An Alchemy of the Heart: Why Veterans are Leading the New Psychedelic Revolution
As the world is immersed in conflict and discontentment, a surprising alliance is rising—Veterans turning to ancient medicines to chart a new path forward.
A story of Veteran healing, shared with permission and gratitude:
I came here without expectation, if only to cross off the list another attempt at self-forgiveness. I thought this was going to be about seeing something weird, like flying rainbow dragons or some other hippie catnip—bright colors and decent music, maybe.
Looking back, I see I was naïve.
This was my first time with a psychedelic. I had never taken a “drug” before. I always did all the “right things.”
What I experienced was the clearing of a trail back to my heart. The immersion of music, sight, and emotion cut through the overgrown thicket of a life long lived but seldom felt. I felt everything now.
That night became a reclamation of me. Buried and hidden, but never gone.
The plants came alive in a way no words can capture. Shimmering lights and colors more vivid than anything I imagined. The trees and bushes swayed, each one devoted to the rhythm of the playlist. The flowers turned toward me as I spoke, as if they genuinely cared what I had to say.
My mouth gaped open for hours. Drool trailed down my chin, and I didn’t care. I was in awe. Shattered and stunned by the beauty of it all. Nature—in its purest majesty alive in a way I could not have imagined—cracking open my heart for the first time in decades.
To the flowers, I looked again, this time with eyes wide open by truth. I felt the presence of my deceased grandmother and a young teenager I killed in Afghanistan. They were here to comfort me, and the Primroses served as the mediators of this exchange. No words were spoken. But with complete understanding, I was forgiven.
I turned to my guide, my face glowing with joyful tears. Her gift of creating this space and holding it for me—this life-changing moment—landed with full force.
“You hippies finally make fucking sense,” I said.
We laughed.
Can we Catch our Breath?
As I write these words, the world is…pretty damned stressed.
Every day, the specter of global conflict looms larger. The Israel–Hamas and Ukraine–Russia conflicts show no genuine signs of resolution. Israel has also just launched preemptive strikes on Iranian nuclear sites, and Iran has responded by firing hundreds of missiles toward Israel. Judging by public commentary, it feels as though the United States leadership is again beating the war drums. A decision to enter the fray—yet another war in the Middle East—will be made in the coming days.
On the other side of the world, China is conducting increasingly aggressive military patrols around Taiwan, vowing to seize the island by 2027. And although no lethal shots have been fired, 700 U.S. Marines have joined 4,000 National Guard soldiers to quell large-scale, destructive protests in Los Angeles, a city still recovering from the inferno that engulfed Pacific Palisades just six months earlier.
Even when we step back from the perspective of armed conflict and protest, the ground beneath us continues to shift. President Donald Trump and Elon Musk were once embroiled in a bizarre and painfully public feud. Anthropic CEO Dario Amodei recently cautioned that AI could eliminate over half of all entry-level jobs. Ongoing tariffs and trade tensions keep unsettling markets and fueling fears of recession across global economies. The United Nations and various NGOs now warn that nearly half the global population may face severe water shortages in the coming decade. In fact, Kabul may become the first modern city to run dry by 2030. And with massive volcanic eruptions in Italy and Bali, it certainly feels like Mother Earth is shaken, too.
What is really wild? All of this—every headline and crisis—exists within a two-week news cycle in June 2025.
Can we admit we might need to pause and have just one minute to breathe?
We sure could use that right now.
A Revolution, or a Return?
Amid the chaos, maybe it’s worth asking—what is driving all of this? What lies beneath the headlines, beneath the partisan noise, perhaps even deeper than politics or policy? Could the unrest we feel be rooted in something more fundamental?
From where I sit on the balcony, my gut suggests it is something deeper: the consequences of a culture that has slowly detached from its own humanity. We could call it a failure of leadership, and we would not be wrong. But I believe, more truthfully, it is a disconnect from consciousness.
The good news is that I believe there is an antidote. It starts with finding ways to heal and re-attach to what it is to be human. The path I see is unconventional and boldly idealistic. But if we look beyond the noise, we may rediscover what we once knew but long forgot: that healing doesn’t come from elimination but from remembrance.
What feels like a revolutionary idea may, in truth, be a return.
A return to what? A memory, perhaps. An older way of being. Something still rooted deep in our ancestral DNA. Forgotten, but never gone.
There are ancient tools of soul and ceremony suited for this opportunity. They are keys of sorts, unlocking wisdom that resonates deeply within our minds, bodies, and spirits. Our ancestors recognized this. It was embedded in ritual, healing, and ways of honoring life's mysteries. But somewhere along the way, fear, control, and cultural amnesia severed our connection to that knowledge. We have suffered ever since.
Yet, things are changing. A flicker of hope still warms the embers of distant memory.
An Alchemy of the Heart
Beyond the milieu of conflict and contention, a new kind of leadership is emerging—not from boardrooms or political podiums but from the unexpected union of two worlds: the love-filled psychedelic explorer and the ever-hardened combat Veteran.
Together, they are igniting a renaissance and rediscovering the therapeutic potential of psychedelics. These are not escapists seeking a high, but warriors searching for healing, purpose, and clarity.
At the state level, Texas—of all places—has allocated $50 million in state funds to research the use of ibogaine for treating opioid addiction, depression, anxiety, PTSD, and traumatic brain injuries. North Carolina is also on the verge of passing legislation to formalize a task force to explore what psychedelic-assisted therapy could look like within its borders, should these medicines be rescheduled at the federal level. Louisiana, for its part, also advanced legislation last week to form a “nine-member panel to study whether certain psychedelic therapies may be beneficial to Louisiana Veterans.”
At the federal level, in January 2024, the Veterans Administration announced it would fund psychedelic research for PTSD and depression for the first time since the 1960s. Just a few months before the VA made its move, Texas Congressman Dan Crenshaw, a former Navy SEAL, shepherded a bipartisan provision to the 2024 National Defense Authorization Act to fund psychedelic research for active-duty service members, marking the first time federal legislation has explicitly supported the study of psychedelic therapies within the Department of Defense.
Fair question to ask: What is happening here?
Simply put, the United States Veteran community is the engine driving this movement.
Disillusioned by years of ineffective treatments and rising suicide rates, many have turned to substances like MDMA, psilocybin, DMT, and ibogaine not as a means of escape but as a way to confront their struggles. Once whispered in private, Veteran stories now echo in Congress, advancing bipartisan legislation and calling for greater access and research.
This is more than a policy shift. It is a reclamation of dignity, agency, the right to heal, and a clear path toward a better way of being. By challenging the systems that have failed them, Veterans are rewriting the recovery narrative.
As a Veteran, I can think of no group better equipped to lead this effort. We are shaped by decades of combat experience, and many of us have sacrificed the best years of our lives fighting in the sands of Iraq and the valleys of Afghanistan. This particular cohort of Veterans—the 9/11 Generation—is united, vocal, and focused, and has forged a new sense of purpose, not from duty but from devotion.
This is a true alchemy of the heart.
Taking the Lead
Look closer, and a poetic symmetry emerges. Some of us are the sons and daughters of Vietnam and the Summer of Love, and with our own life experiences hollowed by a fruitless, multi-decade war, are now returning to the stage—not to protest but to heal. This time, we may finally have the tools and the humility to get it right. The lessons from the 1960s are still fresh.
To this end, the chance to listen to Veterans share their psychedelic experiences evokes a profound reverence for life. And whether they opt for a more clinical and controlled setting or favor the indigenous methods of using the medicine, all seem to emerge cracked open, yet somehow made more whole from these experiences.
You can find these stories everywhere if you look for them.
Marcus Capone, a former Navy SEAL, founded VETS with his wife, Amber, after ibogaine restored his life. VETS has taken hundreds of Veterans suffering from PTSD, depression, anxiety, and traumatic brain injury overseas to experience psychedelics, and their work hums with countless stories of redemption. Adam Marr, a former Army Apache pilot, is deeply involved in several initiatives, most notably the Veteran Mental Health Leadership Coalition (VMHLC), which serves as the connective tissue for many nationwide efforts to advocate for the legislative advancement of psychedelic-assisted therapy. Each time a state initiative related to psychedelics emerges, you can be sure that VMHLC is working behind the scenes to help carry it across the finish line.
As more Veteran stories emerge, interest from the scientific community increases, providing much-needed ballast and credibility to the movement. Accordingly, university research is beginning to form fruitful collaborations with the Veterans. Stanford, as one example, released highly compelling research showing remission rates of nearly 90% for anxiety, depression, and PTSD among Special Operations Forces Veterans—all after a single application of ibogaine.
Perhaps even more remarkable is that MRI scans revealed something unexpected: these veterans regrew and repaired their brains, effectively reducing the age of their brains by nearly two years and reversing the insidious effects of traumatic brain injury in the process. This is just one of many exciting studies emerging in the field of psychedelic research.
Also, just this week, the Psychedelic Science 2025 Conference in Denver launched an impressive effort to raise awareness of the data behind the enthusiasm. With over 7,000 attendees and 600 speakers, this was not a fringe effort—its global reach and momentum were unmistakable. Review the key events from the agenda, and again, you will find Veterans at the forefront, whether leading panels on policy reform or hosting a special screening of In Waves and War, the upcoming Netflix documentary on Veterans' experiences with psychedelics.
Veterans are not just participants in this movement.
We are shaping it.
Walking Each Other Home
Despite all this promise, there are hurdles. These substances are still classified as Schedule I drugs. Scholarship is difficult when the handcuffs of “no medicinal use and high potential for abuse” bog down academic research opportunities. Consequently, access to and advancement of knowledge remain restricted, not least of which is the stigma of being associated with these “drugs.” For many, genuine participation still means traveling overseas or placing trust in underground healing communities, which is not without its risks.
Still, for all the barriers, one truth remains: this movement is no longer waiting for permission. When given the opportunity, we Veterans can be a relentless and motivated cohort of misfits. Sitting still is not something we do well.
So here we are, taking the lead and running with it. We are not just recipients of healing—we are now called to be the architects of a movement built on access, awareness, and transformation. We are constructing bridges where institutions have failed and holding space where systems are cracking. We have carried our wounds into the fire, and now we walk this path of integration, together, so that others might also find their way home.
So, the question now is not if this movement will grow. It already has. And it grows more every day.
The question really is: Who among us is ready to follow? Are our communities prepared to hear our words? Are we ready to embrace possibility over stigma, healing over habit, and courage over compliance?
It is time we seriously consider what these medicines can offer when used in structured and reverent ways. It is also time to discard the harmful stories our government has embellished and imposed upon us for the past 55 years.
Let us open our minds and our hearts to the possibility that these medicines were never meant to harm but to heal.
And to grow. To remember. To come home to our shared humanity.
Looking back upon the indigenous ways of being offers clear insight into this revelation.
We can change the world with this movement, and I think it starts here—with the stories we tell, our choices, and the conversations we are brave enough to have.
So, let’s have them.
Lead the way, my brothers and sisters. Our mission continues.