You hear it in the realm of Jason Bourne and other entertainment fabrications. Would you be surprised to learn that it’s true in real life? I just experienced it first-hand, one of the most consequential events in my life.

As I wait at the traffic light to turn southbound onto Florida Highway 19, I take a hit of my CBD vape and let its effects supplement my mental state after my first-ever psilocybin trip just the day before.

Around 2018, I began consuming CBD to treat chronic pain, anxiety, and depression from PTSD. As a “Gateway Drug of Truth,” cannabis has opened my eyes to the legitimacy of plant medicine, naturally leading me to the potential healing effects of psychedelics, such as psilocybin. Natalie Goldberg, of psychedelic.support, has researched several studies which utilized psychedelics to treat chronic pain, anxiety, and other similar conditions. In her article, Natalie states, “Even a tiny dose or infrequent use [of psychedelics], combined with emotional therapy, can yield positive results.” Coupled with the already calming effects of CBD, I can instinctively tell the mushrooms have permanently changed my consciousness and how I perceive my reality.

Colors are richer. Sounds are more meaningful. My awareness and mindfulness are more heightened than ever. Therefore, I take notice when a dozen motorcycle riders pass in front of me, heading down 19 in my intended direction. Leather vests, hair blowing in the wind, and loud pipes…to some, this is the epitome of freedom. I say to myself, “hey, look, a motorcycle gang!” I’m impressed with their ability to ride together in formation.

My path in the US Air Force exposed me to many types of training one would expect from the military: weapons familiarity, leadership and management competence, negotiation skills, philosophical and political debate, not to mention an abundance of martial history and tactics. Since it is the profession of warfare, we are trained to heal those that hurt, especially during crises, such as combat. As such, I volunteered to be among those that educated the recruits in First Aid/CPR during Basic Training at the U.S. Air Force Academy.

My light turns green, and I turn into the southbound traffic flow on Hwy 19. It’s five lanes of traffic in just this direction, and I’m a few cars behind the already-forgotten motorcycle gang. I focus on my route, my music, another puff of CBD, and developing thoughts of post-trip reintegration.

I am not a First Responder, a certified CPR provider, or a military/combat medic. Yet I’ve been exposed to and know more than the layperson, and I am trained to perform as a leader in intense situations. The training takes over. But it’s not the rote words of training I hear in my head. I act on the training, and that’s how it takes over.

Slowing, brake lights, congestion; there’s no traffic light, yet brakes remain on. Now there are more, and all the vehicles are stopping. I’m stopping, too. A single motorcycle and its rider urgently cross all lanes of traffic to get to the right, and my mind registers the debris cloud forming in my path.

Without realizing it, I release control to the training. An accident has happened with the motorcycles. Lives may be at stake. Pull over and act! Now! Although I recognize this as a crisis, I feel surprisingly calm. The CBD, the trip, and the training synergize into a sort of “peaceful panic.” My actions are deliberate and concise. Still in the right lane, I pull to the shoulder under an orange U-Haul sign. I turn off the engine, put on my hazard lights, and exit my car. 

You can’t do it because you’ll take charge and lead. Assign that task to a specific individual, don’t simply say, “Someone call 911!” Shared responsibility is NO responsibility. 

I make eye contact with the first bystander not already on the phone and say, “YOU! Call 911 and tell them what happened.” I turn away. Assess what happened. Be prepared. 

Two riders, on the ground, spooning, still embraced as they were on their bike when they passed me minutes before. Only now their crownless heads point down a road that no longer holds their future. They are surrounded by the rest of the gang, other vehicles, and miles of upstream traffic quickly approaching. 

I am now personally integrated into this moment. 

Aiding those two riders is beyond your ability. Regardless of their conditions, real First Responders need to be able to get to where you’re standing. Your car is already off the road; now get rid of the rest of these, too. I walk towards the mass of stopped cars already lining up behind me. Don’t let this get worse!

I’m 5’8” in tall shoes and about 140 pounds. The speed limit is 55mph. I step into the middle of the five lanes and start waving my arms and motioning traffic to go around. Shared responsibility is NO responsibility. I point at drivers one at a time and get them moving away. At least I’m wearing a red shirt so they can see me better, and I note the irony. Yet I am still remarkably calm, with no triggers or anxiety attempting to convolute my responses.

More cars are coming from the north. Over my shoulder, I see a motorcycle rider standing motionless as he faces his friends. His leather vest tells me he’s a veteran of the U.S. Army, but his size tells me more. Give bystanders something to do.

Wishing I had time to hit my CBD for one last shot of courage, I take a deep breath and approach the rider. However, instead of fear, I’m overcome with a familiar wave of personal connection, oneness, and love. It’s the same euphoric peace I experienced on my psilocybin trip the day before. I step between Papa Bear and his family, forgetting my size and personal safety. “Hey man, I’m sorry. We need to get these cars out of here so an ambulance can get through.” He doesn’t look at me, just past me.

“It doesn’t matter,” said this giant of a man. “They're dead, and we need to cover their bodies.”

Get his help; you need this guy. Make a connection with him! “If that’s the case, then that’s all the more reason to get these gawkers outta here. Will you please help me? I’m just a tiny guy they won’t see.” I gently put an arm on his shoulder to turn him away. I don’t know if he also felt it, but that simple touch cemented our relationship. Like the mushrooms just told me yesterday: we’re all connected and in this together.

And together we walk into moving traffic. We are a 2-body stanchion, forcing drivers around and away from us. Vehicles are moving. Keep the space clear for First Responders. Keep this guy occupied. I compel small talk about our brief, respective careers in the armed forces. He’s more at ease now, too. The traffic clears in just a few minutes, and we hear sirens approaching quickly. I assess my surroundings one more time.

You’ve done all you can. You didn’t see what happened. You can offer nothing to First Responders or investigators. This isn’t about you; get out of the way. Without another word and at peace, I turn away from it all. Without ego, I ignore the self-absorbed, disconnected bystanders asking me what happened, and I get into my car.

Lock the doors, start the engine, and turn the hazards off. Blinker on, merge into the lane, and safely continue your trip. The training releases me, and I effortlessly reintegrate into The Bigger Picture.

I’m calm. My focus is on my route, my stereo, my CBD vape, and my reflective thoughts. What just happened? Did that just happen? 

Whatever occurred in the last 15 minutes felt like it took both 15 seconds and 15 hours. I try to piece together my recollections of the event, and I'm grateful for the connection, communication, and contentment brought to me by my recent journey with psilocybin. Just a single heroic dose of Golden Teachers provided me with the comforting truth of life, the universe, and everything. As such, all contemplation leads to the same, singular conclusion: the motorcycle couple literally died as they lived in each other’s arms, and it seems they were OK with that. 

Therefore, I am OK with it, as well. Why shouldn’t I be? Plant medicine just proved to me that we can experience love and loss simultaneously without the emotional baggage. Therefore, in an emotional sense, this entire event didn’t happen to me; I just happened to be there. In truth, it didn’t even happen to them. It just happened. Like when the training takes over…