What Happened When We Tried Holotropic Breathwork in Prison

Chris Dankovich describes how a group of prisoners experimented with “Holotropic Breathwork” in prison with astonishing results. 

Nathan puts his hand to his head. “Bro, this may have been a terrible idea.”

Deep breath in (fast). Deep breath out.

Tay screams. Rick falls off his seat and is clutching himself, growling. We’re on the prison yard, surrounded by razor-wire-topped fences, cameras everywhere. Thugs and gangbangers walk by, and some are staring. Fortunately, the guards aren’t paying attention, or without a doubt they’d be on their way. It’s too late to care about appearances now, though, as everyone has already committed. Half the group looks merely odd, while the rest looks like they’re hallucinating (because they are). But not because they’ve taken LSD or mushrooms. I’ve somehow found myself helping to lead a group session of holotropic breathwork therapy in prison.

Holotropic breathwork is the name of the breathing practice developed by renowned psychiatrist Stanislav Grof. Whereas Freud examined the memories of dreams to attempt to understand the subconscious, Grof found huge success in the 1950s by using LSD and other drugs to transport the subconscious to the forefront of the patient’s mind so that it could be directly examined. He believed it “could be for psychiatry what the microscope was for biology and the telescope for astronomy.” When LSD was made illegal in the United States, Dr. Grof looked for an alternative. Instead of a pill, he eventually developed a breathing practice that could elicit altered states of consciousness. The practice is based on ancient Indian pranayama breathwork done for millennia by yogis. It is supposed to be taught by an expert and well-supervised by a therapist.

On a mild summer day in Michigan, a number of convicted felons, despite no one having any training in the technique, are attempting Dr. Grof’s holotropic breathwork on a prison yard. What could go wrong?

Coming to a Change in Consciousness

Every once in awhile, a person comes through your environment with a different way of seeing the world. Most people in prison are pure ego. Gangsters, thieves, killers: those craving power, those craving intoxication, different directions going every which way but right, all focused on self. It took me years to understand how much my own ego, particularly my surety in my own way of thinking, influenced all of my worst choices. As I sought a better, and healthier, way to live, I began to study Zen and get in touch with my faith in God. In the process, I got to know Nathan, a modern-day hippie who was studying Hinduism, Buddhism, and theosophy. We became good friends, and he introduced me to books that helped me to understand myself, understand others, and to grow as a human being.

We encouraged others to read, study, expand their minds, and see the world in a different way. Nathan was generally better at this than I was, less introverted, naturally great at speaking. We had each read Stanislav Grof’s “The Holotropic Mind” and had attempted holotropic breathwork based on information a friend had sent us from the internet. Both of us individually had meaningful experiences from this. After talking about the subject with others, some of our friends and associates wanted to try. Nathan invited them all to meet on the yard at the same time because, well, that was Nathan.

Dr. Grof created proper training protocols and certifications for his breathwork practices in order to ensure that it is performed and monitored in a safe and medical manner.

We had read about it second-hand from an unverified internet source, and were about to oversee a collective session on the yard of a prison surrounded by killers, gangsters, and gun towers. (So much for set and setting.) I’m there because, having been in prison for half of my life since age fifteen and interacting with every type of person in almost every type of hazardous situation, I have a certain type of psychological street sense. With an associate’s degree partly in psychology, I am the closest thing to a mental health professional standing by.
Yep, this has the potential to be a disaster.

Expanding a Convict’s Mind

Deep breath in. One, two. Deep breath out. One, two, three, four. Fast. A hundred, two hundred times. You are charging your body with the life force that permeates us all. (You are also essentially hyperventilating in a highly controlled and concentrated manner.)

Clear your mind. Be aware of the thoughts that come through to you. Focus, sweep away, observe. What rises to the surface? Holotropic breathwork dredges to the surface some of what is floating in your subconscious, beneath the reflection of your ego. At the request of Mike, a man convicted of armed robbery as a young teen, we’re guiding this group. What rises to the surface of multiple men in prison convicted of murder? What about a gang member, former burglar, drug addict, or serial killer?

Breathing deep. Breathing fast. You are consumed by lightheadedness. Tou hold onto the bench tight.

Tay screams. Primally. A note of sadness on the tail end. Yaya begins swearing over and over and over, clenching his eyes shut, grinding his teeth. Other convicts, most of whom are not particularly understanding people, begin looking over. Scary people staring and gawking at those currently experimenting with an alternative, psychedelic therapy. This is not exactly the best setting for psychological breakthroughs. Nathan may have been right about this being a terrible idea. But these guys were going to all try it on their own, alone in the confines of their prison cell, and I’m not sure that would have been better, so here we are.

Pop. Pop. Pop. One by one, the guys stop their ritualized breathing. Rick and Steve are on the ground, eyes wide as they point at something I cannot see. Yaya gets up and just walks away, while Mike merely opens his eyes and puts his hand to his head as he clenches his fist.

Visions and sounds. Steve hears his name called by the voice of his beloved grandmother, who had passed away years earlier. Rick sees a triangle, the center of which he falls through. (“I don’t know what it means, but it makes me feel connected to something else.”) Yaya is hugged by a family member he thought hated him. (“I thought I would die with her hating me. Now the thought of her forgiveness makes me want to do better.”) Mike hears the words, “I love you,” despite no one else hearing it. (“I really needed that, even if it wasn’t real.”)

I talk to them after, asking what they each think their experience meant. Everyone says they felt it was important. As they talk in the minutes afterward, most describe a fountain of other thoughts and memories surfacing: memories of being loved, or being abused, or a new understanding of a past trauma. They share the deep sense of constriction that is prison. They open up to me, and though I feel unqualified, I counsel them using the ways I’ve learned firsthand and in the way I would want done to me.

The holotropic breathwork session we performed on the prison yard gave every single man an insight into where they were psychologically, or helped them break through to a higher level of thinking. The most childlike yet simultaneously most profound insight came from Tay, a young gang member who had recently let prison consume his mind and actions as he caught misconduct after misconduct for warring against everyone and everything in his life in here: “Bro, there’s more than this, isn’t there? This ain’t all there is.”

Each man felt encouraged to seek additional help, whether from psychological staff at the prison (who would not have condoned this experiment) or from loved ones or others. One event—somewhat irresponsible, improperly supervised, and not well-planned—changed the lives and direction of a handful of future citizens in a healthier way.

Chris Dankovich #595904
Thumb Correctional Facility
3225 John Conley Drive
Lapeer, MI 48446

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