🫠 Psychonaut POV

Welcome to Tricycle Day. We're the psychedelics newsletter that assumed mushrooms were halal as long as we ate them with that tangy white sauce. 🤤

Karina Bashir holds that psychedelics are a human rights issue. You know, like housing, clean water, and a daily afternoon nap. (Worth a shot.) She’s also a Muslim lawyer who reps psychedelic churches and co-leads the Psychedelic Bar Association's religious use committee.

We asked Karina where Islam has rubbed off on psychedelic culture, how Sufis reach divine without drugs, and which psychedelic policies need to flex to accommodate the world’s spiritual diversity.

This experience is for spiritual seekers, not patients. Your guide is an ordained practitioner with 50+ years of contemplative practice who frames the psilocybin journey as an encounter with what he calls the “transcendent and ineffable.” It's a private session south of Denver with two prep and two integration sessions included.

Prior to law school, I worked in international human rights, mostly focused on refugees and migrants. I lived in the Middle East for five years, and I love the region. I worked with migrant laborers in Bahrain and Syrian refugees on the border of Syria and in Istanbul. My international human rights work focused largely on addressing harm through legal and social structures. Over time, I became aware of some of the limits of these frameworks, particularly the inability to address the psychological wounds that persist long after individuals are resettled or removed from immediate danger.

I went to law school at UC Berkeley and landed at an international corporate law firm for nearly three years. While working at the firm gave me invaluable training and exposure, I felt pulled toward work in the world of mental health. After the pandemic, I became much more aware of the mental health challenges prevalent in the U.S. and globally. This recognition, alongside the enduring trauma I witnessed in my human rights work, shifted my attention toward health law and, eventually, the field of psychedelic-assisted therapy.  

I also wanted the opportunity to integrate spirituality within my work. I've always been a spiritual person. I grew up with a Muslim Pakistani father and Polish Catholic mother. On my Pakistani side, herbalism and spirituality were woven into everyday life, shaping how I understood health and healing from an early age. On my Polish side, my mother embodied a devout love for God and taught me to lead a heart-centered life. Psychedelic law became the place where all of these threads converged: my legal training, my commitment to human rights, my interest in mental health, and my lifelong engagement with spirituality and traditional healing.

When I came into the psychedelic space, I saw Islam everywhere and nowhere at once. I recognized my own culture in the linens, the South Asian traditions, and the ubiquitous Rumi quotes. But there were very few Muslims in the room. It is rare to find someone who knows that Rumi, the most widely read poet in America, was a 13th century Islamic scholar. Maybe one out of ten people I meet knows that Sufism is Islamic mysticism.

The separation of Sufism from Islam may seem inconsequential, but it is part of a broader historical pattern. During colonial times, Victorian Orientalists could not reconcile their racist perceptions of Muslims as “uncivilized desert people” with the brilliance of figures like Rumi. So, they recast Sufi poetry as something separate, something more palatable to Western audiences—a narrative later perpetuated by modern translators. 

Islam is a wisdom tradition that has many offerings which overlap with spiritual frameworks found within psychedelic narratives. We have fana, which is ego annihilation, with extensive literature on working with the heart and the ego to connect to the Divine. We have dhikr, the practice of remembrance, repeating the names of God in meditation, breathwork, and silence. And sama, the embodied whirling you might know from the dervishes, represents the receiving of Divine blessings and each human’s sacred stewardship on earth. Both dhikr and sama are intentional practices for reaching the Divine through altered states, without any substance.

Islam also has a substantive body of knowledge around the unseen Al-Ghayb, or layers of existence beyond our physical world. We even have animism, which people normally associate with Indigenous traditions. There is a hadith about stones greeting the Prophet (Peace be Upon Him) in Mecca. In another hadith, the Prophet (PBUH) comforted a tree that began to weep when he had stopped preaching in front of it. These examples reflect the reverence for nature and its sentience within the tradition.

In Islam, intoxicants are generally prohibited, though exceptions are made for certain medications, and scholars have also issued rulings on cannabis for medicinal purposes. Yasir Qadhi, a well-known Islamic scholar, has suggested psychedelics may eventually receive a similar ruling. I think broader acceptance is more likely once the FDA approves psychedelic therapy and more states establish legal frameworks.

Even with legalization, without Islamic rulings, many Muslims may be hesitant to engage. For example, I know someone with OCD who chose not to apply for a Johns Hopkins psilocybin trial because they worried it might be haram, even in a medical setting. 

One way to build a theological bridge is to generate enough thoughtful conversation that scholars feel compelled to weigh in. There is historical precedent. In the 15th century, an Ottoman ruler banned coffee because it was seen as mind-altering. Yet Sufis were already drinking it to stay awake during nightly devotion. As the practice became widespread, scholars eventually issued new religious opinions. In some ways this process has already started. I have met several Muslims who shared that their psychedelic experiences led them to deepen their practice of Islam. And there are community groups like Ruhani, which engage meaningfully on the topic of Islam and psychedelics.

Representation is another underlying barrier. Muslims generally don't see themselves in the psychedelic space, so these conversations rarely reach the community. Also, when clinical trials are 80% white, that creates generalizability challenges. For example, if a Muslim participant were to hear voices or encounter visionary entities during psychedelic therapy without culturally attuned preparation and support, what could have been a healing experience might instead become a traumatic one.

Just as much as people have a right to food, water, shelter, and education, I think people have a right to heal. Psychedelic therapy will not be the solution for all, but we have clinical research showing that these treatments have the potential to help a lot of people, including those with addiction, PTSD, depression, and anxiety. Many people are taking one to three pills a day to manage these conditions. If psychedelic therapy could more sustainably improve mental health and enhance well-being, then to me there is a valid argument for access within the right to health.

Moreover, placing psychedelic therapy within a human rights framework liberates it from the War on Drugs narrative. When it is framed within the context of the human right to health, people are better able to understand the potential of these therapies.  

It comes down to inclusion, which means meaningful engagement with specific communities to understand what they actually need. The needs of different communities are likely to be influenced by their cultural values and lived experiences. Policy has to respond to this reality by bringing those voices in to shape treatment, access, and education regarding psychedelic therapy. 

Some of the adjustments would be easy to make, such as culturally attuned playlists. For example, I know a Muslim woman who participated in a clinical trial, and the one thing she would have changed was the playlist. The chamber music sounded very Christian to her, and it negatively impacted her experience. 

There are also more complex medical questions related to genetics. For example, South Asians have high rates of heart disease, and we know certain psychedelics can carry cardiac risk. The population-specific safety profile isn't widely understood, because we don't have the data. 

In the aftermath of legalization, people will have a vast range of experiences. We have the opportunity now to shape frameworks and a foundation for people of diverse backgrounds to have positive, safe, and healing experiences with psychedelic therapy.

Follow her on Instagram, or visit her website for legal guidance, coaching, and consulting.

That’s all for today, Cyclists! Whenever you’re ready, here’s how we can help.

Forwarded this email? Subscribe here.

DISCLAIMER: This newsletter is for educational and informational purposes only and is not intended as a substitute for professional medical advice. The use, possession, and distribution of psychedelic drugs are illegal in most countries and may result in criminal prosecution.