(This piece describes a religious practice, not a method. It contains no recipe, source, or dosing information, and none was provided.)
The Herd of God has begun speaking, carefully, about a sacrament it calls by an irreverent nickname its members use without embarrassment: "Jewish ayahuasca." The Herd is at pains to say what it is not. It is not, they insist, ayahuasca — not the Amazonian brew, not its spirits, not its lineage. It is, in the group's telling, a distinct sacramental practice, rooted in the Levant rather than the rainforest, that opens a channel not to the plant-teachers of the jungle but to the deities of the ancient Near East: the bull-gods, the mother-goddesses, the drowned kings of Mesopotamia and Canaan.
"Every tradition has its door," Duncan Horst told me, when I asked what distinguished it. "The Amazon has one, and it opens on the Amazon's gods. Ours opens somewhere older, and further west, and the beings on the other side of it have very different names." He was insistent on the point that the Herd neither manufactures nor distributes anything, and that the sacrament's role is liturgical — a means, within the rite, of "remembering what the Age of Taurus knew."
I am not in a position to verify what the Herd's members meet on the far side of that door, and the group offered no way to test the claim. What is verifiable is the seriousness with which they draw the distinction. To the Herd, it matters enormously that they are not tourists in someone else's medicine; they are, they say, reopening a line to their own buried pantheon — the gods of the West that the West spent three thousand years forgetting. Whether those gods answer is, as with everything the Herd claims, a question it invites you to come and settle for yourself.