Homo Sapiens? What Were We Thinking? Why Mushroom Stones Matter
When scientists named our species Homo sapiens—“wise humans”—they may have gotten ahead of themselves. The label suggests that we, unlike Neanderthals or other early humans, were the clever ones. But wisdom is not a fixed trait. It grows, adapts, and sometimes gets lost. Evolution has never been about one “smart” species winning out, but about constant change shaped by genetics, environments, and culture.
For millions of years, all human types spent most of their days just finding food. They gathered plants, hunted or scavenged animals, and learned by trial and error what could nourish or heal. Evidence shows that by 160,000 years ago modern humans were collecting and cooking shellfish. Even Neanderthals—often cast as less sophisticated—appear to have chosen plants with pain-killing or antibacterial properties.
Then, around 15,000 years ago—a blink in evolutionary time—our species shifted from foraging to farming. We began reshaping landscapes, domesticating plants and animals, and building permanent settlements. In that process, we increased experimentation with plants, including those that altered consciousness.
Enter the mushroom stones of Mesoamerica. These carved figures, dating back at least 3,500 years, suggest that psychoactive mushrooms had a recognized place in ritual and healing. Far from being “primitive,” these practices reflected a deep understanding: that plants could not only feed the body but also open the mind.
So the question isn’t whether ancient people were “less sapiens” than we are. It may be that they were simply Homo adaptio—humans adapting with the best tools available in their time. Mushrooms, rituals, and ceremonies were ways of managing pain, mental struggle, and the mysteries of existence. In many ways, they were addressing the same needs we still grapple with today.
Her Magic Mushroom Memoir takes up this theme of adaptation. By tracing how mushrooms have been used across cultures, it invites us to rethink what it really means to be human: not always wise, not always right, but endlessly searching for ways to heal, connect, and make sense of our world.