The Sense of Omnipotence Upon Awakening
A call to stay human, even after touching the divine
Dear readers,
with an open heart and a clear mind, I welcome you to this space, born from a deep need to share real words, tools, stories and reflections for those who feel called to healing.
Not healing as a trend, nor as a shortcut to a prepackaged happiness, but as a radical, honest, sometimes uncomfortable path that passes through truth.
A truth we each must find the courage to touch within ourselves.
In recent years, the world of plant medicine and entheogenic experiences has spread like a wave. Ceremonies, journeys, symbolic deaths, rebirths.
Powerful, life-changing experiences that open inner portals and shift entire life trajectories.
And yet, this is exactly where I feel the need to bring a subtler voice — one that invites us to look closely at what happens after.
One of the most common and least spoken side effects is what I call “the sense of omnipotence upon awakening.”
It often emerges after what many describe as “ego death.”
This experience is real, sacred, palpable. You feel dissolved, no identity, no boundaries.
No personal story, no name, no role. Just pure consciousness.
Some describe it as merging with the universe. Others as complete annihilation.
It’s the moment when the self surrenders and opens to something much greater.
And in that moment, a powerful impression arises: “Now I know. Now I’ve seen. Now I am.”
And that’s where the blind spot begins.
Because a part of us, the most human, fragile part, the one always searching for answers — takes that experience and turns it into a new identity.
One that is more luminous, more evolved, more “spiritual.”
The paradox is that, just when we believe we’ve freed ourselves from the ego, we’ve built a new one.
More subtle, more refined, more seductive.
It’s the spiritual super-ego.
The one that no longer gets angry, but “observes.”
That doesn’t judge, but “sees others’ shadows.”
That no longer seeks validation, but “shares its truth.”
But this new ego doesn’t just change clothes, it often builds distance.
An invisible but sharp divide between us and those who haven’t had the same experience.
A quiet sense of spiritual superiority, disguised as “awareness.”
We find ourselves — perhaps silently, perhaps tenderly, but still — judging.
We think others are “asleep,” that they “don’t get it,” that we have access to something they can’t even imagine.
There can be impatience toward loved ones, toward those around us.
A sense of isolation disguised as elevation.
And if we’re not careful, we begin to relate from above, even when speaking of love.
But love doesn’t look down.
Love walks beside.
This spiritual superiority is simply a new separation, a new duality.
And the paradox is that it arises right after experiences of total unity.
We feel one with the universe… and then return to Earth looking down at everyone else.
This, too, is human. But it must be seen.
Because every time we feel “further ahead” than others, we’re still in the ego.
Just in a fancier outfit.
The problem, you see, isn’t in the mystical experience itself.
It’s in not knowing what to do with it afterward.
When there’s no integration, no time taken to listen, to digest, to remain humble, the experience hardens into a new mask.
And from there, a new kind of disconnection can emerge.
Spiritual loneliness often arises not because we’re truly alone,
but because we’ve placed ourselves on a pedestal that isolates us.
This is common, natural, and it shouldn’t be judged.
But it must be recognized.
Because recognizing it is the first step toward true integration.
Integration is not about telling the story well.
It’s not becoming a healer after three ceremonies.
It’s not rushing to serve with wounds still bleeding.
Integration is more humble, more practical, more grounded.
It means returning to daily life with an open heart and muddy feet.
It means choosing to remain kind in the midst of confusion.
It means making space for those still in their night, without forcing light upon them.
It means asking, each day:
“What can I embody today, simply and truly?”
Working with plant medicines is like receiving a seed.
But the garden does not grow on its own.
It takes time.
It needs nourishment.
It requires patience.
It calls for the strength to not even cling to enlightenment.
Because sometimes, true wisdom doesn’t lie in remembering we are everything…
but in fully living our smallness.
In taking one simple action.
In sitting in silence.
In saying, with dignity: I don’t know.
With this first article, I offer a reflection.
Not an ultimate truth, just an invitation.
If you’ve touched something immense, if you feel yourself expanding, if you’ve met the divine, honor it.
But don’t forget to come back.
To breathe.
Because perhaps, real power lies in knowing we are still fragile.
And walking forward anyway.
With love and roots,
Alessandra Sparano