longer-term indicators of well-being. The state implicitly acknowledged a leadership axiom too often ignored: what you don’t measure, you don’t really care about . Colorado’s approach is less operationally tight today—but culturally and ethically ambitious. The 2026 friction points no one can avoid As both models collide with scale, three friction points are becoming unavoidable. Affordability. High-touch care is expensive. Training, screening, supervision, and integration all cost money. Without intervention, access risks drifting toward those who can already afford private alternatives. Both states face pressure to reconcile integrity with affordability—without diluting either. Workforce capacity. Facilitators, clinicians, supervisors, and integration specialists are finite. Scaling demand without burning out the workforce is not a regulatory issue; it’s a leadership one. Oregon’s tighter standards and Colorado’s broader inclusion both strain the same human bottleneck. Rural access. Urban centers benefit first. That’s predictable—and unacceptable if equity is more than rhetoric. Rural access challenges transportation, workforce distribution, and cultural relevance. Neither state has cracked this yet. 2026 will force the issue. Cross-pollination: what each state should steal from the other If leaders are paying attention, the answer isn’t choosing one model. It’s selective theft . What Oregon should steal from Colorado: · Formal equity metrics tied to licensing outcomes · Required outcomes reporting beyond safety compliance · Ongoing Indigenous and community consultation baked into governance What Colorado should steal from Oregon: · Clear, enforceable training standards · Mandatory screening protocols · Defined integration pathways with accountability This isn’t ideological blending. It’s operational wisdom. Strong systems borrow shamelessly. Closing: implementation is policy By 2026, the debate won’t be about access on paper. It will be about lived experience. Leaders should internalize this now: implementation is policy . Training standards shape safety. Screening determines who is harmed or helped. Integration defines whether insight becomes change or fades into memory. Frameworks don’t fail loudly. They fail quietly—through inconsistency, burnout, and unmeasured outcomes. Call to Action If you’re working in this space—clinician, operator, regulator, or funder—tell us what you believe should be measured. Not vanity metrics. Outcomes that actually matter. Because what we choose to measure in 2026 will decide which future of access we’re really building. Onward.
Thesis: 2025 made integration essential. 2026 makes it structured.
2025 was the year psychedelic care learned how to look credible. Clinics polished their websites. Protocols got named. Decks got built. Conferences got louder. Everyone learned the right words: set and setting, trauma-informed, integration, safety. And for a while, that was enough. The movement needed legitimacy, and it earned some, through early data, cautious regulation, and a growing public willingness to admit that “mental health as usual” is not working. Now comes the harder year. 2026 either builds systems or burns trust. Because spectacle has a half-life. Infrastructure doesn’t. “Less spectacle, more infrastructure” needs to become the baseline—not a slogan, not a branding mood, but the operating philosophy. The next era of psychedelic care won’t be won by charisma. It will be won by the boring parts. TokeepSilent. What “infrastructure” means in 2026 When I say infrastructure, I don’t mean “more clinics.” I mean the scaffolding that makes care reliable when nobody is watching. 1) Screening as a standard of care—every time 2026 is the year screening stops being a marketing checkbox and becomes a clinical reflex. Not “Are you anxious?” Not “Any heart issues?” I mean structured, documented screening that respects two truths at once: Psychedelics can help people reclaim their lives. Psychedelics can also destabilize people who were already close to the edge. Infrastructure is a clinic that knows the difference between an appropriate candidate and a high-risk situation and doesn’t let revenue blur that line. It’s a facilitator who can say, cleanly, “Not yet,” without shame or superiority. It’s also the ability to offer an alternative path: stabilization, therapy, skill-building, medical evaluation, then reassess. If your model can’t withstand the word “no,” it isn’t care. It’s a sales funnel. 2) Referral networks that are real, not theoretical In 2025, a lot of programs operated like islands—well-intended, but isolated. In 2026, that becomes malpractice-adjacent. Infrastructure means referral networks that actually function : Primary care physicians who know what your program does and doesn’t do. Psychiatrists who can support medication changes or differential diagnosis. Trauma therapists who can hold the long arc before and after the peak experience. Crisis resources that are mapped, rehearsed, and documented—not improvised at 2 a.m. If your participant has a rough re-entry, who catches them? If your answer is “our integration circle,” you’re not ready. Circles are sacred. They are not a substitute for clinical continuity. A mature program knows its lane, and it builds bridges to adjacent lanes. 3) Documentation + outcomes tracking that can survive daylight This is where the industry either grows up or gets regulated into the ground. In 2026, the question won’t be “Do you have testimonials?” The question will be: Can you show your work? Infrastructure is: clean documentation (intake, consent, preparation, dosing-day notes, follow-ups) adverse event tracking (including the “not dramatic, but concerning” stuff) outcomes tracking that isn’t just vibe-based (symptom measures, functioning, quality of life) clear privacy boundaries and data handling And here’s the point that makes people squirm: outcomes tracking is not just for proving success. It’s for seeing where you are failing—quietly, repeatedly—before those failures become headlines. Trust isn’t built by claiming you’re safe. Trust is built by behaving like safety is measurable. What breaks trust fastest (and how to prevent it) Trust breaks in predictable ways. The same handful of cracks, over and over. Overpromising. If you talk like psychedelics are a cure, you will eventually harm someone who needed careful realism. Use adult language: possible benefit, non-linear healing, risks, and unknowns. Blurry roles. If the facilitator becomes therapist, clergy, best friend, and savior, harm follows. Boundaries are not cold. Boundaries are protective love. Failure to triage. When a participant shows signs of mania, psychosis risk, severe dissociation, active substance instability, or acute suicidality—your job is not courage. Your job is containment, referral, and stabilization. Integration theatre. A few journaling prompts and a group share is not integration. Integration is the slow weaving of insight into behavior: relationships, sleep, sobriety, trauma processing, meaning-making, accountability. It’s months, not minutes. No plan for “when it goes sideways.” Every credible program has a practiced plan: medical escalation, psychiatric escalation, emergency contacts, documentation, follow-up cadence, and a culture that does not hide incidents to protect the brand. Prevention is simple to say, harder to live: treat this like healthcare, not like a movement. The sober truth: restraint is a feature, not a failure The industry wants heroic stories: one session, a life transformed, the sky parting. But 2026 belongs to a different virtue: restraint. Restraint looks like longer prep. More consults. More collaboration. Fewer participants. More exclusions. Clearer dosing-day staffing ratios. More follow-ups. More referrals out. Restraint is how you keep people alive, whole, and empowered. In my world—spiritual direction, death work, trauma work—maturity always moves the same direction: away from performance, toward presence. The sacred isn’t rushed. And neither is the nervous system. TokeepSilent. Closing: the responsibility checklist If you’re running a clinic, facilitating, or seeking care in 2026, here’s your litmus test. Clinics / programs Written screening standards, consistently applied Clear referral relationships (PCP, psychiatry, trauma therapy) Documented protocols and incident response plan Outcomes tracking, adverse events included Strong boundaries: scope of practice, role clarity, consent integrity Facilitators You can say “no” and still stay kind You document what matters You refer out without ego You practice aftercare as seriously as ceremony You prioritize participant autonomy over your identity as a guide Seekers You ask about screening, not just cost You ask who supports you if things get hard You choose programs that underpromise and overprepare You respect that “not yet” can be wise You remember: healing is a relationship, not an event And the call to action is blunt for a reason: If you’re building a program in 2026, build the boring parts first.
Neuroplasticity, Healing, and the Psychedelic “Window”
The year 2025 marked a consolidating phase in the psychedelic movement. Less spectacle, more infrastructure. Less rhetoric, more data. The field continued its transition from countercultural promise into regulated, clinically grounded practice—particularly around psilocybin as a treatment for trauma, PTSD, anxiety, and addiction. What distinguished 2025 was not a single sweeping legalization, but the maturation of state-by-state policy, expanded research access, clinician training, and integration frameworks that are now understood as essential rather than optional. Major U.S. State Initiatives (2025) Rather than re-litigating early decriminalization victories, 2025 focused on implementation . Oregon Continued rollout and refinement of licensed psilocybin service centers. 2025 saw tighter standards around facilitator training, screening protocols, and post-session integration requirements. Colorado Finalized regulatory frameworks for natural medicine healing centers. The state emphasized equity licensing, indigenous consultation, and data collection tied to outcomes rather than ideology. California While broad decriminalization stalled legislatively, pilot programs tied to veteran mental health, end-of-life distress, and university research quietly expanded under existing research exemptions. Washington Advanced psilocybin-assisted therapy task force recommendations, emphasizing medicalized access over retail-style models. Massachusetts & New York Focused on clinical trials and compassionate use pathways , particularly for treatment-resistant depression and trauma-related disorders. Texas Continued state-supported research into psychedelic-assisted therapies for veterans, with an emphasis on PTSD and moral injury rather than recreational framing. The pattern is clear: states are moving slowly, deliberately, and clinically , prioritizing risk management, data, and professional accountability. Summary of Overall Progress 2025 was a year of credibility building . Psychedelics are now discussed primarily as therapeutic tools , not cultural symbols. Regulatory bodies increasingly require integration plans , not just dosing protocols. Mental health professionals are involved earlier and more deeply in program design. Insurance and health systems began exploratory conversations—not coverage yet, but modeling. The movement matured by learning restraint. Major Research Studies & Institutions Several research streams continued or expanded in 2025, particularly through organizations such as Johns Hopkins Center for Psychedelic and Consciousness Research, MAPS, and leading university medical centers. Key areas of study included: Psilocybin-assisted therapy for treatment-resistant PTSD Long-term outcomes (12–36 months) for depression and anxiety Comparative studies between psilocybin, ketamine, and traditional SSRIs Neuroplasticity markers and default mode network modulation Group-based therapy models versus individual sessions Importantly, 2025 emphasized longitudinal data , addressing earlier critiques that psychedelic benefits were “impressive but short-lived.” The emerging picture suggests durability when—and only when—integration is done well. Clinical Use: Trauma, PTSD, Anxiety, Addiction By 2025, clinical consensus had sharpened around several observations: Trauma & PTSD Psilocybin does not erase trauma. It reduces avoidance , softens fear responses, and allows memory reconsolidation without overwhelming the nervous system. Clinicians consistently report increased emotional flexibility rather than cathartic release alone. Anxiety (including end-of-life anxiety) Benefits correlate strongly with meaning-making, not symptom suppression. Patients report reduced existential fear, increased acceptance, and restored relational capacity. Addiction Psilocybin is not an anti-craving drug. Its efficacy lies in disrupting rigid identity narratives (“I am an addict”) and restoring agency, values clarity, and self-trust—when paired with behavioral and community support. Across all indications, set, setting, and integration remain decisive variables. The Evolution of Integration Practices If earlier years were about access, 2025 was about integration becoming its own discipline . Key shifts: Integration is now understood as months-long , not a single follow-up session. Spiritual direction, somatic therapy, and trauma-informed care are increasingly blended. Journaling, ritual, community processing, and nature-based practices are formally encouraged. Clinicians recognize that mystical insight without grounding can destabilize rather than heal. In spiritual direction contexts, integration focuses on: Meaning rather than interpretation Embodiment rather than explanation Relationship repair rather than transcendence chasing Let me say this plainly: the medicine opens the door; integration teaches you how to live in the house . Closing Reflection 2025 did not bring a psychedelic revolution. It brought something more valuable: responsibility . Psilocybin is no longer treated as a miracle or a menace. It is being approached as a powerful, non-ordinary tool that requires humility, ethics, and disciplined care. The conversation has shifted from “Does it work?” to “For whom, under what conditions, and at what cost?” That is how real healing traditions are born. And that—quietly—is the most important progress of all.
