Rev entered the psychedelic space seeking relief, not as a clinician or researcher. His early journeys revealed both clarity and instability, teaching him that the ceremony is only one part of the work and that integration and community matter just as much. Today he champions safer, more equitable practices that blend ancestral wisdom with modern science. In this conversation he also explores how the EntheoDNA kit can inform preparation and integration by giving people personalized insights into sensitivity and metabolism.

What first drew you into the psychedelic space, and how has your perspective evolved over the years?

You know, I didn’t come into this space as a clinician or a researcher. I came in as someone who was deeply hurting—mentally, emotionally, spiritually. In 2016, I found myself in a really dark place, dealing with anxiety and undiagnosed family mental health patterns like bipolar and schizophrenia. I was trying everything—talk therapy, hypnosis, even NLP—but nothing was touching the root.

So I did what a lot of Seekers do when conventional methods fail—I turned to mushrooms and cannabis. And that first journey? It cracked me open. I felt clarity, aliveness, and connection like I’d never experienced before. But—and this is important—I didn’t have any framework or container to hold what came next. I spiraled into this messianic identity, believing I had a cosmic mission to save the world. It was mystical, yes, but also destabilizing.

Over the years, my perspective has radically shifted. I no longer see psychedelics as magic keys to truth—they’re amplifiers. They show you what’s already inside, both the beauty and the mess. The real work isn’t just the ceremony—it’s what happens before and after. Healing isn’t about chasing the light—it’s about learning to integrate the dark.

From your experience, what do you see as the biggest challenges the psychedelic community is facing today?

Honestly? Infrastructure. We’re in the middle of a cultural and spiritual renaissance—but without the systems, scaffolding, and safety nets to support it. Psychedelics are becoming more popular, more visible, more commercialized—but a lot of folks are stepping into these powerful experiences without community, without education, and without integration support. That’s a recipe for unnecessary suffering.

There’s also this fragmentation happening. You’ve got clinical researchers on one side, underground facilitators on another, and then influencers and entrepreneurs creating content in between. And while all those voices matter, they’re often not talking to each other. We’re lacking a shared language that respects both ancestral wisdom and modern science.

Another huge challenge is access. Who gets to heal? Who gets to lead? The current ecosystem still centers whiteness, wealth, and Western models of trauma. Meanwhile, BIPOC, LGBTQIA+, and disabled communities—who are disproportionately affected by trauma—are often left out of the conversation, or worse, tokenized.

And then there’s digital safety. I see people sharing incredibly vulnerable things in forums, group chats, and coaching containers that don’t have real privacy protocols in place. As someone building AI tools in this space, I’m deeply concerned with how we store, track, and honor people’s psychedelic data. If we’re not careful, we’re going to recreate the same extractive patterns that psychedelics are meant to help us heal from.

So yeah, it’s not just about the compound. It’s about a safe container. And we’ve got a lot of work to do there.

Looking ahead, what excites you most about the future of psychedelics, both in research and in community practice?

What excites me most is the convergence—the way different disciplines, traditions, and technologies are starting to meet in the same room. For a long time, we had to choose: science or spirit, clinical trial or ceremony, data or intuition. But now, we’re beginning to see models that hold both.

On the research side, we’re finally getting language and metrics to validate what indigenous and underground practitioners have known for centuries. The neuroscience around psilocybin and trauma, or MDMA and relational repair—it’s not just interesting, it’s liberating. It gives people permission to take their healing seriously. It’s helping shift the narrative from “drug user” to “Seeker” or “patient” or “healer.”

On the community side, I’m deeply inspired by the rise of integration circles, queer- and BIPOC-led ceremonies, and new forms of ethical entrepreneurship—like daytime mystical fundraisers and consent-centered retreat models. We’re moving beyond the guru complex and starting to design experiences that are collective, somatic, and emotionally intelligent.

And then, of course, there’s AI. I know that might sound odd in a conversation about psychedelics, but hear me out—when designed with care, AI can help decentralize access to preparation, integration, and risk screening. Tools like EntheoGPT or MushGPT are not replacements for human connection, but they are scalable, stigma-free support systems that meet people where they are. Whether you’re microdosing on a lunch break or prepping for a ceremony months in advance, you deserve a nonjudgmental companion that can track your patterns, offer reflective prompts, and empower your agency.

So yeah—what excites me is not just the future of psychedelics. It’s the future of how we show up for each other around psychedelics. With more reverence. More equity. More emotional fluency. And more tools that help us heal in ways that are personalized, grounded, and free.

How do you personally think about safety and preparation when it comes to psychedelic use?

For me, safety and preparation are sacred acts. They’re not just about reducing risk—they’re about honoring the journey before it even begins. A psychedelic experience doesn’t start when the substance hits your bloodstream—it starts with your intention, your emotional readiness, your nervous system state, and the integrity of the space you’re entering.

And preparation is personal. It’s not just about checking off a to-do list—it’s about understanding your own neurobiology, trauma history, and mental health landscape. That includes knowing your medications, your triggers, your family psychiatric background. Sometimes it means postponing a journey. Sometimes it means changing your dose. Sometimes it means not journeying at all.

Safety also includes who you’re with, not just what you take. Consent, emotional literacy, and aftercare are often overlooked—but they’re critical. I’ve seen people traumatized not by the compound, but by the environment they were in or the lack of integration afterward. So I always ask: Is this space trauma-informed? Is your facilitator or peer group skilled in nervous system regulation? Do you have a plan for the day after—and the week after that?

Ultimately, preparation isn’t just about safety. It’s about sovereignty. The more informed and resourced you are before the experience, the more likely you are to walk away empowered instead of overwhelmed.

In your view, what role can education and technology play in reducing risks and creating more supportive environments for exploration?

Education and technology are two of the most underutilized yet essential tools in this space. When done right, they democratize access to safety. They give people language, context, and tools to navigate what is often a nonlinear, emotionally complex experience. And in a world where not everyone has access to a skilled guide or integration circle, that really matters.

Education is the first line of harm reduction. It helps people understand what’s normal during a psychedelic experience—and what might be a red flag. It also teaches us that preparation isn’t optional. That integration isn’t just journaling—it’s nervous system hygiene, boundary repair, and meaning-making. And when you pair that education with tech? Now we’re talking scale.

That’s where AI comes in. Tools like EntheoGPT or MushGPT can provide 24/7, judgment-free support—whether you’re prepping for a ceremony or just trying to understand why microdosing made you feel emotional on day three. These aren’t just chatbots—they’re affect-aware guides that can track your emotional states, prompt reflection, and gently nudge you toward integrative practices that fit your context.

Tech also helps us personalize the journey. With tools like EntheoDNA, we can start to map how our unique genetics might affect our sensitivity to different compounds. That means fewer surprises and more informed decisions. And with our new platforms, we’re building digital infrastructures that let people access educational materials, journaling prompts, and peer-reviewed content—without the surveillance capitalism or spiritual bypassing that plagues a lot of digital wellness spaces.

So for me, tech isn’t a replacement for the human or the mystical—it’s an amplifier. When grounded in ethics, privacy, and inclusivity, it can help us build the emotional and spiritual infrastructure we so desperately need in this new entheogenic era.

Many people are curious about how their body might respond differently to psychedelics. How do you see genetic insights fitting into this larger conversation?

I see genetic insights as a missing puzzle piece—something that can radically increase safety, especially for people who are new to psychedelics or who’ve had confusing or challenging experiences in the past.

For me, it’s personal. When I first entered this space, I didn’t know I had a genetic predisposition to dopamine hypersensitivity. I didn’t know that certain polymorphisms in my serotonin receptors made me more likely to experience overstimulation or derealization. I had no idea that my family’s mental health history was tied to epigenetic markers that psychedelics could potentially activate. So when things went sideways during my early journeys, I blamed myself—or worse, I thought I was broken.

What genetic screening like EntheoDNA offers is a way to de-stigmatize those experiences. It reframes sensitivity not as a flaw, but as a biological signal. It helps people understand how enzymes like CYP2D6 or receptors like 5-HT2A can impact their metabolism and subjective effects—whether they’re using psilocybin, MDMA, or even cannabis. And that kind of insight can be empowering.

It also helps facilitators and coaches offer more tailored support. Instead of relying on intuition alone, they can look at someone’s neurochemical landscape and say, “Okay, maybe we start slower here. Maybe we spend more time in preparation. Maybe this person needs post-journey somatic integration instead of more ceremony.”

So I see genetic tools not as diagnostic, but dialogic. They open a conversation between your biology and your intention. Between your ancestry and your healing. And that’s where real transformation begins—not in bypassing complexity, but in learning how to be in relationship with it.

What impact do you think a tool like EntheoDNA could have on the way people approach preparation and integration?

I think it has the potential to completely reshape the conversation—from reaction to preparation, from “what just happened?” to “what’s likely to happen, and how can I prepare for it?”

EntheoDNA isn’t about telling people what to do—it’s about offering a mirror. A map. It says: Here’s how your body might process psilocybin. Here’s a flag about potential ketamine sensitivity. Here’s something to watch for with serotonin or dopamine. And suddenly, someone who thought they “did it wrong” now realizes, oh, this was my biology all along.

That shift alone can reduce shame, trauma, and unnecessary risk.

In terms of impact, I see three key shifts:

Informed Consent: People can make choices with a deeper understanding of their own physiology. Instead of blindly mimicking someone else’s protocol or heroic dose, they can co-create a journey that matches their neurobiological reality.
Customized Integration Plans: If you know you metabolize slowly or are more prone to certain post-journey mood dips, your integration plan can be structured proactively. Maybe you add extra somatic support, microdosing instead of macrodosing, or plan for a longer window of rest and reflection.
Facilitator Empowerment: For those holding space—clinicians, guides, peers—it offers an extra layer of insight. Not for diagnosis, but for nuance. It helps create trauma-informed, personalized protocols that move beyond trial-and-error.

To me, EntheoDNA is a form of compassionate technology. It doesn’t tell you who you are—it helps you ask better questions, prepare more thoughtfully, and integrate with more grace.

Some argue that psychedelics are all about intuition and experience, while others see value in science-based tools. How do you balance these two perspectives when educating people?

I love this question, because I’ve lived on both sides of that spectrum. I’ve had experiences so mystical, so ineffable, that no science could ever explain them. But I’ve also seen how unchecked intuition, without grounding or feedback, can become dangerous—especially in altered states.

So for me, it’s not about choosing one over the other. It’s about relationship—intuition and science as co-pilots. Intuition gives us access to inner truth. Science helps us test and refine it. Together, they form a feedback loop that honors both soul and system.

When I’m educating people—whether through EntheoGPT, coaching, or group facilitation—I always frame it like this: Your intuition is real. It deserves to be trusted. But your body has its own story too—written in genes, shaped by trauma, modulated by chemistry. And science-based tools can help you listen to that story with more precision and care.

For example, someone might say, “I feel called to do ayahuasca this month.” Beautiful. Let’s honor that call. But let’s also ask: What’s your serotonin profile? Are you on SSRIs? What does your gut say about integration support or community readiness?

The balance lies in building embodied discernment. Giving people tools to tune in and tune up. The mystical and the measurable aren’t in opposition—they’re parts of the same sacred equation. Entheogens aren’t just about expanding consciousness—they’re about learning how to contain it.

So in my world, intuition and data don’t cancel each other out—they dance. And the more we teach that dance, the safer, deeper, and more beautiful these journeys can become.

From Personal Healing to Collective Infrastructure: Rev’s Journey in the Psychedelic Space

Global Psychedelic Week- Psychedelic Science 2025 In Review