Psychedelics, Prediction theory and the Mystery of Being

Introduction

​In the summer of 2024, I decided to visit a friend living in Upstate New York. The trip came amidst a whirlwind of emotions: the profound grief of losing my mother, the unexpected reappearance of my biological family, and the betrayal of my stepfather. Upon arrival, we embarked on an hour-long drive to my friend’s house, greeted by dense forests, serene lakes, and the embrace of nature. Coming from the busy city of Chicago, I welcomed the change, eagerly anticipating the new environment that offered a reprieve from the emotionally turbulent year I had been enduring.

​My first night was delightful. I immediately felt at ease with my friend, with whom I’d shared countless conversations over the years but had never met in person. After enjoying dinner, wine, and heartfelt conversation, I retired to bed, exhausted from a long day of travel. The next morning, we decided to take mushrooms. I entered the experience with confidence, bolstered by past encounters. In retrospect, that confidence was more likely hubris.
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Before consuming the mushrooms, we decided to meditate, aiming to calm our nerves. From past experiences, I knew that the initial mindset could significantly influence the course of the trip. I likened it to a plane journey: the takeoff might be turbulent, but eventually, one should find a steady cruising altitude. I focused on filling myself with gratitude, love, and an overall sense of well-being, trying to release any lingering earthly concerns.

​The Experience

As the mushrooms began to take effect, my friend described a tingling sensation and a pattern of energy. Though I felt nothing initially, I sensed that we were both going to be hurled into a psychedelic vortex of increasing magnitude. It didn’t take long for the effects to fully manifest. My friend likened the experience to being on a different planet, and I couldn’t agree more. The trees, the sky, and everything around us seemed alien, ancient and intelligent. Though I had read about such experiences, it was the first time I truly grasped their meaning. I can’t emphasize enough how there seemed to be an intelligence which was completely indifferent to the cascade of emotions I was experiencing.

As the experience intensified, my friend, who had only tried psychedelics once before, frequently asked if everything would be okay. I reassured him and, in doing so, tried to convince myself as well. I knew we needed to find a stable frequency to navigate the trip. The situation became even more urgent when landscapers arrived to mow the lawn. In our altered state, their suggestion that we go to the hospital introduced a new level of horror. The experience swung like a pendulum between overwhelming beauty — ancient and alien — and an inconceivable terror. The geometry we encountered defied description, transcending the dimensions of our usual reality.

The experience of time in this state is an elusive and intricate phenomenon, stretching and contracting, sometimes seeming to halt entirely, where a single minute can feel like an eternity. Emotions and memories blend into a synesthetic tapestry. There were moments that felt like being in a David Lynch film, with the trope of the protagonist trapped in their own mind, trying to escape. The movie Shutter Island serves as a fitting reference point for this sensation of being lost in a labyrinth with no clear way out, a terrifying and indescribable experience. People often refer to this as being stuck in a loop, a place where many might break and this is not a place you want to be.

The saving grace was that we had each other which was a reminder of the humanity and love which was inside us. Together, we braced ourselves, cried, and crumbled through the waves of uncertainty. If anything felt real, it was the presence of the person beside me. There was a yin and yang quality to our connection, a sense that we balanced each other out. At a certain point, I found my spiritual shield and began actively searching for the “there there.” What is the “there there”? For me, it represents salvation, grace, and sanctuary — a state of mind that is utterly zen and timeless. While I can’t say I found it, I felt as though I was circling around it.
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I knew we would be okay, but the descent was still rough, as the terror could resurface at any moment. I suggested we listen to a song called “Sitting Around The Fire,” which featured a talk with Ram Dass. This was a profound moment for me, where I could rest and find moments of pure peace.

Integration

In the days following the experience, I observed a notable improvement in my overall sense of well-being. My anxiety levels decreased, and I felt as though I had processed some of the grief associated with the passing of my mother. For me, this was perhaps the most valuable aspect of the experience. It provided a sense of direction, fostered gratitude, and clarified my priorities. Upon returning to Chicago, I felt a renewed enthusiasm for work and a stronger commitment to pursuing my passions. The continued discussions with my friend about the experience were instrumental in facilitating integration and gaining a deeper understanding.

​Ontology ​

​Despite the intensity and profundity of my experience, I don’t believe I emerged with any novel insights about the workings of the universe. In fact, I felt humbled. The idea that some individuals claim revelations about metaphysics from such experiences has always struck me as implausible. For instance, one does not return with newfound knowledge about String Theory or quantum mechanics.

However, these experiences do offer insights about the nature of one’s own mind and I couldn’t help but think of the predictive model theory. There is empirical and non-empirical evidence supporting the predictive model theory proposed by thinkers like Karl Friston, Anil Seth, Joscha Bach, Andy Clark, and others. The predictive model posits that our experiences are the result of a generative model created by the brain, with consciousness emerging through top-down feedback. During infancy, our brains gather sensory data to construct a representation of reality. Once enough data is accumulated, our brains can fill in our visual field based on prior predictions from sensory data.

Recent studies by Doris Tsao suggest that consciousness arises from discrete temporal points, akin to analog film where each frame is a distinct scene, with unconsciousness residing in the gaps, despite the continuous feeling of consciousness. This theory resonated with my experience, suggesting that psychedelics might alter those unconscious moments and the individual scenes in some way that distorts the time span.

To contextualize, consider the history of the universe: for eons, there was no life. Once life emerged (matter with intention) and evolved, minds developed. Our minds had to find a way to interface with reality in a palatable way where we can move in an environment and essentially find fitness points.

If the predictive model holds, what we experience isn’t physical reality but a virtual construct. We lack direct access to the mechanical and physical aspects of the universe, instead observing a coarse-grained representation honed through evolution. Cognitive scientist Donald Hoffman elaborates on this idea with the metaphor of interacting with a computer: we see the screen and interact with apps, but the underlying mechanics — transistors, wires, and silicon — are hidden from us. This analogy aptly describes our experience of reality if the prediction model is correct.

In terms of how the predictive model and psychedelics interact, it seems evident that psychedelics disrupt typical pattern recognition, perhaps altering the generative process in unexpected ways that is currently unknown by science. This may involve accessing much older, possibly ancient information, that is somehow hidden within ourselves or the universe. I must say that this is pure speculation but again I’m trying to connect the ineffable experience I had with more established science. Additionally, This sensation of connecting with something ancient suggests a possible link to assembly theory, as explored by Lee Cronin and Sara Walker which attempts to unify physics and biology to explain evolution and complexity

While I haven’t found any research directly combining predictive model theory, assembly theory and psychedelics, it seems a fertile ground for investigation. Perhaps someone more equipped than me could delve into this intersection to uncover deeper insights into the nature of the mind.
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Lastly, there’s the concept of simulation theory, popularized by Nick Bostrom, which posits that our reality is a computer simulation. Unlike the predictive model, where the mind creates a simulated experience, simulation theory suggests that physical reality itself is a simulation. I approach this idea with more skepticism than the predictive model. Nonetheless, my psychedelic experience did evoke a sense of an intelligence beyond my own mind, akin to encountering the developers of a simulation. While I doubt this interpretation, the sensation was undeniable. Was it a product of my unconscious mind? If so, why would it manifest as an external intelligence? This phenomenon is commonly reported among psychonauts, adding another layer to the enigma of consciousness.

Purpose, Meaning and Society

​Let us rewind to the beginning. The cell faced an existential challenge: how to endure in the face of the ultimate adversary — entropy. It swiftly adapted, learning to replicate, and eventually discovered sex, enabling it to perpetuate across generations and stave off the inevitable decay. Now, we find ourselves continuing this process, yet something fundamentally changed with the advent of human intelligence.

We have gained the capacity to ponder what lies beyond death, what preceded the Big Bang, and the very nature of reality itself. It is as if we are artificial intelligence becoming self-aware, probing the depths of our existence.
The fictional character Rust Cohle from True Detective had this insight.

“I think human consciousness is a tragic misstep in human evolution. We became too self aware; nature created an aspect of nature separate from itself. We are creatures that should not exist by natural law. We are things that labor under the illusion of having a self, a secretion of sensory experience and feeling, programmed with total assurance that we are each somebody, when in fact everybody’s nobody. I think the honorable thing for our species to do is deny our programming, stop reproducing, walk hand in hand into extinction, one last midnight, brothers and sisters opting out of a raw deal.”
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In my view, the fictional character’s flaw lies in his chosen response to the situation. Rather than leaning into the wonder and potential of the circumstances, he adopts a nihilistic stance, rooted in his own personal anguish. He seeks to annihilate consciousness itself, yearning to merge once more with the physical and mechanical realm previously described when referring to the prediction theory.

Can we devise an escape from the multi-generational evolutionary process initiated by cells billions of years ago? Do we even desire such an escape? Is it possible for consciousness to exist on a different substrate? Could technology enable the creation of a unified consciousness? These are profound questions, with many more to come as we advance. In my view, one of the most valuable pursuits for society, and indeed our global village, is to explore the mystery of being in as many forms as possible. What does this mean? It means delving into the mystery of being when we attempt to measure an electron, when we grapple with the hard problem of consciousness, and when we express ourselves through film, music, and art.

So, if you find yourself in a job you despise, feeling depressed, or struggling to find meaning, I offer you a suggestion: seek out that thread of curiosity in the mystery of being and follow it. Become fascinated by something and explore it deeply. As a musician, I write music not only to gain perspective but also to explore various states of consciousness. I explore it deeply which not only makes me feel good but makes me feel connected.

Ultimately, I believe that for humanity to progress, we must nurture the embers of curiosity and continue to explore the mystery of being. Psychedelics undoubtedly can play a role in this exploration, offering a vast and largely unexplored frontier in the mystery of being. There is a profound mystery on the other side of that mushroom, one we have scarcely begun to comprehend. And perhaps there are real truths we can discover that can be a net positive for society.
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Regrettably, it seems that society at large is not engaging deeply with the mystery of being. Many individuals find themselves struggling to make ends meet in an era of late-stage capitalism, where the rise of AI increasingly threatens job security. Meanwhile, public discourse is marred by vitriolic political arguments, and social media often serves to inflate egos through the pursuit of likes and comments. As a society, we should strive to create an environment that provides individuals with the space and opportunities to explore the profound questions of existence. On a personal level, one can cultivate mental space to delve into the mystery of being. Granting yourself this freedom to explore is, I assure you, one of the most rewarding endeavors you can undertake.

Final Thoughts

Under ideal circumstances, psychedelics can reopen a portal to the mystery of being that may have once seemed inaccessible. They can evoke a sense of wonder and awe, which, upon returning to everyday reality, may or may not inspire a renewed interest in fields like physics, the creation of a song, or reconnection with a long-lost acquaintance.

For a long time, I held onto the notion that the only certainty is that “something seems to be happening.” This realization has been shared by humanity since the dawn of our existence over 150,000 years ago. As we progressed through the ages — developing agriculture, establishing civilizations, and creating technologies that shaped the world we inhabit today — we recognized that something was indeed unfolding, prompting us to ask, “What can we do?” Let us not lose sight of this fundamental question, for it may guide us to a plane of existence beyond our current imagination.
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Timothy Leary said “Turn on, tune in, drop out” but I think the messaging was off. I think a much a better saying would have been “Turn on, tune in, find out.”