Author: Sergio

Not that long ago, I went to Disneyland with my family. The idea was simple: go to an amusement park to have fun.1

After getting the (pricey) tickets, I started thinking that if we were going to do this, we had to do it “right.” I needed to do it efficiently, so I began strategizing how to ride all the rides we wanted. Once there, plan in hand, I dragged my family from one side of the park to the other. We rushed, we stressed out, we did it. I “won” at Disneyland.

But in winning, I missed the experience. I executed the plan successfully, yet it wasn’t fun.

That’s what striving does. It turns even an amusement park into a to-do list. It turns an experience into a chore. It turns life into labor. Based on what I see in my therapy practice, I’m not alone.

Do you ever feel like life is too much? Too many things to do. Not enough time. Too many messages to respond to. Too many crises. Too many ways to “improve ourselves.” Sometimes life can feel like a never-ending, grim self-improvement project.

So, what is the point?

Maybe deep down you’ve asked yourself that question. What if all our efforts amount to nothing? Or, as Shakespeare would put it, what if life is a “tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing”? What if Camus is right and life is truly absurd?

These can feel like depressing (if not downright dangerous) questions. But could it be another way?

I want to suggest an alternative: Play hard… but don’t take yourself too seriously.

Of course, suggesting that life is “play” can sound dismissive or naïve. Am I saying that life amounts to nothing? Work is not only necessary but often edifying. And what about suffering, does “play” make it meaningless?

No, I am not saying that. I am saying that we often make our efforts carry a weight they cannot carry. Let’s unpack it.

A different way: Līlā

Hindu thought offers an intriguing idea: life as God’s līlā, a creative expression of divine play. This whole universe, us included, is God’s playground. Another way to say it is that God2 is the sacred dancer, and we are the dance. The Divine is exploring possibilities, unfolding experience, and becoming intimate with its own creation through us.

From this perspective, life isn’t ultimately about achieving. It’s about participating.

Why life feels like work

Life feels like work partly because it’s designed to feel that way. There are layers of complexity that make the game both engaging and challenging.

We are biologically wired for survival. Since the advent of agriculture, life became future-oriented: plant, harvest, store, repeat. Modern economics suggests there is no room for freeloaders. We must be productive and add value. Psychology suggests that as children, we learn early on that we need to be “good boys and girls” and follow rules to be loved. And even religion, narrowly understood, can make life feel like there is something to achieve: Heaven, mokṣha, Nirvana…

What’s worse is that when we fail to perform, it can start to feel like there is something wrong with us. The stakes feel very high. No wonder it feels like there’s no room to play.

So, play hard… but don’t take yourself too seriously? Sounds like madness, unless we learn to see reality differently.

Two metaphors

Not everything we do in life is work, and not everything has a purpose.

Think about dancing or listening to music. Why do we listen to music? Why do we dance? Certainly not to win. If that were the case, the fastest musician would be the best, which is obviously absurd. The point is the experience itself.

Or what if life is less like a chore and more like going to the movies? Again, we don’t go to movies to win. We go to get lost in the story, to learn, to enjoy ourselves. We willingly enter the narrative while still knowing that it isn’t real. We don’t take it that seriously.

What about suffering?

Remember, we already established that this game of life is designed to feel like work. What about suffering and hardship? It has been suggested that part of suffering’s role is to “thicken the plot.”

Think about it. Would you want to watch a movie where nothing happens at all? A dancer who just stands there? A piece of monotone music? No. We appreciate a skillful dancer. We value a sophisticated piece of music, even if both are, in a utilitarian sense, “pointless.” We value the effort and time it takes to achieve excellence. Likewise, we love intricate movies. We pay to watch tragedies, thrillers, horror films, the kind that make our hearts race or bring us to tears.

The difference is that with music, dancing, and movies, we can remember it is not that serious and still enjoy the experience. In life, we get so engrossed in the action that we forget to witness it. We become method actors in our own drama.

Now, if life is play, are there any rules? Of course there are, although it is a bit of a stretch to call them “rules.” I’ll address that in a future article.

Movies, music, and dancing

We’ve seen that the game is wired to be challenging. All those layers may be designed to make us get lost in the storyline. We’ve also suggested that suffering thickens the plot, perhaps as the cleverest subterfuge to trap us in the narrative. However, please don’t read this as me (or the Hindu tradition) trivializing suffering.

We must be careful not to minimize another person’s pain. If one of my clients is suffering and I were to suggest that their misery is not real, I’d deserve to be punched in the face. Saying something like that would be spiritual bypassing and insensitive. When someone is suffering, we don’t philosophize. We meet them where they are. We honor their pain and support them in any way we can.

The Buddhists often say that pain is unavoidable, but suffering is optional. One way they explain this is through the Two Truths: relative and absolute.

At the relative or conventional level, harm is real, wounds hurt, and consequences are real. At the ultimate or absolute level (līlā), we can sometimes observe existence more like the audience of a movie. Suffering, and everything else, becomes plot. Whatever happens makes the story more engaging, but ultimately it is still a story.

The challenge is to hold both realities simultaneously: to fully engage conventional reality (like a football player engages a game) while not losing the perspective that, in the end, it’s still only a game (even if it happens to be the Super Bowl).

I’ve witnessed people touch this realization in psychedelic ceremonies. Often, they start laughing as if someone has told them a very funny joke. They report seeing the folly in their striving. I call this the cosmic laughter.

Pain does not invalidate the idea of life as play. It can block our access to it. Trauma contracts the body, and when the nervous system is bracing, play feels unsafe. With time and perspective, we sometimes see how our greatest battles and deepest wounds brought growth and change, just like the misfortune at the beginning of a movie becoming the call to adventure that pushes the story forward.

Building castles in the sand

It is possible to play hard while not taking ourselves too seriously. Let me borrow a powerful image from Nietzsche.

Imagine children building sandcastles at the beach. Picture them deeply engrossed in their work, making them taller, digging ditches… and then splash! A wave comes by and knocks it all down. The children both cheer and whine. They knew all along it was bound to happen. In fact, perhaps knowing it made everything more poignant.

What do they do next? Without missing a beat, they begin building another castle, fully aware it won’t last.

From a practical perspective, what they are doing is crazy. What is the point? Yet the ephemeral nature of the task does not keep them from giving themselves fully to it. Just like dancing. Just like listening to music. Just like watching a movie. Maybe, just like life, it is the experience that matters.

So next time you catch yourself worrying, striving, racing… remember those kids at the beach. How can you turn your efforts into play? Your struggle into a dance?

Play hard, but don’t take yourself too seriously.

Get it?

  1. This is a written version of the first session of “The Unfolding,” a CSP’s monthly offering. For more information visit https://sacredpractices.org/ ↩︎
  2. Please feel free to replace the word for Goddess or Mystery, the one that resonates best with you. ↩︎

…or why AI should not replace human connection

In my earlier article Should ChatGPT Be Your Therapist?, I briefly argued against it. This article further explains my answer.

Many people turn to AI because they are lonely, overwhelmed, or afraid. That is understandable. But if AI becomes a substitute for relationships, something important is lost. Our brains are wired for connection.

Before starting, let me insist that I am not anti-AI. Quite the opposite. I am excited about the possibilities of using it as a companion to therapy (more on this below). Used wisely, it can be genuinely helpful.

Although this is not often emphasized, psychotherapy is not only about providing information. It is a relationship. Good psychotherapy may feel like a simple conversation. Still, there is a lot going on under the hood at psychological and biological levels. Our nervous systems are shaped by contact with other human beings. Our attachment style (basically, the way we relate to others) is formed by how we experienced connection in early life. Who we are is, in large part, the result of our relationships. As it is often said, our wounding happens in relationships and can only be healed in relationship. We do not change only through insight. We change through connection.1

We need to feel safe before we can change

Evolutionarily, our nervous systems are programmed to scan for safety. This is an automatic process that occurs mostly below conscious awareness.2 Tone of voice, pacing, the steadiness of a presence, and the sense that someone understands us and will stay with us without collapsing or attacking. These signals shape how we experience the world and live our lives.

When we feel anxious, shut down, ashamed, or guarded, our whole system contracts. Thinking becomes rigid. Options feel limited. Emotions feel overwhelming. Sometimes we cannot even accept help when it is available. On the other hand, when we feel safe, supported, and accepted, something changes. We relax. We open up. Feelings become tolerable. Reflection becomes possible. We see more clearly and are able to choose. The body must feel safe before the mind can be free.

What the relationship does

It offers co-regulation. Meeting a grounded therapist is not just “nice.” Their steadiness helps settle our system. Over time, we become able to reproduce that steadiness, and it becomes available inside. This is one of the quiet phenomena of good therapy. We borrow regulation until we learn to provide it for ourselves.

It offers a different experience, not just advice. Even when people come to therapy for information, they often stay for something else. The client is constantly sensing the relationship. How does the therapist relate? Are they kind, clear, steady, curious? Can they hold boundaries with care? Can they tolerate strong emotion without collapsing or attacking? Over time, this becomes a living template for how to be with oneself and with others.

It creates a space to explore without shame, guilt, or rejection. After a while, as the client continues to feel accepted by the therapist, they may begin to wonder: “If my therapist accepts me as I am, maybe I can accept myself too.” Again, this relaxes the nervous system and makes room for change. In such an environment, you can explore how you protect yourself, how you handle closeness, how shame organizes your attention, and what you believe you are allowed (or not allowed) to feel. These patterns are often automatic and live below awareness. Over time, a stable relationship helps reorganize these implicit layers and experiment with alternative ways of being. Therapy changes people through lived experience, not simply through insight.3 4

It offers rupture and healthy repair. Therapists are not perfect. Sometimes your therapist does not get it. You may feel misunderstood or even rejected. Often this triggers old experiences of not being seen or accepted, and the conclusion that something is wrong with you. What to do next? Shut down? Capitulate? End the relationship? If the therapist is skillful and navigates this with care and accountability, the nervous system learns something powerful. Conflict does not have to mean abandonment. Misunderstanding does not have to mean danger. This repair, while remaining in connection, is part of how trust is built, and it is difficult to replicate without a real person who can make mistakes, take responsibility, and show up again.

At the risk of oversimplifying, the therapeutic relationship is difficult to replace because healing is not purely cognitive. It is an embodied, relational process that unfolds through attunement, emotional resonance, and real-time interaction.

What AI cannot replace (at least yet)

AI can generate language that sounds empathic. It can reflect feelings. It can offer prompts. It can help you map patterns. You may even feel understood.

But AI is not alive. It does not have a body or a brain. It does not co-regulate in the full human sense. It does not track your breathing, posture, tears, long pauses, or the subtle shifts that guide pacing in real time. Even with voice or video, something central is missing. A real nervous system is not on the other side. AI cannot truly see you, even if it sometimes sounds like it does. And your nervous system knows when something is missing.

AI also lacks accountability in the way a human therapist does. Human therapists are trained to listen not only to words, but to context, tone, and what does not fit. A good therapist does not simply agree. Even a very empathetic therapist may challenge you if something does not make sense, needs clarification or if it make it tingle their -very human- spidey sense. As one of my teachers used to say, therapy is not a polite endeavor. A caring therapist will slow down, double-check, explore hunches, and name what is being said and even name what is not being said. AI cannot feel or care in this very human way. Technically, AI does not understand words the way humans do, and it cannot sense what is implied but unspoken. This always matters, but it matters especially at the edges, when someone is destabilized, overwhelmed, in crisis, paranoid, or losing touch with reality.

There is also the problem of overconfidence and hallucinations. AI can sound certain when it is wrong. That can be harmless in low-stakes settings, harmful in emotionally vulnerable moments, and dangerous in crises. Add privacy concerns, cultural mismatch, and the risk of overdependence, and the picture becomes clearer. AI can be a tool, but it is a risky candidate for replacement.

Where AI can genuinely help

None of this means AI is useless. It means we should understand what it is good for.

AI can support reflection when deep human attunement is not essential. It can help with journaling, psychoeducation, basic skills prompts, and preparing for therapy sessions. It can help you find language for what you are experiencing. It can help you organize a question you want to bring to your therapist. It can offer structure between sessions. I will develop this in more detail in future articles.

Used wisely, AI can even deepen therapy. When it helps with basic learning or clarification, more therapy time can be devoted to what requires human presence. That is meaningful synergy.

A gentle rule of thumb

If what you need is information, conceptual clarity, journaling prompts, or help exploring something already discussed in therapy, AI may help.

If what you need involves attachment wounds, trauma healing, deep grief, relational repair, severe anxiety, existential distress, or you are facing a crisis, a human therapist is usually safer and more effective. Certain kinds of healing require contact with a real person, in real time, over time. And again, since our wounding happened in relationships, it can only be healed in a human relationship.

If you are curious, you can try “The Potential Space” an AI companion designed to support users between sessions with preparation, psychoeducation, and integration.

  1. Lewis, T., Amini, F., & Lannon, R. A General Theory of Love. ↩︎
  2. Porges, S. W. The Polyvagal Theory. ↩︎
  3. Schore, A. N. The Science of the Art of Psychotherapy. ↩︎
  4. Cozolino, L. The Neuroscience of Psychotherapy. ↩︎

Why California LMFTs need psychedelic-informed care1

The relationship between psychedelics and psychotherapy has always been… complicated. In the late 50s and early 60s, LSD was distributed to mental health professionals to explore its therapeutic potential. Sandoz suspected there was something there, but couldn’t quite pin down where it fit. When Tim Leary later “discovered” psilocybin mushrooms, he framed them as psychologically significant. MAPS, from the beginning, assumed therapists would be at the bedside for MDMA experiences. With the 70s, prohibition made the relationship illegal, but it didn’t make it disappear. Many clinicians simply went underground.

Now, in the current psychedelic renaissance, while most psychedelics remain illegal, mental health professionals face a familiar dilemma: how do we support clients without stepping outside legal and ethical boundaries?

With support from CAMFT Sacramento Valley, I’m teaching a six-session series on Psychedelic-Informed Care (PIC)—how clinicians can respond when psychedelics enter the therapy room without fueling hype or reinforcing taboo. Should we lean in? Set boundaries (which ones)? Redirect? The series is designed to help you answer those questions with precision.

The topic will show up.

It arrives in many forms: questions about legality, reactions to a news story, curiosity about a ketamine clinic, plans for a retreat abroad. “Would you recommend it?” “What are the risks?” “Would microdosing help?” And, of course, the therapist’s favorite: “Is it true it’s five years of therapy in one night?” Clients are often confused, and they want orientation from someone they trust—you.

De-mystification

Right now there’s cultural noise, mixed messages, and outright misinformation. As clinicians, we don’t need to endorse or condemn. We need to help clients differentiate—between curiosity and compulsion, hope and inflation, meaningful experience and destabilizing aftermath. PIC begins with demystification: separating evidence from hype, and myth from clinical reality.

The legal landscape patchwork

Part of the surge is legal ambiguity. The picture is no longer a single, clear “no.” It’s a mixed bag: regulated access models in some places, research pathways, tightly controlled international frameworks, religious-use carve-outs, and—closer to home—local reforms and “decriminalization” language.

Even in California, where classic psychedelics remain illegal, several jurisdictions have deprioritized enforcement around entheogenic “plant medicine” (including places like San Francisco, Oakland, and Santa Cruz). But deprioritization is not legalization. It doesn’t change state or federal controlled-substance law—and it doesn’t change LMFT scope.

Why psychedelics? Why now?

The “why now” isn’t mysterious. Psychological suffering keeps rising, and so does the hunger for new solutions (especially when many mainstream antidepressants remain variations on monoamine modulation). Add promising research signals, a primed cultural zeitgeist, and media acceleration—and you get momentum.

But when a society is suffering and hungry for relief, it becomes vulnerable to shortcuts. Psychedelics, when framed as shortcuts, become especially seductive.

Potential benefits—and real risks

It’s hard to deny that psychedelic research is promising. Across trials at different stages, psychedelics have shown potential relevance for trauma-related suffering, depression and anxiety, existential distress and end-of-life fear, relational patterns, and spiritual meaning-making.

At the same time, potential benefits are not guaranteed, and they are not risk-free. Alongside positive outcomes are reports of harm: destabilization and disorientation after experiences, inflation, bypassing, aftercare gaps (no containment, no follow-up, no integration), and boundary/exploitation risks—especially in unregulated contexts.

This isn’t fear-mongering. It’s clinical realism. The psychedelic ecosystem is still maturing. Ethical failures occur. And when they do, the cleanup often lands back in traditional therapy.

So where do LMFTs stand?

Every clinician know to keep this distinction front and center: scope of practice is what California law authorizes; scope of competence is what you personally are trained to do safely.

California’s LMFT scope includes assessing and treating substance use and related mental/behavioral concerns, and explicitly includes client education, consultation, and clinical case management. But legal permission does not equal clinical readiness, and clinical readiness does not grant legal permission. In plain language: just because you can talk about psychedelics doesn’t mean you should, unless you have the training.

PAT vs. PIC (and the underground)

To stay grounded, it helps to separate three different situations:

  • Psychedelic-Assisted Therapy (PAT): administration plus a protocolized, regulated setting.
  • Psychedelic-Informed Care (PIC): what LMFTs can do ethically—discuss, educate, harm-reduce, integrate.
  • Underground work: unregulated and often illegal “guided” psychedelic work, with wide variability in competence and ethics.

Here’s the key takeaway: to remain within ethical and legal grounds, LMFTs must stay in the green zone—discussion, education, case management, referrals (for education, not sourcing) and integration—and avoid the red zone: using, offering, facilitating/administering, or coaching sourcing/dosing for illegal substances. Yes, there are yellow areas and nuance. But clarity protects clients and therapists alike.

Your stance matters

Beyond scope, not every therapist feels the same about psychedelics—and that’s okay. Within professional boundaries, there’s a spectrum of reasonable stances: cautious, curious-but-boundaried, harm-reduction oriented, or integration-focused. The goal isn’t ideological alignment. The goal is ethical, competent care.

The PIC toolkit

PIC is practical. It boils down to three skill areas:

  1. Psychoeducation (balanced, reality-based, myth-correcting)
  2. Preparation (scope-appropriate: intentions, supports, safety planning, consult triggers—without “how-to”)
  3. Integration (meaning-making, relational repair, values-to-action, stabilization)

A simple response flow helps: Discuss → Educate → Harm-reduce → Integrate. If you can remember that loop, you can respond with confidence even when the topic is charged.

And it should go without saying, but it doesn’t: documentation is your shield. When psychedelics come up, chart the discussion, state client goals, document boundaries, note risks reviewed, and record consults/referrals. That’s not bureaucracy—it’s ethical self-respect and license protection.

In closing: your license gives you a clear road to walk with clients, and a reliable compass to stay oriented—so you can support their journey without losing your way.

In future sessions, we’ll cover the state of the art (research/legal/ethics), cultural context and humility, what to do when the client brings it up, what to do when things go sideways, and—finally—a clear vision of the LMFT’s role in the psychedelic landscape.

Now you know. If you have questions or want to explore this topic further, feel free to contact me.

  1. Although many of these principles apply to all LMFTs, note that this article focuses in California law. ↩︎

Note: I wrote this article in Spanish back in 2003. Since I’ve been thinking about it, I’ve translated to English.

The purpose of life is to enjoy it.
— Dalai Lama

Allow me to outline a theory for you. You may agree or not, but I ask that you at least consider it before discarding it. Stay a “benevolent skeptic” as Freud would suggest.

Let us assume that God exists and is benevolent (debating these would be way beyond the purposes of this article and my pay grade).  Let’s hold that this loving God (or Goddess if it suits you better) created a marvelous universe and (what I really want to focus on) this marvelous planet. Quoting Genesis: “God saw that everything He had made was very good.” For the sake of my argument, let’s compare the world to an amusement park, to a Disneyland multiplied to the nth power, where God is its director.

Now then: God created this perfect amusement park and placed us here. Even better, He gave us a universal ticket that allows us to enjoy every ride, so long as we are willing to walk to wherever they are. That’s all! When opening the gates of the park for us, the director said: “I made this park for you because I love you. The park is perfect down to the smallest detail and works exactly as it should. You are free to do whatever you want. Have fun.”

That sounds simple enough and amazing, doesn’t it?

Now, as is easily seen in life, as people enter the park, they take different attitudes (which is totally fine, since God invited us to do whatever we want):

Some stay at the information booth, reading the map and becoming experts on the park and its wonders. They are willing to direct and instruct, often smugly, anyone on the “right way” to reach the Ferris wheel or the carousel; unfortunately, often they have not ridden them, they limit themselves to learn the map and pointing the(ir) way.

Very close to them, also in the information booth, we find those who spend their time waiting for the park director to tell them which rides to visit, begging Him to guide them along the “right” path He has undoubtedly laid out, so they can enjoy the park as it should be.  Often worried about doing it wrong or trying to guess what rides He really wants them to see. Sometimes they interpret an event as the long-awaited “sign” and, if they’re lucky, end up experiencing the park; other times, they remain waiting, second-guessing the director’s instructions. Yet, God will not suggest rides for them, because doing so would interfere with the freedom He gave them—and He is the first to abide by the rules He Himself has established.

Others decide not to enjoy the amusement park because surely, somewhere else, there must be a better one—and they’ve concluded that if they “sacrifice” themselves in this one, the reward will be to enjoy that other park. Next to them, there’s a group convinced that since this park isn’t “real” or just a game, it isn’t worth playing, so they choose not to participate, sitting, waiting, practicing, dedicating their time to preparing for whatever comes after they leave the park.

Others choose competitive games—ring toss, target shooting, races. Their conclusion is that the only way to enjoy the park is to win many prizes and be admired by others for the number of stuffed animals they’ve accumulated. They subscribe to the idea that “he who dies with the most toys wins”. They prioritize winning and seek recognition for their achievements. What they don’t know (or rather refuse to see) is that they can’t take toys with them when they leave the park, because one of the few rules (to enter the park, NOT to be in it) is that you exit with exactly what you entered.

Some prefer the thrill rides, the roller coasters, the spinning attractions. They get on again and again. They get dizzy and vomit, but continue insisting on the same rides. Others prefer the haunted house—they get scared and get scared again, but choose (whether they realize it or not) to return to it over and over (the fear is real, the spooks aren’t). Alongside them are those who devote themselves to eating—popcorn, soda, hot dogs, ice cream, etc. All of them (Okay, us), freely choosing and then getting fully absorbed in our chosen activity that we forget we’re in an amusement park and convince ourselves it is reality (and perhaps even “serious” business).

Others spend their time complaining that some rides make them dizzy, others scare them, some are too far away, some require a certain height, and not everyone can enter all of them. They’re also irritated by the selfishness and lack of consideration of those who are having more fun than they are, and (although they may not admit it) jealous of those who seem to be enjoying the park. The more initiative-taking among them organize themselves to try to “improve” the park, perhaps convinced that the director needs a little help and that they know how to do it.

Very close to them are those who take on the role of hosts or helpers. They self-appoint as park guides, guardians, or protectors. They well-intentionedly decide that it is far more meritorious to help others enjoy the park than to enjoy it themselves. Many of them share a philosophy of the “sacrificed ones”; others have convinced themselves they don’t deserve to have fun in the park; and only a few actually enjoy this role, which -again- they freely choose.

Finally (though I’m sure with a little imagination we could find many more), there are those who take the director’s instructions literally and decide to enjoy the park. They wander through it, savoring the scares of the haunted mansion, the thrill of the Ferris wheel, the dizziness of the spinning rides, the excitement of healthy competition, the quiet moments, the food, the drinks, the scenery, etc. In short, they enjoy the stroll and the opportunity to be here. Curiously, these seem to be very few…

We spend our lives asking what its purpose is—Why am I here? We even ask if there is life after death. Someone once said it would be better to ask whether there is life before death. Tony de Mello used to say that most people are already dead; it’s just that the burial takes place some time later.

Why such concern over the meaning of life? Could it be that the meaning of life is simply… life itself? Why must it have an objective? Aren’t some of the best things in this world utterly without purpose? What is the goal of visiting an amusement park? What is the objective of music or dance? They have none! Alan Watts reminds us that we don’t dance in order to reach a corner of the room, nor do we listen to a musical piece waiting to get to the end. The Rolling Stones sang that life is the journey, not the destination; and John Lennon said that life is what happens while we’re busy making (waiting, begging for, etc.) other plans.

Why are we in this amusement park? I don’t know. Sometimes I imagine God at the exit gate, and I can almost see the people complaining to Him about the dizziness and the scares, demanding rewards for their sacrifices, those upset because He didn’t answer their pleas at the information booth, those expecting recognition for memorizing the map, etc. All of them forgetting that they themselves chose what to do, without imposition or request from God; while S/He, silently, smiles only at those who decided to take Him seriously and enjoy the park…

Isn’t the greatest reward for a parent to see their child happy? Might the best form of praise to God be to fully enjoy the wonderful creation? I suspect that would make Him (and Her) very happy.

But of course, what do I know?  I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Clients are bringing psychedelic questions and experiences to therapy. This six-part series gives LMFTs a clinically grounded, culturally informed approach to discussing psychedelics within scope—with tools for education, harm reduction, and integration. It is not a “how to do PAT” course. You’ll learn the current research/ethics/legal context (incl. religious-use carve-outs), cultural considerations, and concrete safeguards around risk and boundaries. Clinicians will leave with clear language for discussing benefits/risks and integration interventions.

Sessions (at a glance – click link for details):

*Please note that you have to register individually for each session

*Education and integration within LMFT scope; no sourcing or dosing guidance.

As I wrote in Should ChatGPT be your therapist? there is hardly a week when a client doesn’t tell me they consulted AI about something therapy-related. I think that’s fantastic. AI can help by providing psychoeducation, which in turn allows us to deepen our healing work.

AI is an excellent information resource, even in the field of therapy, however, I don’t believe artificial relationships should replace human connection. We also need to keep in mind that this technology is so new that it’s still impossible to know what the long-term impact of such a replacement could be.

Every day we hear about the many things AI can do—both the unprecedented promises and the potential perils. As someone who has been studying the evolution of consciousness for decades, I’ve been following both trends with great interest. Below you’ll find a non-exhaustive list of resources (prepared with ChatGPT’s help) that includes some cases where things have gone wrong. It may help keep things in perspective.

I’ve also been working on an AI companion for therapy. I figured that if my clients are going to keep using AI, they might as well have access to one I can trust. More on that soon.

One-stop incident trackers (good “master links”)

Suicide / self-harm–linked interactions

Harmful or unsafe advice

Manipulation / paranoia / “grandiose” dynamics

Youth safety & companion platforms (policy actions)

I’m fascinated by this topic and its evolution. Are we witnessing a new step in the evolution of consciousness, the birth of the transhuman, or, as James Barrat has suggested, are we on the verge of the end of the human era? What do you think?

About fifteen years ago, whenever someone invited me to talk about the healing value of meditation, I would start—somewhat mischievously—by saying, “If you’re still wondering whether meditation is healing, you haven’t been paying attention. Its benefits have been proven beyond reasonable doubt.” Even with today’s ever-growing body of research pointing strongly in that direction, when it comes to psychedelics, we’re not there yet.

Psychedelics are being explored for a wide array of purposes: fibromyalgia, dementia, brain injury, Parkinson’s, ALS, Alzheimer’s, and chronic pain. More specifically in mental health (which will be our focus): anxiety, PTSD, depression, anorexia, alcohol and substance use, eating disorders, OCD, bipolar II, smoking, and existential distress. Researchers clearly suspect that these substances hold significant potential across many conditions1.

Not “what”, But “How”.

Although “What can psychedelics heal?” is an important question, there’s another one that’s not asked as often: How do they heal?

Of course, a neuroscientist could answer that psychedelics temporarily loosen rigid brain networks and boost neural plasticity by binding to serotonin receptors—creating a window to reconfigure entrenched pathways into new, more adaptive patterns.

However, I am not a neuroscientist, and I am not sure how many of my readers are, so let’s take a different route.  If we look beyond the brain into current research and what I’ve observed with clients, growing evidence shows that psychedelics and psychotherapy heal through the same core mechanisms—the difference being intensity, not kind. Integrated wisely, each strengthens and completes the other. Let’s unpack it:

Beyond neuropsychological explanations, there are several theories that try to explain the mechanisms involved in psychedelic healing:

  • Set & setting: Mindset, expectations, the quality of the relationship, and the surrounding environment shape and enhance the healing potential of the experience.
  • Network reset: Psychedelics disrupt entrenched neural patterns—and the fixed beliefs they sustain—promoting neural flexibility and the restructuring of pathways.
  • Receptivity: Heightened openness and reduced defensiveness allow for deep exploration, insight, and the learning and retention of new ways of being.
  • Cognitive updating: By widening perspective, old organizing principles are revised into more adaptive meanings, greater agency, and healthier narratives.
  • Emotional release/catharsis: By relaxing the brain’s control systems within a safe relational container, traumatic memories, repressed emotions, and somatic tension trapped in the body can surface, to be completed or reconfigured in an improved emotional context.
  • Mystical insight and self-transcendence: The sense of self expands beyond the wounded ego, merging or identifying with a larger Self or Cosmos, offering a broader perspective and reducing existential fear.

While painted with broad strokes, these ideas form the backbone of how many researchers now understand psychedelic healing.

So, there you have it. That’s how they heal. Now we know… or do we?

Let’s explore it a bit longer. These theories are elegant and plausible, but much of the research is still young. Serious scientific study has only recently resumed, and since the only way to know what’s happening inside someone’s mind is to ask them, researchers usually rely on questionnaires and interviews to access participants’ inner worlds.

Let’s try another approach. Since we already know that psychotherapy works (trust me on that, okay?2), let’s explore how it brings about change and see if we can find some parallels.

How Therapy Works

Even before Freud, this question has been heatedly debated3.  Although we don’t have a definitive answer, decades of research have produced a set of “common factors” that play a part in healing4:

  • A reasonable expectation that therapy, through specific methods, will actually work.
  • A meaningful, safe relationship where the client feels seen, accepted, and understood.
  • The facing, correction, and integration of painful or unresolved emotional experiences, often—but not necessarily- linked to childhood.
  • Insight, meaning-making, and the creation of new personal narratives.
  • Updating of rigid beliefs and practicing new behaviors and ways of thinking.
  • Development of accountability, agency, and self-efficacy.
  • Desidentification beyond limiting self-stories and an expansion of the sense of self.

Although the language differs, it’s easy to spot the parallels. Both emphasize the importance of the relationship (part of the setting), the value of positive expectations (part of the mindset), and the opportunity to face and correct painful past experiences, often through emotional release. Both emphasize insights, updated beliefs, the chance to create new narratives, try new behaviors, expand perspectives, and reclaim agency.

It seems that what helps people change in therapy may be the very same processes at work in psychedelic healing. This would also explain the popular meme that psychedelics are like three (or five, or even ten) years of therapy in one night. But if that were true, why would anyone choose psychotherapy at all?

Old Habits Die Hard

Good question. First, psychedelics are still illegal in most of the world. But even setting legality aside, this isn’t really about choosing one over the other—it’s about understanding their respective strengths and limitations.

The “three years in one night” meme captures only part of the truth. There’s more to it. Over decades, psychotherapists have learned that change is hard. We cling to old—even painful—ways of being. Old beliefs, like habits, die hard.

Psychedelics are intriguing because they seem to produce immediate results. I often hear a version of the meme. This may stem from heightened receptivity, intense emotional release, and powerful, luminous insights—often mystical in nature—that appear to open a broad window of neural plasticity. Psychotherapy, on the other hand, relies on slow, repeated emotional nudges and controlled exposure to unresolved issues. Growth is painstakingly slow and cannot be rushed. It takes time to develop a strong relationship where a person feels safe enough to challenge old patterns and belief systems. Insights must be practiced repeatedly before they become part of who we are.

Therapy, through weekly sessions and the continual revisiting of core themes, consolidates and deepens this process. This slow phase is often frowned upon in a society where “faster” is assumed to mean “better”.

It is misleading to say that psychedelics work faster than psychotherapy. Yes, the openness, catharsis, and insights feel dramatic when compared with regular therapy, but those transient and extraordinary psychedelic states need to be converted into enduring psychological traits. In other words, experience shows that to ensure the jewels gathered in psychedelic sessions aren’t lost, we must develop the necessary structures to help them take root in our lives. This is why, like other experts in the field, I emphasize the importance of preparation and integration as absolutely essential parts of any healing psychedelic process.

Complementary, Not Better

So, how do psychedelics heal? As I explain to my clients, this is not an either/or dilemma but a both/and integration. The change mechanisms of psychotherapy and psychedelics alike foster openness, enhance plasticity, reduce reactivity, facilitate insight, help complete unfinished emotional business, generate new narratives, strengthen agency and responsibility, and expand—or decenter—the sense of self.

Both rely on the same healing principles: psychedelics amplify; psychotherapy stabilizes. Together, they create a more complete path to transformation.

Beyond Psychology

Before ending, it’s worth remembering that it is in the modern West that psychedelics are seen almost exclusively as therapeutic tools, as “psychedelic-assisted therapy”. In contrast, shamanic traditions, which have worked with sacred plants for millennia, the concept of healing includes and transcends the psychological. There, psychedelics are seen as wise teachers in the broadest sense of the word. In my work, I try to honor both approaches.

The West could learn much from these ancient traditions—if only we approach them with respect and humility, but that is a topic for another article…

  1. You’ve probably guessed from the title that this article is ambitious, thus a bit longer than others. Please note that every claim is backed by scientific research, but to avoid making it even longer, I’ve left out the references. If you’re curious, just reach out — I’ll be glad to oblige. ↩︎
  2. Many may question this assertion; however, there is solid evidence that the average therapy client ends up doing better than about 75% of comparable people who receive no treatment. See https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/921048/ ↩︎
  3. Making the unconscious conscious, reworking old relationship patterns, strengthening the ego, through a corrective emotional experience, catharsis, replacing unhealthy beliefs, taking responsibility, bringing closure to unfinished emotional business, self-transcending egoic patterns, etc. All of these have been advanced as reasons why therapy heals. ↩︎
  4. Of course, beyond these, there are many other alleged factors, but these are generally agreed upon. ↩︎

Why Artificial Empathy Should Not Replace Relationships

We often hear that things are moving faster than ever. The late Joanna Macy used to say that it took us a thousand years to move from hunter-gatherers to agriculture, a hundred to move from there to industrial society, and only ten to reach the information age. It took about ten years for the personal computer and the Internet to reach mainstream use, about eight for the smartphone, and only two for AI 1.

Just 24 months ago, very few people were even aware of AI. Now, almost every week, one of my clients tells me they’ve asked ChatGPT something they might have once asked me. In fact, according to a recent Harvard Business Review article, the most common use of ChatGPT today is for therapy and emotional support 2. Should I be worried? Will AI steal therapy jobs?

Some would say yes. Anthropic’s CEO recently predicted that up to 50% of entry-level white-collar jobs could be automated within five years 3. McKinsey estimates that by 2030, AI could displace up to 800 million jobs 4.  Are psychotherapists, psychologists, and social workers among them?   Optimists argue that since AI lacks emotions, intuition, and empathy, professions that rely on these are less likely to be replaced.

“Did you just say AI doesn’t have emotions, intuition, or empathy? Have you ever asked ChatGPT or Gemini for help? If they don’t have empathy, they sure fake it well.”

Agree. But let’s recall how AI works. 

Believe it or not, AI doesn’t think. It’s more like advanced autocomplete. It was trained on mountains of information and, when prompted, predicts word by word what’s most likely to come next. Its answers are patterns of probability, not insights.  However convincing it may sound, it doesn’t even understand the words it produces. When certain words tend to appear together, they are stitched together, sounding fluent and confident—even when it’s wrong.

I often remind clients that while ChatGPT is a fantastic information resource (though it’s wise to double-check—since it has no problem “hallucinating”), it has never had its heart broken or gone out on a date. Nor does it care for your feelings (since it doesn’t understand them). Its soundest “advice” is just a rehash of what’s already been said. Great for data gathering or quick answers, but not for personal decisions. Regardless of how much we wish for HAL 9000, Samantha, R2-D2, or TARS 5 to give us clarity, the truth is that each of us still has to make our own decisions.

While ChatGPT might be preferable to a bad therapist (hence the importance of finding a good one!), the relationship between client and therapist goes far beyond information. Something subtle and elusive happens in every genuine encounter. And therein lies the real blind spot—or danger—of replacing a competent human therapist with AI.

The importance of a real relationship:

Although efforts are being made to reduce it, most AI interfaces are designed to retain user attention. One way they do this is by being uncritically agreeable—basically sycophancy (who doesn’t like reassurance?), but this creates never-challenging echo chambers, and even delusional spirals—unlike real human relationships. What feels like empathy is just AI mirroring back language patterns to make us feel understood and keep us engaged.

Remember: AI doesn’t understand depression, existential angst, or loneliness. It doesn’t even understand the words you write (it turns them into numbers). This is the biggest risk of AI therapy—artificial relationships replacing real ones.

Psychological pain comes from isolation and disconnection. Attachment injuries happen between people, and trauma is relational rupture. As such, healing can only take place in the context of an authentic, reparative relationship.  Since wounding happens in relationship, healing must also occur in relationship.  

Most clients are unaware of how crucial the relationship itself is. Good therapy goes beyond giving advice or providing “tools.” Our brains are wired for connection. When we’re in contact with someone attuned to our emotional needs—through empathic resonance—our limbic system literally heals and rewires. AI can mimic that pattern but cannot truly reproduce it.

AI “therapy” is like replacing healthy food with junk food; it creates the illusion of nourishment, but it does not do the job. As the “A” in AI indicates, AI empathy is artificial.

“Of course you’d say that, you are a therapist and therefore biased.”

Probably true.  But even someone working at McDonald’s can tell the difference between healthy and unhealthy food.  

Every day I meet clients who are thoroughly “connected” yet lonely.  Among the many crises we face, loneliness ranks high, and social media and AI may be amplifying it. I am not against AI; I think it is fantastic. What concerns me is that the newer generations, surrounded by screens, may have a hard time telling the difference between genuine human relationships and artificial interactions with machines.  They may not know what they’re missing!

It may take generations to fully grasp the potential damage that human relational deprivation can cause.  Plastic empathy may not offer the same neuronal benefits.  Hopefully, we’ll be wise enough to use AI as the powerful tool it is—without letting it replace our shared humanity.  Let us not forget what Martin Buber suggested: when two people genuinely meet, God is the space between them.

But maybe it is just a matter of time… Let’s talk about it.

  1. https://ourworldindata.org/ ↩︎
  2. https://hbr.org/2025/04/how-people-are-really-using-gen-ai-in-2025 ↩︎
  3. https://www.forbes.com/sites/kolawolesamueladebayo/2025/06/04/will-ai-really-take-your-job-experts-reveal-the-true-outlook-today/ ↩︎
  4. https://www.iotforall.com/impact-of-artificial-intelligence-job-losses ↩︎
  5. Some of Hollywood’s almost omniscient and relatable computers. ↩︎

Honoring indigenous wisdom and ethics in psychedelic therapy

This conversation explores how modern psychedelic practice risks losing its heart as it becomes mainstream. It reflects on how true healing lies in balancing Western psychotherapy with ancestral and spiritual wisdom. The discussion highlights the importance of ethical and well-trained guides, deep personal work, and honoring traditional relationships with plant medicine—emphasizing that integration, humility, and love are central to authentic psychedelic practice.

How do therapy and tradition come together in the psychedelic space? Licensed psychotherapist and educator Sergio Castillo invites you into a conversation at the intersection of psychology and spirituality.

PsychedelicTherapy, #TranspersonalPsychology, #MindBodySpirit, #PsychedelicGuideTraining, #PsychologyAndSpirituality, #EntheogenicHealing, #PsychedelicEducation, #PsychotherapyAndPsychedelics, #PsychedelisANDSpirituality,

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