"When it comes time for the spirit walk, Annie will measure 21 grams of peyote — it's the reputed weight of the soul — then boiling water is poured over it," Kent says. "The mixture really is more gruel than a tea."

“The first four hours are the most physical. The next four hours are critical, as fear and nausea compete with the rational, curious mind.”

In general, visitors report having three different types of reactions to drinking the potion: They get sick all night and nothing happens; they are sick half the night and then the most amazing things happens; or it is wonderful from beginning to end, Zapf says.

"The first four hours are the most physical, as the tea has a challenging taste and ingestion of it can cause nausea," she says. "The next four hours are critical, as fear and nausea compete with the rational, curious mind. At this point, one can surrender to the experience or succumb to fear and fight it all the way."

The "Reverend" Anne Zapf and "Rabbi" Matthew Kent
Andrew Pielage
The "Reverend" Anne Zapf and "Rabbi" Matthew Kent

The taste of peyote is notoriously bad, and drinking the mixture is a lengthy and arduous process. Most visitors don't make it through an entire quart-size container, says Kent. They typically vomit.

"Let's just get it straight from the beginning: Peyote is not a recreational substance; it's a re-creational substance," says Kent, who sees peyote as a medicinal plant that can be used for psychological and physical healing.

Church members who have participated in a spirit walk typically refer to peyote as "medicine" rather than a drug. One such member, Dr. Joe Tafur, an integrative family physician in Phoenix and cofounder of Nihue Rao Centro Espiritual healing center in Peru, says he learned of Peyote Way in an old article about the church. He subsequently decided to experience a spirit walk and has participated in seven such psychedelic journeys since then.

"The average person can benefit from the spirit walk," says Tarfur. "The spirit walk offers an opportunity for profound spiritual healing."

Long-term, repeated use of peyote is safe, he says. He cites John Halpern's Harvard-affiliated study on it as evidence of the cactus' safeness.

"In my experience, it allows for healing of the subconscious and deep emotional traumas that often evade allopathic and psychological approaches," Tarfur says. "Healing of the mind and spirit then allows for a number of physiological benefits through mind-body connections, primarily through psychoneuroimmunologic and psychoneuroendocrine connections."

Another church member, Robert McDermott, a former technology worker at University of California, San Diego, says he has experienced fifteen spirit walks.

He embarked on one of his earliest in an attempt to overcome anxiety related to a "serious illness."

Says McDermott: "The medicine was difficult for me to take, and I became very nauseous. Then [after about an hour] I began seeing my anxieties and my fears of death associated with my illness for what they were. My anxieties were preventing me from being present with my family and friends. I found a place of profound gratitude for my life as it was."

McDermott says he wouldn't be alive today "if it were not for this sacred medicine."

The church's late founder and Kent's teacher, the Reverend Immanuel Pardeahtan Trujillo, started using peyote as a way to treat himself for post-traumatic stress disorder that resulted from his combat in World War II, according to Kent.

Far-fetched as it may sound, Kent credits peyote with reversing his vasectomy — after which he and Zapf had their three children.


A mound of stones and gravel draped with an American flag and surrounded by discarded cattle gates holds a prominent place in Peyote Way's dirt yard. It's the burial spot of Immanuel Trujillo, who died at 82 in small room at the church in June 2010.

With little prompting, Kent dives into an extensive biography of Trujillo, who went from New Jersey to Europe in World War II to New York City to Texas and eventually to Arizona. It's clearly a story he has told many times.

Kent's recounting of Trujillo's life can seem implausible, even mythic, but in many ways the church's existence in the high desert of Arizona is just as outlandish.

As the story goes, Trujillo was born to a Jewish mother of French-American descent and a Mexican/Apache father who died when Trujillo was just a few months old. Trujillo's mother, fourteen years old at the time of his conception, gave him up for adoption. For the first two years of his life he was raised in an orphanage. Then, an Irish-Catholic family adopted him and renamed him Jimmy Coyle.

When he was fifteen or sixteen, Coyle ran away from home to fight the Nazis. A bomb blast at the tail end of World War II nearly killed him.

"His face was rebuilt, his teeth were blown out; he had a piece of steel in his head and a piece of steel in his leg," Kent says. "Immanuel had PTSD and traumatic brain injury. The brain injury would mean that he would have blackouts and that he would be functioning but not aware of what he was doing."

Coyle recovered from his wounds and found himself back in America when he was about nineteen. It was around then that he also learned that he had been adopted. His biological father had left him an inheritance. Coyle became obsessed with learning about his biological parents and began using his father's surname, Trujillo. In his father's will he found the names of several other benefactors, including Eugene Yoakum and Bill Russell (also known as "Apache Bill"), who lived in Tucson.

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