4 - When the Walls Dissolve

Toye Oyelese

Welcome back to Mind Matters. If you've been with me for the last few episodes, you'll know we’ve covered quite a bit of ground: the mind as a house, all our internal residents, how those characters form, and—if you remember from last time—this core question of who's really driving the bus, or, uh, running the house. Today I want to take us into what you might call “what if” territory. We're going to look at some pretty new, speculative research around psychedelics—specifically psilocybin—and what it could mean for, not just tweaking the furniture in the house, but maybe dissolving the walls themselves.

Toye Oyelese

Now, before we dive too far, let me back up and talk about a brain concept that's been coming up a lot: the Default Mode Network, or DMN for short. I first stumbled down this rabbit hole watching one of those binge-worthy Netflix series on psychedelics. That got me interested enough to actually take a course on psilocybin—Therapsil out in Vancouver, if anyone's curious. I know my family rolled their eyes, but it was fascinating. Full disclosure, I have personal experience with what I discuss here for my PTSD symptoms and the results have astounded me. So the DMN: It's a set of brain regions that gets active when we're not really working on an outside task. You know, those moments you’re just staring out the window, mind wandering, reliving memories, lost in that familiar inner monologue—that's the DMN at work.

Toye Oyelese

For our house-and-residents framework, the DMN is kind of like the actual plumbing and walls—the infrastructure that keeps the whole thing standing and gives that sense of, "This is me, with a past, a story, all that jazz." It’s the reason we don’t wake up every day feeling like strangers inside our own skin. In a weird way, it's comforting. I still remember my early days here in Canada—Kelowna was nothing like Lagos or even Vancouver. I felt like an outsider, and believe me, I clung to routines for dear life. Making jollof rice every Sunday, same brand of toothpaste, that sort of thing. Not because I loved routine, but because those simple habits kept me anchored when everything else felt uncertain. That’s the DMN in action—it gives continuity, a sense of, well, "home." But it can also make things rigid. Like, those habits turned into crutches, and I honestly struggled to try anything new. The things that keep the house safe—the routines, the walls—they can also keep the basement doors locked. Sometimes that’s comforting, sometimes—well, it keeps you stuck in patterns you wish you could change.

Toye Oyelese

So where does psilocybin fit into all this? Well, let's get into the science as much as we can, without too much jargon. What researchers are finding is that psilocybin—this compound you find in so-called “magic mushrooms”—throws the DMN into total disarray. Basically, all the separate groups in your brain that normally stick to their own territory start talking to each other. It's like, if the DMN is a well-run neighborhood with everyone following the same schedule, psilocybin is the town fair that opens up all the backyards for a party—suddenly folks who never interact are sharing stories and making new connections.

Toye Oyelese

Scientists use metaphors like "defragmenting a computer" or “hitting reset on the wiring.” Instead of the same thoughts running the same tracks, new paths start to form—or at least, they become possible. And two things are especially interesting about what comes out of the research. First, this thing called neuroplasticity kicks in—your brain becomes temporarily more open to new connections. And sometimes, even after the party’s over, the brain seems to hang onto some new shortcuts, new alliances. There've actually been studies showing that these changes in connectivity, not just the experience, but the underlying circuit patterns, can last for weeks after a single dose of psilocybin.

Toye Oyelese

Now, if we run with the house metaphor—because you know I can't resist—it’s usually like all our “psychological work” is just moving the furniture around, hoping for better feng shui. But with psilocybin, it’s as if the walls themselves can dissolve, just for a bit. The areas of your mind that are usually locked—especially those deep basements where the preverbal, early residents hide out—well, those doors might swing open. There’s this concept researchers talk about: the "therapeutic window." It’s that brief period where the structure is actually, temporarily, more fluid. If you were hoping to get at some old, stuck patterns or even rewrite some core part of yourself, that window might be the moment. At least, that's the theory—and I want to stress, it’s still a theory. But you can see why people are paying attention.

Toye Oyelese

Now, that gets us to a question: what really counts as change, psychologically? If we look at the research—and, honestly, a lot of clinical experience—it seems there are at least three different things that might happen. First is compensatory change. That’s like putting up new wallpaper or building a second-floor balcony, but your basement—the foundation—stays the same. And let’s be real, most therapy or self-exploration probably lands here. You become better at managing, maybe you outgrow some habits, but the oldest stuff, the early residents, they’re still in charge down underneath.

Toye Oyelese

The next level is way harder, and frankly, it might be what people are secretly hoping for with psychedelic therapy. This is foundational change: those early basement residents shifting. The kind of change where you’re not just building on top of old wounds, you’re actually healing or remolding them, so the whole structure becomes more stable. Then there’s a third, kind of radical, possibility—sometimes, rather than fixing the old foundation, the brain finds a way to build entirely new hallways. New neural pathways that just bypass the old trouble spots altogether. You’re not negotiating with the old residents; you’re sidestepping them, building new instead.

Toye Oyelese

All of this is where things get speculative, and I’d be lying if I said we have all the answers. The honest truth is, we don’t know for sure if psilocybin really gives access to those basement residents—or if it just creates a convincing experience that feels like deep change, but maybe the foundations are untouched. We don’t know which changes are here to stay and which fade away. And even more important, we don’t know who should go through these experiences and who maybe shouldn't. Right now, this is the wild frontier—all promise, lots of mystery, and, well, more questions than answers. I keep coming back to Yoruba wisdom: a house divided cannot stand. The conversation, the questions, the skepticism—even doubting your own framework—is probably the safest way forward. We need to keep the dialogue open—between the different parts of ourselves, between all these emerging scientific models, and especially between what we hope is true and what we’re willing to admit we just don’t know yet.

Toye Oyelese

That’s where we’ll leave things for today. I hope this gave you something to chew on—maybe unsettled you a little, or at least made the walls feel a bit more flexible. We’ll keep exploring these questions in future episodes. Until next time, keep the conversation open.