Elevation: The experience that got me higher than 5-MeO-DMT -- PART 1

Elevation: The experience that got me higher than 5-MeO-DMT

By Shiri Godasi

For months I’ve hovered over this article like one hovers over a threshold—knowing there is a doorway, knowing I must walk through it, yet unable to name the world waiting on the other side. Some seasons take us so deeply into the underworld that language becomes inadequate, unable to grasp the experience of being. We become the experience itself, and returning with even a shard of narrative feels like a miracle.

And yet… some stories aren’t ours to keep. They move through us with insistence, seeking expression. So, here I am, offering you the story that insists. It is long, but worth the read—especially if you are a spiritual seeker constantly “putting in the work” to reveal the God within through psychedelics; and though you may have gained much from your psychedelic quests, there is still a piece within that is restless, unsettled, maybe chasing the finish line where you can finally stop working on yourself like a “good psychenaut” by cultural standards (because “the work begins when the ceremony ends,” lalala), and simply start living a good life.

Worth the read even more so if you have been on the path for a while and you have been letting go and releasing to no avail… but the shadow work era just won’t end.

Also, reading through the end may be especially worth it for people with religious trauma. The word “God” will be used—a lot—as will terminology from Judaism. There is zero intention to convert anyone’s belief system; it may, however, utterly transform any held beliefs about entheogenic/psychedelic medicine, consciousness, shadow work, and integration… At least, that is what happened to me.

The Descent

This past summer was… brutal. A rainstorm of challenges across every axis of my life. Physical illness. Surgery. A painfully slow recovery and weight changes. Car issues. Home issues. Snakes and raccoons in the house issues, co-parenting issues. And just the reality of being a single mom living on the side of a mountain in Costa Rica with the nearest family members on the other side of the continent.

The isolation was not metaphorical and not in the least dramatic. Out here, it is not uncommon for a Gringa to be robbed or worse—and the thought would land heavy on my chest every single evening at bedtime: If something happened, who would even know to check on me? What about my daughter?

Carrying this fear for a number of years wears on the body, the mind, the spirit. The constant grappling with putting in effort to remain healthy, wears on your health. 

Another layer was being a Jewish woman in a Catholic country. A detail that never mattered—until Oct. 7 cracked open a primal yearning for my roots, my people, my lineage. For a Jewish partner and a Jewish home. In Costa Rica, where this is about as statistically likely as finding a minyan of unicorns… this part of me was starving.

And then, as if life said, “Let’s really cook her,” every one of my in-person clients left for the summer, suddenly breaking from sessions—meaning my income also took a sudden break. No income meant real worry about basic needs like shelter and food. Certainly there was also no luxury margin for any functional error on my part: every fight/flight/freeze mechanism in my body was activated as my nervous system went feral. I was sleepless, anxious, vibrating with fear, and seduced by depression. Yet I remained vigilant, well aware that one slip would destroy my life in irreversible ways.

So this was another dark night of the soul par excellence. The greatest depth psychologists in history believed we may have several rounds of those in life because we are always becoming more of who we are; who am I to argue? Like most psychenauts, been there, done that—and despite the tar-like darkness of that time, I still knew this too shall pass. We can’t stop the waves of the ocean of life, but we can certainly learn how to surf; and if there is anything integration has taught me over this past decade, it is surfing the psychospiritual swells like a psychedelic Kelly Slater.

A tip on how to surf the waves of life like a pro: You bow to the intelligence of nature, breathe, and engage your tools. Dear elders had given me two: gratitude and prayer.

So I prayed—hard. With a rawness I hadn’t tasted before. Letting “God” roll off my tongue daily, not as an abstract concept but as a lifeline I was clutching with both hands.

I prayed for work. For peace in my heart. For forgiveness in the hearts of others. For direction. For love. For any glimmer or crumb to lead me through and out of this bardo death portal.

For a sign, or at least a miracle.

Really, for anything to pierce the dense Costa Rican ecosystem of Aloneness that I had somehow manifested.

By late summer, I was in a prime state for change: fully surrendered, on my knees and begging:

“I am ready. Please guide me.”

The Call

One night after putting my daughter to sleep, I was doom-scrolling on IG to pacify the anxiety. Suddenly—an ad appeared. A Kabbalah meditation retreat. Led by a psychedelically inclined Chassidic rabbi, no less, that I’ve followed for a while.

In that very instant, I felt my partially dissociated soul grabbed by the neck and teleported to upstate New York, where this retreat would take place in a few short weeks. Every cell in my body was activated and popping fireworks as I skimmed through the description. For the first time in months, there was a clear and external communication of some sort; a knock on the door. It was life itself.

Like a yellow brick road leading to Emerald City, I felt the fascia fibers of interbeing that is my Jewish lineage illuminating my soul’s ascension path to NY. Aptly for a psychonaut, Rabbi Doniel Katz is what can only be described as a multidimensional spiritual master. Well versed not just in the ancient teachings of Kabbalah and Torah, but also in current cultural affairs, consciousness, psychology, and wellness amongst many other disciplines, Rabbi Katz is a unique voice in ultra-Orthodox Judaism. Perhaps it is his unity-consciousness vision: the man possesses an exceptional skill to overwrite fundamentalist-type dichotomies in favor of bridging and integration of worlds—spirit and earth, individual and collective, secular and devout, esoteric and applied sciences. Perhaps it’s the talent to simply help people return home: to their heart, to their sovereignty, to their faith, and to their dharmic mission. And this return does not mandate years upon years of processing and “doing the work,” but an open heart that is available for a micro-shift that would allow the stream of divine light to pour through.

This rare Jewish mystic unicorn that is Rabbi Katz—with his shamanic skillsets of removal of psychospiritual blocks to sync people into total mind-body-spirit alignment (which I would go on to experience and witness first hand a number of times over these next months) combined with a pure crystalline energy aura—made it clear as day: this man would surely magnetize some other magical folk that are into consciousness, mysticism, meditation, and integration. People like me! Here comes the soul tribe, migrating from the far reaches of the planet to converge at this vortex that Rabbi was crafting. It was like he was calling a tribe assembly, as he had something pivotal to share. There was almost no decision on my end to be there, and this wasn’t an invitation.

It was a summons.

I applied for a scholarship, not without tears and fearing disappointment; I tend to do well for myself, but the retreat cost and travel from Latin America were laughably beyond reach at that season. I assumed I’d have time to figure logistics before hearing back.

The next morning, they wrote: Approved.

I panicked—I wasn’t ready—and declined.

They returned with another offer. I still wasn’t ready and politely declined, thanking them for their generosity and sealing the exchange.

A few days later, they circled back with the news that an anonymous donor had allocated the funds for my ticket. At that point, it felt any refusal on my behalf would be akin to slapping the universe (and myself) in the face.

Still panicked, still wasn’t ready, and it wasn’t clear how things would work out. But I threw all F’s to the wind and said YES.

And immediately—IMMEDIATELY—life began rearranging itself around that yes, from childcare to accommodations. Things got taken care of; I just had to agree and move with it.

I was being carried.

The Door

So I arrived in NY grateful, excited, and mostly curious. I have attended meditation retreats in the past, arriving at states that are likely similar to those that caused Dr. Richard Alpert to turn into Ram Dass and discontinue engagement with psychedelics. However, this would be my first engagement with Kabbalah meditations—or Kabbalah at all, for that matter. Despite growing up in a conservative Jewish family and having been raised blocks away from the infamous Kabbalah Center in Los Angeles—the one that had semi-converted Madonna from her Catholic upbringing—I had never so much as attended a Kabbalah class in my life. Who knew that Kabbalah included a mindfulness approach at all? Let alone—as I would learn later on—had systemized and formalized many of today’s touted spiritual concepts and healing practices such as transcendent states, meditation, visualization, breathwork, tapping, and by God, even preparation and integration, centuries and millennia ago? And how is it that I found myself at a four-day Hasidic meditation retreat as an intro—or rather, the gateway drug—into this world?

My formulated intention for the retreat was to understand my role as a Jewish woman and to have the courage to accept this role. I proceeded to announce it to the group of 240 participants during our first retreat workshop late Sunday afternoon.

The Ego Death

The frontal set and setting for our meditation journey for the event were anchored through ancient Kabbalah teachings outlining pillars of consciousness, before providing straightforward experiential guidance into the nature of meditation and contemplation. We then learned a simple, highly practical cognitive tool developing awareness of the mind’s inclination towards distraction, then crafting and deepening intentional thought—or focus. Through a couple of sits, there was opportunity not just to practice but to examine the tool, measuring change and efficacy of the teachings.

I felt that familiar queasy cocktail of excitement and unease bubble up, not unlike before an ayahuasca ceremony. We practiced and socialized until 11 p.m. Time quickly became meaningless as I resolved to remain awake and soak up every minute of the experience.

Funny how we make plans, and God laughs. And just the nature of humanity, with our tendencies to believe we are anything but in a dream state… or the occasional forgetfulness that awakening begins in a state of slumber.

The next morning, through workshops focused on eliminating and clearing our energetic field from intrusive content in preparation of our vessel to house light consciousness, it immediately became clear that I—or my ego identity—was dying. I moved through a psychological push and pull of fear and trust, denial and questioning, resistance and desire, as the facilitation through the workshops and exercises gently dismantled my inner walls, block by block.

Now, this is not my first rodeo. Slowly disintegrating, I was able to also observe and narrate this mid-process, whispering periodic updates to my mentors between rounds in the meditation ring, and finally surrendering my fight to the unraveling.

Midday, it was done.

Exhausted, I fell dead asleep in meditation.

And then, literally and symbolically, woke up into a new dimension of light.

In a guided exercise, we called in and visualized the Holy Name. As I gazed at the dark Hebrew letters floating softly across my peripheral vision—sacred geometry with each line and curve encapsulating cryptic wisdom—they began morphing, angling themselves between me and a blinding field of divine white light behind them.

But I was only allowed a glimpse.

Like a little girl on her tiptoes and peeking through blinds overshadowing sunny windowsills, my eyes squinted, slowly expanding to meet the brightness at their own pace. And the letters were kind, patient… an ancient, kept secret with no timeline and no rush.

As the meditation deepened, the letters slowly rotated until they were no longer blocking the light—only guiding me toward it. Doors were opening.

And then:

Everything dissolved into one abiding field of white. It was pure, pristine, powerful, and all-encompassing. There was absolutely nothing else but this white light and myself; also, there was everything. A complete singularity that was nestled within and behind the holy letters of my native Hebrew tongue.

Who knew?

The darkness birthed divinity.

I wasn’t looking at the light.

I was in it.

I was it.

God as I.

What more is there?

But… That’s not all! That wasn’t even “the breakthrough”. 

This was just me making my initial baby steps into the mirrored courtyard of divinity. 

The Unity

How can one encapsulate a homecoming?

The human mind, in attempts to define, find meaning, and grasp the experience of life, finds comfort in language attribution, however minimizing it may be. In psychedelic lingo, that day’s events, where timelines collapsed and souls resurrected, would be compartmentalized into the hallmark “death and rebirth” insights.

I ventured.
I died.
I was born again into the light of God, no less—all within the first 24 hours of the retreat.

As the color returned to my face with that afterglow unique to those emerging from another cosmic rebirth portal in a high-dose mushroom ceremony, I entered the final meditation of the day with zero expectations: curious but skeptical, yet ready to follow through.

What is left once one has reached and conquered the peak experience? (lol)

Apparently, nothing—and everything.

Evening came around and we shifted into an active breathwork meditation sequence. Breathwork, as those who have experienced this modality can attest, takes stamina and endurance, which at this point of the day and after my warrior’s journey, I had very little to none to spare. It is quite remarkable how a fully psychic experience with zero voluntary physical movement can take such a toll.

I immediately fell asleep (again) and woke up at the end of the meditation, thinking it was a good time to throw in the towel. But apparently, this was only the first and preparatory round for the grand finale of the breathwork sequence.

I won’t lie—I was less than eager to dive into this last meditation of the evening. Parts of me had already shut down and surrendered the breath to the night. However, seated at the front row and out of respect for the Rabbi, the team, and my peers, I figured I would just close my eyes and follow instructions until culmination.

Physical exhaustion aside, I was overflowing with awe and gratitude. Intentions already fully met; even the needs I never knew I carried were answered by the day’s preceding events—leaving me without a single remaining expectation, wish, or desire.

Empty and fulfilled at once.

Aptly, my guard was nonexistent. And perhaps this is all that it took. 

Because after twenty-ish minutes or so of internal chatter about how I won the day, how complete I feel, how tired I am, how I, I, I… suddenly “I” found itself working through a relational block, dissolving into forgiveness and love, then finally immersed in a state of “We.”

It all simultaneously collapsed and elevated, in both the most subtle yet noticeable way, shifting into a state of consciousness that can only be described as no less than Unity Consciousness.

There it was.

The holy grail.

The elusive psychospiritual breakthrough experience I had never accessed—not through years of meditation, rituals, and retreats; 

not through hundreds of ceremonies and exploring transcendental states with diversified sets and settings, skills, and support systems; 

not through varying compound combinations, ranges of doses, and stacking protocols; 

not through the honorable 5-MeO-DMT, aka the God molecule itself—a compound touted for its hallmark breakthrough unity consciousness experience, with which I have sat a lost-count-of number of times over the years.

Really, not through any natural or synthetic, novel or indigenous psychedelic technology or medicine road.

But laying on the carpeted ballroom floor at the Hilton NY, jaw dropped open just like that stunned cat from IG memes, the experience was unmistakable:

Unity consciousness was suddenly here—big time.

And my pathway in was through Kabbalah and Jewish mysticism as channeled by Rabbi Doniel Katz.

Holy. Wow.

Did I start shouting “YESSSSS” at the top of my lungs with 200+ people around me breathing and wailing through their own transcendental state tunnels?

Yes. I sure did.

It may or may not have triggered waves of loud awesomeness through the hall. A peak experience is a peak experience—often best when shared.

The Integration

So this was day two of the meditations, with two more days to go.

Breakthrough after breakthrough cascaded—visions, affirmations, and initiations that cannot be detailed here, as nearly three months following the retreat, much of the experience has remained largely verbally ineffable for me.

Perfectly by design for my cerebral, analytical mind that dissects life to death.

For once, there are truly no words—only a felt experience, a dimension of divinity so palpable it feels as if I am held in a luminous liquid ocean of God’s own breath.

At the end of the fourth day, and after remaining in the cocoon of the hotel for an extra night to soak up as much of the prayer as possible before returning to the jungles of Costa Rica, I felt my inner architecture rewired.

I don’t say this lightly: I emerged from the retreat knowing I was a different woman. 

This was a 3.5 day long spiritual emergence-type of a transition, more colossal in magnitude than the one I had experienced in 2014–a fascinating story shared through multiple interviews and interestingly, also occurred on a carpeted hotel floor and in meditation, without psychedelics. I woke up and out of that meditation, a different woman; this was the experience that was the catalyst for my work as a psychedelic activist, therapist and educator since then. 

10 years and 10 months later, here we are. Another portal, another awakening. An elevation… Into what?

A good friend who saw me on the morning I left for the retreat, and then saw me an hour after it ended, said I looked like a different woman.

One cannot help but wonder if this so-called transformation is a projection of one’s own mind, as fragile as time itself. Meaning, is this but a momentary manifestation of one’s own deepest knowing of their dharmic potential, combined with the desire—and despair—for change?

Perhaps just a commercial break to take the edge off the intense action film that life can seem to be, especially when one is caught in a survival loop.

But the avatar known as Shiri Zohar Godasi is an integration person that fancies psychospiritual research with the purpose of exploring the metaphysical field for growth potential and anchoring light into our collective human experience.

This translates into an obsession with interpretation of the potential/light into teachable, methodical, and systemized embodiment practices that create healthy, rapid, and sustainable upleveling in all areas of life.

All just one of my altar ego’s ways of saying it’s trained to observe spiritual BS.

And it knows very well the potential risks gleaned in peak experiences, notably when the mental expansion is significantly greater than the nervous system’s capacity. Combined with emotional despair for wellness and the all-too-common lack of resources, it can be a dangerous recipe for disintegration—a deterioration in all aspects of life.

And here is the reason why this story took a while to write itself:

One of the five golden rules of psychedelic integration is WAIT AND SEE.

Meaning, if what feels true now is truly true, it will also be true later.

I needed to confirm these breakthroughs weren’t merely mental projections, and that this wasn’t a passing spiritual high. The only way to see these teachings are true, healthy, and beneficial—and that they also have gravity, not just in a holy yet isolated vacuum-type experience but out in the trenches of the default matrix—was to allow time to take its course.

The snow globe has to settle, and it will still carry magic–hopefully...

+++ To Be Continued +++

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