Introduction
Ramon Aleman is a licensed mental health counselor, based in Gainesville, Florida who specializes in trauma, grief, spirituality/meaning, psychedelic integration, and dream work. I was thrilled when he reached out wanting to connect over shared interests including mythopoetics, dreams, and yoga nidra. After our initial conversation I was curious to learn more about his life story and his work with psychedelics and grief rituals.
INterview
Genevieve: You’ve been open about how it was a descent into depression at age 20 that was the catalyst for your own healing and set you on the path to become a therapist. Polish psychiatrist and psychologist Kazimierz Dabrowski wrote about these kinds of experiences in his theory of Positive Disintegration as being driven by a kind of embodied tension between the internalized messages from family and culture about who we are and a more authentic, emerging self-expression that is aligned with our own highest values. When you look back on that time of your life, what do you feel was driving your journey into darkness and what helped your disintegration experience to be something profoundly positive and course-correcting in the end?
Ramon: Looking back, I see my descent into darkness as being driven by immense pressure to perform. At the time I was running a nonprofit and presenting myself as a charismatic, visionary, altruistic person who seemed to have it all figured out. But underneath, I was carrying internalized messages about my self-worth being tied to achievement, especially coming from a Cuban immigrant background, where success carried so much weight. Over time, the pressure of maintaining that persona, coupled with the sense of being an imposter, became overwhelming. The stress eventually led me into a deep depression that left me bedridden for weeks, struggling academically and at risk of failing my classes. Ultimately, I made the difficult decision to step away from the nonprofit I had founded. And yet, almost immediately, I felt overwhelming relief. In a way, that depression was initiatory. It broke down my identity and pulled me into a slowness I couldn't run from. Until then, I had been able to keep moving, performing, achieving, and focusing externally as a way of avoiding what was happening inside me. Depression halted that momentum and forced me to sit with myself in a way I don't think I would have ever chosen. I had to face the frightening, vulnerable parts of myself I'd spent so much time trying to hide. In that sense, it was an initiation into a different way of being, one that required me to let go of the identity I'd constructed and begin discovering what lay beneath it.
From there, I turned inward and began the therapeutic process. I found a therapist and started exploring how I had learned to tie self-worth to performance and altruism. I began to recognize how my inner critic fueled an enormous amount of shame and how I'd been trying to manage it through drugs and alcohol. At twenty-one, I travelled to Peru for an ayahuasca journey, where I encountered a fragile, vulnerable part of myself, almost like a needy baby, and felt compassion toward it for the first time. Instead of criticising or hiding that part, I could meet it with tenderness. That experience opened a new way of relating to myself. Looking back, that period of depression became profoundly positive and course-correcting. It forced me to confront the limitations of an identity built around achievement, let go of the nonprofit, enter therapy, and begin cultivating compassion toward myself. What made it transformative wasn't suffering alone, but the opportunity to engage with that suffering differently, slow down, look inward, and build compassion for the parts I had hidden. It helped me move away from defining my worth by what I could accomplish for others and toward a more authentic way of being, and a purpose in accompanying other people through their struggles, which eventually led me to become a therapist.
Genevieve: You have done training in Jungian dream work, how would you describe your relationship with your dreams?
Ramon: I'd describe my relationship with dreams as a source of wisdom and course correction I try to orient toward to guide my life. I see dreams as a connection to my deepest self and as a living relationship with the numinous, the supernatural, the spiritual, and the mysterious. I record my dreams almost every morning when I remember. I reflect on what they might be communicating: ways I'm out of alignment, overcompensating, causing myself unnecessary suffering, or perspectives that need loosening. I try to hold dreams with as much mystery as possible. Jung said he'd tell himself, 'I've no idea what this dream means.' I appreciate that approach, because it acknowledges the depth and mystery of dreams rather than assuming we can easily decode them. I take a two-pronged approach to dream work. On one hand, I look at dream imagery as metaphor, considering how it might relate to my waking life and the personal associations with the images. On the other hand, inspired by Hillman, I let dream figures be their own beings, not just symbols, which takes the experience into a more spiritual, numinous territory.
Genevieve: What is one dream that you’ve had that had a profound impact on your life?
Ramon: One dream that had a profound impact on me involved a journey through a thick forest and deep mud, where I was getting stuck, like quicksand, with a white dog, almost like a German shepherd, walking by my side. When I woke up and imagined that dog, it didn't feel like a metaphor or a symbol. It felt like a living being, walking with me on the other side, with the purest unconditional love and support, almost like an angel. I've maintained a relationship with that numinous being. I see it as some sort of guide from other worlds. I visualise the dog when I'm stuck or lost and feel some measure of peace, even unconditional support.
Genevieve: Do you have any favorite books on dreams or dream work that you highly recommend?
Ramon: Robert A. Johnson's 'Inner Work' is practical and not overly academic. And I also like James Hillman, especially 'The Dream and the Underworld'. which invites us not to treat dreams as puzzles to crack, but to stay close to how they move and affect us, staying near the mystery.
Genevieve: Psychedelics are experiencing quite a comeback these days including in the field of psychotherapy with the use of Ketamine (which is technically a psychedelic but can produce psychedelic-like effects). I know many people are also seeking out spiritually expanding and transformative experiences with Ayahuasca, psilocybin, and other substances that are considered sacred and used ritually in indigenous cultures. You completed a three year program in Psychedelic Assisted Psychotherapy/Integration with an emphasis on indigenous wisdom, what are some cautions and considerations that you think people who are interested in psychedelics should have?
Ramon: First, let me just mention a little bit about my psychedelic training. I was in a programme called Aw, now named Ecstatic Mysticism, and for three years, I took a deep dive into psychedelics from both Western and Indigenous perspectives. That journey took me to Ecuador, to the Amazon, to sit with the A'i Cofán and work with yagé, which some people call ayahuasca. Then it took me to Mexico to sit with the Wixárika, or Huicholes, and work with peyote. And lastly to Gabon, in West Africa, where I was initiated into the Misoko tradition of Bwiti. My experience ranges from ritual settings and therapeutic contexts to MDMA, ketamine, LSD, ayahuasca, yagé, peyote, 5-MeO-DMT, iboga, and psilocybin. My training, immersions, and pilgrimages completely changed me and also helped me heal from a lot of depression. Jung has that quote that says the only real cure for pathology is a numinous experience, which means something spiritual, mysterious, and awe-filled. I think psychedelics can spark those kinds of experiences, expanding our perspective and creating a larger space for healing to take place. Some of the depression I struggled with still pops up now and then, but it doesn't have the power it once did.
Now, to answer the question about cautions, first, find a therapist or facilitator with genuine personal experience of those states. Because without lived reference, psychedelic experiences can be mislabeled as psychotic or trivial.
Second, take time to prepare. Feel you've offered something. Maybe letting go of a behavior, being honest about pain, starting therapy, something that shows your dedication.
Third, know that different substances can fit different intentions. MDMA might be better for trauma processing and for less experienced participants; perhaps ayahuasca or psilocybin if you're seeking broader spiritual orientation. Though it's not that simple either and it's difficult to pin a psychedelic down to being a "tool for this."
Fourth, treat integration as central. Dance, write, talk, sit in solitude, let the experience land. Think of it as opening a door. You still have to walk the steps after it.
Fifth, use restraint in sharing. Tell carefully, give it time. Not everyone can hear sacred things well if shared too soon.
Sixth, manage expectations. I think there's some damage in the mainstream conversation where psychedelics are seen as only good, only healing panaceas, like a cure-all. That's definitely not been my experience, although there are plenty of healing moments with psychedelics. So, managing your expectations means recognising that the experience might not be very powerful, but also being prepared for the possibility that it can be incredibly powerful. It can lead you into a few years of integration. It's a reality and that's something that's happened to me personally.
I think it's important not to go in naive about the power of psychedelics. You might have an experience where nothing particularly significant happens, or you might have an experience that fundamentally changes how you understand reality and takes years to make sense of. Holding both of those possibilities feels important, as part of approaching psychedelics with the respect, reverence, and discernment they deserve.
Genevieve: You specialize in grief and trauma processing. I think for many people when they hear the word grief they first think of it as the response to the loss of someone or something held dear, but in the framework you use this is only the first of 5 (or 6) types of grief. What are some of the perhaps lesser known types of grief that you help people move through?
Ramon: I specialize in grief and trauma processing, and the type of grief work I do is grounded in some of the teachings of Francis Weller*. He's a grief ritualist that I trained under. Francis Weller describes what he calls the five gates of grief.
The first gate is everything we love, we will lose. This is more around culturally sanctioned griefs, such as losing loved ones, losing careers, going through a divorce, and losing the things we love. It speaks to the impermanence of life. This is the gate most people are familiar with, but he expands the gates to include other forms of grief.
The second gate is the parts of ourselves that have not known love. This is about the pieces of ourselves that we've shamed, exiled, and cut off, based on our upbringing and cultural standards, like our eroticism, our power, our sensitivity, our spontaneity, and the grief that comes with losing those pieces of ourselves.
The third gate is the sorrows of the world. These are around environmental collapse, war, racism, and injustice. The hard truth that the world has always been, and will always be, full of grief and suffering. It's about connecting with that communal grief and our shared humanity.
The fourth gate is what we expected but did not receive. This is the grief around being born into a culture that is not intact, a culture without rites of passage, village life, or a deep communal essence. There is a feeling of being lost, along with a sense of longing, like wishing there were cultural containers to help orient myself through those transitions, like the Stone Age mismatch Francis Weller quotes from R. D. Laing: "We are stone age children."
Fifth, is ancestral grief, the grief we carry through our lineages. If we go back far enough, histories woven with war, immigration, loss of land, and violence, carried forward through DNA and lived experience.
There's also the sixth gate, which was originated by Rachael Rice with Francis Weller’s blessing, which is the hurt and harm we've caused others, the ways we've perpetrated harm, manipulated or hurt people, and the grief that comes with recognizing the pain we've caused.
So, six gates, but you can imagine way more. The Tao Te Ching talks about the ten thousand things, and you could imagine ten thousand gates to grief. We're in constant change and impermanence. Therefore, we're constantly losing, and we accumulate thousands and thousands of griefs throughout our lifetime.
Genevieve: You offer Grief Rituals and Ancestral Retreats a couple times a year. Can you tell us more about the one that is coming up in November 2026?
Ramon: We have a grief ritual coming up in November alongside two co-facilitators, and the ritual is based on the five or six gates of grief I mentioned, inspired by Francis Weller's teachings. It's a three-day retreat, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Full of poetry, singing, experiential exercises that connect us and open our emotional life. Writing exercises that help bring grief to the surface. You can think of the arc of the retreat as warming up grief through all sorts of experiential exercises until the peak, the grief ritual itself. That ritual comes from Malidoma Somé, a shaman in Burkina Faso, West Africa, who taught it to Francis Weller.
It's an opportunity to create a grief altar and a grief shrine, and allow ourselves to unravel in the support of community. Malidoma and Francis taught that in Western culture grief is often faced alone, and the premise of this ritual is that we share it, hold it together so we're witnessed, not alone. A big part is connecting with our ancestors, invoking their presence and the grief they carried. We'll also have a day for integration and elaboration, letting what was experienced and felt settle and become grounded. There are few places today where grief is held ritually and communally, and I believe it's one of the deepest ways to touch our soul and the souls of others.
As Weller writes, 'Grief is subversive, undermining the quiet agreement to behave and be in control of our emotions. It is an act of protest that declares our refusal to live numb and small. There is something feral about grief, something essentially outside the ordained and sanctioned behaviors of our culture.' Because of that, grief is necessary to the vitality of the soul. Contrary to our fears, grief is suffused with life force. It is not a state of deadness or emotional flatness. Grief is alive, wild, untamed, and cannot be domesticated. It resists the demands to remain passive and still. We move in jangled, unsettled, and riotous ways when grief takes hold of us. It truly is an emotion that rises from the soul. That's really the heart of this ritual, creating a space where grief can be expressed in its full, untamed way, held by community rather than managed, suppressed, or faced alone.
*Since I mentioned Francis Weller as part of this Grief Ritual Lineage it is important to share and acknowledge Francis' harmful abuses of power which involved sexual relationships with two women who were previous mentees and grief ritual participants. It has been upsetting, disheartening, and very difficult for me to wrestle with this clear abuse of power from a teacher whom I trusted and held in such high esteem. I, alongside many others in the grief tending community, am currently discussing how to address this breach of integrity and what it means for using Francis' teachings, accountability, and the grief work community more broadly moving forward.
To learn more about Ramon and his work visit his website: https://www.compasswithincounseling.com/
