A Scientific Realist’s Psychedelic Detour into the Ñāṇas

I’m going to take a short detour from my usual articles about the science of psychedelics or the practical features of Eleusinia Retreat. This one is a bit more personal. As I often say during orientation at the retreat, Eleusinia is a mix of neuroscience, medical science, and something harder to pin down: the spiritual.

Of those three, spirituality is the one I speak about the least.

That’s not because I don’t value it. In fact, our team holds a wide spectrum of spiritual perspectives- ranging from Christianity, Buddhism, and Mesoamerican shamanism to secular humanism and everything in between. We don’t all agree, and that’s part of the point. Eleusinia isn’t built around a single spiritual doctrine. It’s built to make space for multiple ones.

Still, people occasionally ask how I personally frame the psychedelic experience. So I figured I’d try to explain it here, not as a prescription, but as a perspective. I don’t believe there’s one correct way to understand this territory, but maybe sharing how I approach it will help someone else find their footing.

Science as Home-Base

I’m a scientific realist. I believe that an objective reality exists, whether we perceive it accurately or not. That belief is what keeps my writing grounded in biology and neuroscience. I see those disciplines as the clearest, most dependable tools we have to gather clues about this strange thing we call consciousness.

Science gives me a place to return to when the experience gets murky. It’s not perfect, and sometimes it doesn’t explain everything, but when it fails, it usually does so for understandable and fixable reasons.

For example, we can break down every component of sound, the waveforms, the decibels, the mechanics of the inner ear, and still fail to explain the nature of music. In the same way, science has very little to say about subjective experience, let alone something as abstract as spiritual growth.

That’s where my experience with Buddhism enters the picture.

Zen and the Art of Not Needing to Believe Anything

I’m not a scholar of any particular Buddhist school, but Zen has always made intuitive sense to me. It doesn’t ask for belief. It asks for attention. That alone is enough to earn some major points in my book over other systems, which often ask you to bring your own blindfold and not to ask any tough questions.

So why am I, someone with no formal spiritual affiliation, talking about a 2,500-year-old practice? Simply put, it’s been useful. I’m not saying everyone should view psychedelic experiences through a Buddhist lens. I just happen to like this one because it’s less of a belief system and more of a user manual, compiled by generations of people who sat still long enough to start mapping the strange corners of human perception.

If the psychedelic state overlaps so much with the meditative state, and research increasingly suggests it does, then it makes sense to borrow the maps developed by one to help navigate the other. After all, if two people get lost in the same neighborhood of the mind, it matters less whether one arrived riding a meditation cushion or by chemistry. A good map is still a good map.

Modern neuroscience, bless its heart, is catching up to what monks have been quietly confirming for centuries: that the brain of a deep meditator looks suspiciously like the brain of someone tripping. It’s not a one-to-one match, but the similarities in fMRI studies are close enough to raise eyebrows, and maybe fund a few grant applications. 

It appears that Buddhist meditation doesn’t only give a good description of the stages of insight experienced through meditation, it also provides a detailed sixteen stage roadmap of how this naturally unfolds.

The Ñāṇas: Sixteen Stages You Didn’t Know You Were Stepping Into

The ñāṇas are a sequence of sixteen stages that describe how insight unfolds during deep meditation, part of the Vipassana tradition. Think of them as a roadmap of inner experience, observed and recorded by thousands of meditators over the last 2,500 years. This isn’t a set of commandments or a belief system. It’s a pattern people began to notice after spending a lot of time sitting still and watching their minds.

The path they describe is surprisingly consistent. It starts with steady concentration. Then comes meditative bliss. Then, just as you’re getting comfortable, the whole thing collapses into dissolution and confusion. That part is not a flaw in the system. It’s built in. But eventually, the chaos gives way to something deeper: clarity without attachment, a peaceful stability more grounded than the euphoria that came before it.

Personally, I’m impressed with how this all came about. Imagine the first few people to discover this process, some guys in ancient India who realized they could think themselves into a euphoric bliss state. Then, if they kept going, they’d hit something that looked like an existential crisis. And instead of turning back, they kept going. Somewhere along the line, someone said, “Trust me, bro, it gets better,” and that was apparently enough.

The reason this map matters, at least to me, is that psychedelic experiences often seem to trace some of the same landmarks. I’m not saying everyone who takes mushrooms is working through all sixteen stages. But the parallels are close enough that it makes sense to borrow the map. If meditation and psychedelics share this much neurological and experiential overlap, why not use the frameworks developed by one to better understand the other?

Meet the Ñāṇas
Here are the rather predictable stages of insight a meditator will encounter if they sit long enough and achieve the concentration required to discover them. Sure, they are a bit obscure, and they might not make much sense to those without firsthand experience, but here is a brief introduction for the curious to peruse.

1. Nāmarūpa-pariccheda-ñāṇa
Insight of Mind and Body
You realize there’s a difference between physical sensations and mental reactions. Congratulations! You’ve figured out you have a body and a brain, and they’re not the same thing. Most people never make it past this.

2. Paccaya-pariggaha-ñāṇa
Insight of Cause and Effect
You see how craving leads to suffering and actions lead to consequences. Basically, karma without the incense. This is where you lose the luxury of blaming everyone else.

3. Sammasana-ñāṇa
Insight into Comprehension
Everything is impermanent, unsatisfying, and not yours. This is the existential crisis stage- Buddha-flavored nihilism. Side effects may include questioning your career, relationships, and lunch choices.

4. Udayabbaya-ñāṇa
Insight of Arising and Passing
You notice how phenomena sparkle into existence and vanish like soap bubbles. Everything is shiny and profound. This is where people start thinking they’ve made it enlightened. Spoiler: this won’t last.”

5. Bhanga-ñāṇa
Insight to Dissolution
“That clear, joyful insight you had five minutes ago? Gone. Welcome to the part where everything, including you, melts a little.”

6. Bhaya-ñāṇa
Insight to Fearfulness
You realize everything is dissolving, including you, and suddenly this whole “mindfulness” thing feels like a trapdoor. The rug of reality gets yanked, and underneath is… more rug, also unraveling. It’s not panic, necessarily, just deeply informed unease.

7. Ādīnava-ñāṇa
Insight of Misery
Everything is still disintegrating, but now it’s kind of a bummer. You’re not afraid anymore, just unimpressed. Like being stuck at a party where the music sucks, and the snacks are existential dread.

8. Nibbidā-ñāṇa
Insight of Disenchantment
Pleasure? Pain? Interest? All a bit tedious, really. Like a menu with too many options and nothing you actually want. You begin to appreciate the flavor of silence.

9. Muñcitukamyatā-ñāṇa
Insight to Desire for Deliverance
Everything feels like walking in wet socks: not catastrophic, just persistently unpleasant. The urge to be free arises, not as a craving, but as the natural response to obvious nonsense. You’re not grasping for liberation, you’re just done shopping.

10. Paṭisaṅkhā-ñāṇa
Insight of Reflection
Just when you thought you were gliding toward peace, the mind circles back to inspect the mess one more time. Like re-reading your old journal entries and cringing, but spiritually. You know it’s impermanent, but it’s still kind of exhausting.

11. Saṅkhārupekkhā-ñāṇa
Insight of Equanimity
This is the stage where everything still happens, but it just doesn’t get a reaction out of you anymore. Samsara throws its best drama your way and you blink… once. You’ve become the spiritual equivalent of unbothered.

12. Anuloma-ñāṇa
Insight of Conformity
You’re not doing anything special, but somehow everything feels suspiciously correct. Thoughts settle, sensations behave, and awareness moves with the grace of someone who’s done the homework. Reality gives you the nod, you’re cleared for takeoff.

13. Gotrabhū-ñāṇa
Change of Lineage
“Not just a personal shift. This feels cosmic. You are now spiritually upgraded to version 2.0. Nothing will ever be the same again.”

14. Magga-ñāṇa
Insight of the Path
Everything lines up, and then disappears. You don’t grasp anything, you don’t push anything away, and for one timeless blip, the mind simply does the thing. Then you come back and wonder if that was it (yes, it was).

15. Phala-ñāṇa
Insight to Fruition
“And now: silence. Stillness. The moment between moments. You did the thing.”

16. Paccavekkhaṇa-ñāṇa
Insight of Review
“The grown-up version of ‘you’ looking back at your spiritually feral past self with a knowing nod.”

Skip the Warm-Up, Jump to the Fireworks

The first few ñāṇas are about building attention. They may sound basic, but they require serious mental training. Most meditators at an extended Vipassana retreat may reach the third or fourth stage if things go well. A psychedelic experience can sometimes feel like it catapults you into any stage of this process.

Stage four is where things start to unfold. It’s often described as a spiritual high point- filled with clarity, joy, and energy. The mind sharpens, and the world appears as a flickering stream of events rather than a solid, continuous reality. Many people who’ve had psychedelic experiences will recognize this sensation. It feels profound and often appears as if you’ve touched something ultimate.

But this is only stage four. There are twelve more to go, and this is far from the summit. It’s more like a scenic overlook halfway up the mountain. What comes next isn’t higher, it’s deeper. And often a lot more rocky.

According to this framework, enlightenment isn’t some random lightning strike. It follows a surprisingly structured path: beginning with basic mental training, escalating into a euphoric high point, then dropping abruptly into existential unraveling, and eventually settling into something quieter and more stable: a deep, balanced clarity.

In other words, the journey to awakening starts with discipline, detours through a euphoric fever dream, and doesn’t end until you’ve survived your own personal apocalypse. Buddhism, as it turns out, is both methodical and just a little bit metal.

Welcome to the Deep End

The fifth ñāṇa is called the Knowledge of Dissolution. It comes right after the flashy revelations of stage four and marks a steep drop into instability. The joy fades. The sense of wonder disintegrates. You begin to perceive that everything, even your previous insights, is falling apart.

For some, this shift happens during the psychedelic experience itself. One moment, everything is luminous and awe-inspiring. The next, it’s unraveling in a way that feels overwhelming or even frightening. The body may feel like it’s disappearing. Time stretches or collapses. A sense of self erodes in ways that don’t always feel particularly poetic.

Other times, the experience begins and stays in this territory from the start: dark, chaotic, and filled with disorienting sensations. A person might feel like something went wrong, like they took the wrong dose or somehow failed to “surrender” properly.

But this isn’t a failure. It’s often just the entry into the difficult part of the terrain. Psychedelics can drop someone directly into the deeper insight stages without the usual buildup. They don’t check to see if you’ve completed the tutorial first.

At Eleusinia, we have tools to help if you find yourself catapulted into this particular stage. Not everyone comes to a retreat looking to wrestle with impermanence, so our medical staff is prepared to help smooth the sharper edges of the process with rescue medications. We may not be able to fish you entirely out of the water, but we can throw you a pretty solid flotation device.

I don’t push these frameworks on people. In fact, I rarely mention them unless someone asks. Concepts like the ñāṇas aren’t helpful if you’re not looking for them. But for those who are curious, knowing there is a pattern can offer comfort. You’re not lost, you’re just somewhere between stages five and ten, also referred to as the Dark Night.

These stages can include fear, despair, frustration, and the strong desire to throw the whole practice out the window. But in a psychedelic experience, there is no immediate exit. You can’t just roll up your yoga mat and call it a day. You’re on this train until the next station, roughly four to six hours away.

Yes, It’s Supposed to Feel Like This

One of the more important things to understand about this framework is that the difficult stages are not detours. They’re not signs of failure or evidence that something went wrong. In Buddhist meditation, these stages are the path. The friction is part of the process.

That said, it’s unlikely that a few psychedelic experiences, no matter how profound, will launch someone all the way to stage sixteen, the final form of enlightenment on this map. A few trips don’t mean it’s time to don the saffron robes, but they can give you a glimpse of what that path entails. Traversing the full landscape takes time, repetition, and discipline. Most of us will hover somewhere between stage four and five, especially without a formal meditation practice to anchor the momentum.

And that’s still meaningful. Even without reaching advanced stages, people often find that their perspectives shift. A little more calm. A little less attachment. A slightly different relationship to discomfort. It may not be fireworks, but it’s a real transformation nonetheless.

For those who continue, around stage eleven, things begin to stabilize. A sense of calm returns. Joy returns, too, but it’s quieter now. Less flashy. It no longer rides on novelty or the thrill of insight. It’s not the exuberance of stage four. It’s something sturdier.

You begin to see things clearly, but without the urge to grab hold of them. There’s peace in letting go, even if just for a moment. And for many meditators, that marks the beginning of something deeper, an enduring kind of clarity that no longer needs to announce itself.

Psychedelics Are Not a Custom Order

Of course, not everyone comes to psychedelics looking for insight stages or spiritual progression. Many visitors to Eleusinia are simply looking for relief: whether from anxiety, depression, grief, or chronic pain. And that’s a completely valid reason to explore this terrain.

But psychedelics don’t always take requests. You don’t get to say, “I’ll take the emotional reset with a side of anxiety reduction, but hold all that existential stuff.” Sometimes you ask for peace and get swirling chaos instead. Sometimes you’re hoping for rainbows and end up straight to stage five, staring down impermanence with wide eyes.

The landscape of consciousness is vast and layered. Engaging with it using psychedelics can bring up more than what was requested. You may find yourself dropped into unfamiliar territory, something deeper, more turbulent, or more revealing than expected.

The Trouble with Taking the Universe Literally

Another common thread I’ve noticed is the tendency to interpret psychedelic experiences literally. Sometimes interpreted even as direct transmissions from the universe, ancestors, deities, or some other external force. And to be fair, those interpretations can be powerful. They can often help someone move forward with more courage, compassion, or clarity.

The real issue isn’t whether the insight came from “outside” or “inside.” It’s the attachment that follows. When we treat these moments as fixed truths or divine instructions, we risk clinging to them in a way that interrupts the natural unfolding of the path.

Because on this path, whether through meditation or psychedelics, the fifth ñāṇa is always over the horizon. Dissolution is not a bug in the system. It’s an inevitability. The tighter we hold on to the beauty or clarity of what we just experienced, the more painful it feels when that certainty begins to unravel.

Buddhist traditions call this tendency spiritual materialism: the habit of collecting insights like trophies, or chasing affirmations that confirm how special or chosen we are. It’s an easy trap to fall into, especially after a vivid or emotionally charged experience that feels like a breakthrough.

But the value of insight isn’t in how poetic or mystical it sounds when retold. It’s in what it changes. It’s in how you live, how you relate to others, and how you move through difficulty. Even if the experience was beautiful, if it becomes another thing you’re afraid to lose, it may not be helping you move forward.

At Eleusinia, we don’t dismiss these moments. But we do encourage a gentle curiosity. What did it feel like? What stayed with you? And can you grasp it lightly, knowing it may change?

Just a Little Insight, Hold the Asceticism

If all of this talk about insight stages, ego dissolution, and spiritual materialism sounds overwhelming, don’t worry. You don’t have to shave your head, sit in silence for months, or develop a detailed map of the mind to benefit from the experience.

The beauty of this path, especially when explored with care, is that it doesn’t require perfection. You don’t have to do it “right.” You don’t even have to finish it. Just knowing that there’s structure to the chaos. That there are patterns, possibilities, and common landmarks can make the process less frightening.

Psychedelics may drop you into unfamiliar places, but that doesn’t mean you have to navigate them alone. With the right context, support, and space to reflect, even a difficult experience can become meaningful. And you don’t need to be a monk to benefit from insight. You just need to be willing to look.

In Conclusion, You’re Probably Fine

This isn’t a pitch for Buddhism. It’s not even a pitch for psychedelics. It’s a reflection on how strange and complex the inner landscape of consciousness can be, and how reassuring it is to learn that what feels like chaos might actually have a name, a shape, and a place in a well-worn pattern.

Psychedelics can stir the pot in unexpected ways. Sometimes you get beauty. Sometimes you get dissolution. Sometimes you get both in the same hour. But with context and support, you can meet the experience on steadier ground.

If you find yourself overwhelmed, stuck, or convinced that you “did it wrong,” it might just mean you’ve landed in a more advanced part of the process than expected. And if you’re hovering somewhere between stage four and five, you’re in good company.

A little orientation goes a long way. You don’t have to master the map. You just need to know you’re not lost.