My father died this year of cancer. In the end, he was brought home from the hospital to die with his family around him, and I’m grateful for that. He was resigned to his inevitable end, and we were able to say goodbye.
Under the careful ministrations of hospice nurses, my father experienced his final day on a morphine-fueled trip that would have made psychedelic pioneer Timothy Leary jealous. As far as I know, it was his first and last extended psychedelic experience. None of the health care providers ever mentioned to us (or to him) that he’d be visiting the origin of the universe, seeing God and reliving his emotional childhood. But that’s what seemed to be happening as we sat around his bed.
Some research suggests that DMT (N, N-Dimethyltryptamine) is produced inside the dying brain and sparks a hallucinatory near-death experience — including feelings of transcending your body, traveling through alternative realms, communicating with sentient entities and so on. It’s unclear whether the morphine or the DMT is more responsible for the final magic carpet ride.
