Awakening Through Story: The Power of Film to Transform Your Reality – An Interview with Ben Joseph Stewart

What if the story shaping your life right now follows the same structure as your favorite film?

In this conversation, Ben Stewart talks about the moment a single experience at fourteen years old set him on a path toward filmmaking, psychedelics, and a career spent helping people see their own lives differently. He shares how his early documentaries reached millions of viewers almost overnight, how that success eventually gave way to a season where everything fell apart at once, and how he found his way back by living the very wisdom he had once only talked about. Along the way, he opens up about psychedelics, artificial intelligence, and what it really means to have agency in a world that often feels like it’s moving too fast to keep up with.

Whether you’re drawn to the filmmaking side of his story, the psychedelic exploration, or the deeply human experience of rebuilding a life from the ground up, this conversation offers something to sit with. It’s a reminder that the hardest seasons often carry the clearest lessons, and that no one is coming to save you, which might be the most freeing realization of all.

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What was your own journey of awakening to consciousness, mindfulness, and spirituality? I know you grew up moving around a lot as part of a military family, but was faith a part of that experience as well, or did that come into your life later?

Ben Stewart: The faith part is interesting. My dad was in the military, and every male in his family line, all the way back to the Mayflower, apparently, served without interruption. I was in the military myself from 2000 to 2006, so I didn’t break that chain either, oddly enough. But I’ve always been more of an artist.

Honestly, art is what drove me into spirituality. My mom had some paranormal experiences she couldn’t explain, so she dabbled mostly in Catholicism. I had my communion and went through all of that, but we weren’t a family that spent every Sunday at church.

When it comes to spirituality, I think art and filmmaking are what truly opened that door for me. I never had a dramatic spiritual crisis or a huge turning point. But around age fourteen, I stopped playing sports because I realized I was five-foot-eight and about 150 pounds—not exactly destined for athletic greatness. I gravitated toward music, and around that same time, I took psilocybin mushrooms for the first time.

How did that happen? Did a friend offer them to you?

Ben Stewart: Yeah. I had started working at a restaurant when I was fourteen. I began as a dishwasher and eventually became a cook. I met a guy there who was able to get them, and that’s how it happened.

But my curiosity actually goes back much earlier, to when I was five years old and living in Kwajalein among the Marshallese people. They had a completely different relationship with nature and community, and I became fascinated by what separated indigenous cultures from the world I knew. They seemed to possess a wisdom and closeness to nature that I couldn’t quite explain.

Later, I watched The Emerald Forest, where a young boy raised by an Amazonian tribe experiences an altered state of consciousness through a sacred plant medicine. I didn’t even know what psychedelics were at the time, but something about that experience resonated deeply with me. I remember thinking, They know something that I don’t.

Many years later, when I tried mushrooms for the first time, it felt completely different from anything else. While many of my friends were falling into opiate addictions—I lost several close friends that way—I tried a few pills and thought, This narrows consciousness. But mushrooms did the opposite. They expanded it.

I never became a heavy drinker. I wasn’t into cigarettes, and I didn’t really like marijuana. I just loved what mushrooms did for me.

Almost exactly ten years later, I came across the word ayahuasca in a book by Daniel Pinchbeck. Two months later, I was in the Amazon trying ayahuasca for myself, and it felt like I was finally receiving the answer to the question I’d been asking since I was five years old in Kwajalein. It was raw, nature-driven, and guided by indigenous wisdom. It was exactly the kind of experience I had always sensed was out there.

So that curiosity led me onto the spiritual path. But honestly, what really pushed me forward was filmmaking.

I started making documentaries at twenty-four after taking mushrooms and watching the film Zeitgeist. That experience cracked something open in me. Suddenly, I thought, I’m a filmmaker. I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew I had to share what I was feeling.

I made my first film, and it went viral. People started inviting me to speak all over the world. It scared me, but I said yes to all of it. Through that, I found myself orbiting the spiritual community.

And this is important: I sensed there was something deeply meaningful there. I knew there was a spiritual path in front of me. But I also noticed all the costumes, the lingo, the need to look or act spiritual.

I realized that spirituality didn’t have to be mystical or performative. It didn’t have to mean dressing a certain way, talking a certain way, or belonging to a certain crowd. Those things are fine, but to me, they’re just the garments.

Spirituality became much more practical. Can I be better today than I was yesterday? Can I be a better person for my family, my community, and myself? How do I take care of my health? How do I relate to God? Those were the questions I was wrestling with.

Art may have thrust me into spiritual circles, but as an artist, authenticity has always mattered most to me.

I think about music. There’s Pink Floyd, and then there are bands trying to sound like Pink Floyd. They may sound similar, but one is created from authenticity, while the other is recreating something because it knows people like it.

I started noticing that same divide in spirituality. I saw people selling products, repeating spiritual phrases, and adopting identities. And I thought, I’m just going to be the artist and the trickster standing slightly outside the circle.

Not to criticize it. That’s not my purpose.

What I want to do is give people authentic experiences—moments where they can feel more deeply than they normally allow themselves to feel. So much of our humanity gets guarded by fear, trauma, or self-protection. I want to create something that helps people experience catharsis and remember that they have access to that depth whenever they choose.

That’s my spiritual path.

Take me back to that first documentary. You mentioned Zeitgeist. Was that your film?

Ben Stewart: No, Zeitgeist was the film I watched. It had an enormous impact on me.

What I loved about it was the way it expanded my thinking. It began by questioning traditional narratives about Christ, then moved into 9/11, banking systems, RFID chips—topic after topic, each one opening another door in my mind.

But what really struck me was that it approached everything analytically. It didn’t rely on spiritual language. It was practical and thoughtful, and I loved that.

At the same time, I thought, I want to do this my way.

I wanted to create films that introduced people to esotericism—the understanding that the deepest truths can’t always be spoken directly. We can point toward them, but the real truth often lies beyond words.

So I made a film called Esoteric Agenda.

I’ve always loved stories that seem to be one thing at first and then completely transform your understanding by the end. Fight Club is a perfect example. You think it’s one story, and then suddenly you realize it’s something much deeper.

That’s what I wanted to do with film.

I began with conspiracy and ended with empowerment. I wanted people to understand how power operates in the world, but ultimately realize that trying to change the external world isn’t the first step.

First comes understanding.

Buddha would call it right seeing before right action. If you act before you see clearly, you’re bound to stumble. You have to understand first.

That was my first film. The soundtrack was way too loud. I didn’t understand story structure. I’d never made a demo reel. I only knew music software and taught myself everything else.

I bought a laptop, downloaded a bunch of software, spent six months obsessively learning, and then I released Esoteric Agenda in early 2008—just six months after watching Zeitgeist for the first time.

Where did you launch the film? Was it on YouTube or somewhere else?

Ben Stewart: YouTube wasn’t really a thing yet. It was actually on Google Videos. This was the very beginning of 2008, and honestly, it was a case of being in the right place at the right time.

Millions of views later, I was scratching my head, wondering, How is this happening? I had only sent the link to about fifteen people. I didn’t understand the power of word of mouth back then.

The film went incredibly viral. People started asking, “How do I buy the DVD?” And I was like, I don’t know what you’re talking about—I don’t have DVDs.

So I had to race to catch up with what was happening. At the same time, I began traveling on speaking tours all over the world. I was way out over my skis. I didn’t really know what I was doing, but I kept saying yes.

I think people recognized that I wasn’t a master filmmaker. I was simply someone with integrity and a message, and I think that carried me through.

But very quickly, people began telling me, “Ben, I want another film—but more like the ending. More of the empowering part and less of the conspiracy.”

I thought, Okay.

Six months later, I released Kymatica. I submitted it to the New York Independent Film Festival, and it won the Best Scientific Film Award. I was still amazed. I had spent ten or fifteen years trying to make it in the music industry, grinding endlessly, and then suddenly, filmmaking just took off.

I had to listen—not just to the success, but to the criticism too. People told me, “Turn the soundtrack down next time.” Others said, “Where’s the ending?” Or, “You jump from topic to topic so quickly that I couldn’t keep up.”

But none of that made me want to hide. It just made me want to do better.

Esoteric Agenda came out in 2008. Kymatica followed in 2009. Then came Ungrip around 2010 or 2011.

That was a difficult period in my life. I had left my band and honestly didn’t know what I wanted to do. I met my now-wife, we had our child, and they were living in Holland while I was in the United States trying to earn enough money to make it all work.

At one point, I almost quit filmmaking altogether.

Then Gaia reached out and asked if I wanted to appear on Beyond Belief. I said yes. Afterward, I spoke with the CEO, and he asked, “Would you like to come work as a producer?”

I was still very naive at the time. I remember thinking, You want to pay me to make the kinds of films I already make?

So I just kept saying yes, and the opportunities kept coming.

That was my journey.

But it all started with those first films.

What was driving you internally? As I’ve shared with you, I’ve produced films myself, and it’s not an easy path. It’s a long process of investing your own resources, raising money, building a team, and carrying the vision. What kept you going in those early years?

Ben Stewart: Part of it was realizing that I could do almost everything myself.

On my first film, the only help I got was from my brother, who had studied some editing and animation software. He gave me a three-hour crash course in Adobe Premiere and After Effects, and after that, I was off to the races.

I was already a musician. I already knew how to record music and produce my own soundtracks, so I didn’t need to raise money.

Those first films were 100% sweat equity.

I narrated them myself. I did the research, the editing, the soundtrack—everything. And in about six months, I stumbled my way into a finished project.

The drive is actually hard to explain because sometimes I feel like the films chose me.

It wasn’t a matter of thinking, Wouldn’t this be a cool idea?

When I took mushrooms and watched Zeitgeist, there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt. Two hours later, I was a filmmaker. I just didn’t know yet how to become one.

The drive was almost ineffable. I simply knew  I needed to do this. And I need to do what I think this filmmaker missed.

That’s what propelled me.

But what motivated me to make the next film was seeing the impact these films had on people—for better and for worse.

Some people were genuinely shaken by Esoteric Agenda. I remember someone telling me, “My family doesn’t understand these things the way you and I do. I left them and went out into the woods to wait all of this out.”

I put my hand on my forehead and thought, Oh no. I hope I didn’t do this.

That experience taught me humility.

You can be bold all day long, but eventually you have to admit that you don’t know everything.

I also realized something important about the way I make films. Most filmmakers who create the kind of documentaries I make start with a thesis. They already know what they believe, and then they use art to communicate it.

I’m the opposite.

I start with art.

I want to move people emotionally. So I look for people who have fascinating ideas, different perspectives, and unique theses. Then I ask: What happens if I weave these ideas together into an experience?

I know how to move people with music, visuals, pacing, and emotion.

But I’m not trying to convince people to believe what I believe.

That’s never been the goal.

I want people to experience something cathartic—to feel more deeply than they normally allow themselves to feel.

And when the film is over, I want them to walk away feeling more at home within themselves, understanding that they have agency, even if they can’t control everything happening in the outside world.

That’s always been my intention.

It’s fascinating because it almost feels like you’re trying to recreate what you experienced at fourteen—to help other people feel that same expansiveness and groundedness through film and music.

Ben Stewart: I’ve never put those pieces together before. Thank you for that.

I do hear that kind of feedback all the time. People tell me, “There’s something about your films that completely changes the way I think.”

Especially Kymatica. To this day, people still reach out and say, “Since watching your film, I haven’t been able to see reality the same way.”

And I think you may be right.

There is a sense of expansiveness, yet people feel grounded. Many have told me they struggled with addictions or destructive patterns, and that the films helped them see that there was meaning and purpose beyond those cycles.

They found the strength to go sober, to face suffering, and to make profound changes in their lives because they felt connected to something larger.

So yes, I think there is something in me that goes back to that fourteen-year-old version of myself.

Actually, maybe even earlier than that.

I think it began with the Marshallese people and with The Emerald Forest—seeing people who lived in relationship with the invisible world.

They would speak of the wind as if it had a voice. The ocean could speak. Nature was alive.

That was beautiful to me.

And, strangely, those people felt more grounded than much of Western society did.

So thank you for putting some of those pieces together for me.

I’ve always felt that this path chose me, and I’m simply saying yes to it.

Even when I was a musician, I would step on stage in front of hundreds of people without fear. I performed at Lollapalooza alongside some of my favorite bands in the world and never really felt nervous.

Maybe I should have been a little more nervous.

The same thing happened with public speaking. Sometimes I wasn’t scared enough to overprepare, so I would just show up and wing it.

But that’s youth.

Saying yes is fun.

Learning the consequences later—that’s normal.

I’m curious about projects like Limitless and Psychedelica. How did those come into your life?

Ben Stewart: After my winding journey back into filmmaking, Gaia asked me to come on as a producer.

I’d never worked in a corporate environment before. I showed up, and within a week the CEO approached me and said, “I know you’ve taken ayahuasca. I know you’ve explored plant medicines and talked about them in your films. Psychedelics are entering a new era. Are you the guy to make this series?”

Inside, I was thinking, Absolutely. I’m your man.

So they gave me a small crew and essentially said, “Go make it.”

I worked incredibly hard. I interviewed nearly everyone I could in the psychedelic space. The only people who declined due to scheduling conflicts were Paul Stamets and Michael Pollan.

Everyone else said yes.

That became Psychedelica.

And as it launched, Gaia asked me, “What do you want to do next?”

I told them I was interested in practical spirituality.

If you want to expand consciousness, don’t overlook movement, breath, hydration, hormones, your fascia, or the willingness to do things that scare you.

That’s where Limitless came from.

We made one season, and I would absolutely consider doing another someday.

After Limitless, though, I left Gaia. I needed my own freedom, my own schedule, my own creative space.

And oddly enough, after creating a show called Limitless, my life kind of fell apart—financially, spiritually, relationally.

I remember joking to myself, “Ben, you’re the Limitless guy.” You can’t let this defeat you.

But it’s easy to speak wisdom when life is going well.

The real question is: How do you apply it when you don’t want to get out of bed? When you feel like you’re failing the people you love?

That’s when all those inspirational sayings are put to the test.

How do you get up today when yesterday defeated you?

I had to become the person I talked about on the show.

It was a slow, painful climb.

But looking back, I needed that struggle.

Just as a moth has to struggle out of its cocoon to become strong enough to survive, I had to go through my own initiation.

No one was going to rescue me.

I had support, absolutely. But I had to find that support for myself.

And that’s where the deeper, more esoteric understanding came in.

I realized that every day mattered. I had a family. I couldn’t stand still.

So I kept doing the work.

Chop wood. Carry water.

Take the daily steps that move you toward the person you know you’re capable of becoming.

The impetus behind that season of darkness resonates with me because I’ve gone through similar experiences twice in my life—once in my early thirties and again in my mid-forties. Both of those seasons came largely from choices I made in the midst of burnout. For you, did that period arise more from your own choices or from external circumstances?

Ben Stewart: It’s both, but I spend far more time focusing on what I could have done better than on the hand I was dealt.

Actually, that idea is woven into all of my work. Even though I explored conspiracy theories in my films, I was never trying to convince people to believe them. I only found value in presenting those ideas if I could then help people rise above them and recognize that they are more powerful than the problem I just laid out.

To me, that’s how every great story works.

You meet the hero in Act One and give them a problem. Throughout Act Two, they try to solve it using their old identity, habits, and worldview. Then comes the “all is lost” moment—the point where they are completely broken.

And only in that space, when everything feels hopeless, can they finally see the real solution that has been there all along.

That’s what leads to transformation.

So I tend to ask, “ What could the hero have learned?” What wisdom was available to them through their community, their experiences, their own archetypal journey?

Because ultimately, no one is coming to save you.

That doesn’t mean you don’t have support. It doesn’t mean people won’t help you. But save you? No.

And honestly, I don’t think most people want to be saved anyway.

Even children don’t want someone to live life for them. They want to learn. They want to tinker. They want to become capable.

That’s how I eventually came to see my own collapse.

Spiritually, financially, relationally—I hit rock bottom. But I also recognized that these were, in many ways, the consequences of my own choices.

And strangely, reframing it that way allowed me to feel grateful.

I could say, Thank you for giving me all of this at once.

Because instead of a slow decline, I crashed all the way to the bottom and had no choice but to climb.

And that was really the deeper message behind Limitless:

You already have the keys within you.

When life gets difficult, that’s when you’re forced to go looking for them.

Don’t forget that part.

I’m curious about psychedelics. Since your series came out, the conversation has exploded—in research, media, and legislation. As someone who has spent years immersed in this world, what do you think our broader culture is missing in this conversation?

Ben Stewart: That’s a really good question.

I hate oversimplifying things, but sometimes simple language communicates a deeper truth.

I think there are a lot of people who are not seekers.

And I don’t mean that as criticism.

Some people have found meaning and stability within the structures of ordinary life. They live within the same psychological framework as the herd, if you want to call it that. And honestly, most of the time, following the herd keeps you safe.

And for many people, safe feels synonymous with right.

Seekers are different.

Seekers are willing to risk something. They’re willing to put their comfort—and sometimes even their identity—on the line in order to discover what’s beyond the horizon.

When it comes to psychedelics, I think the broader culture is still catching up to where we are now.

We’re long past the old narrative of, “This is your brain on drugs.”

But at the same time, I don’t think the answer is unlimited access without guidance.

If you look at indigenous traditions around the world, they didn’t simply hand out ayahuasca or sacred mushrooms to anyone curious.

There were containers.

There were traditions.

Some elders said, “You’re ready,” and others said, “Not yet.”

That wasn’t oppression. It was wisdom.

There was an understanding that expanding consciousness without guidance can be destabilizing.

A wise guide knows both where these experiences can take you and where they can potentially lead you astray.

So when it comes to legislation and society’s evolving relationship with psychedelics, I actually think we’re moving in a better direction.

We had decades of prohibition after psychedelics were placed into Schedule I under Nixon. Officially, we weren’t even supposed to study them, even though plenty of people still were.

And if you look back at the 1960s and 70s, I can understand why there was fear.

You had a generation emerging from World War II with a single worldview. Then, suddenly, their children were taking substances that radically altered consciousness and saying, “I’ve seen something you haven’t.”

Of course, there was going to be resistance.

So maybe that pause wasn’t entirely without value.

Now we’re in a new phase.

Psychedelics are becoming institutionalized. There are companies, investors, pharmaceutical models—people trying to isolate certain benefits while removing aspects of the psychedelic experience itself.

We’re figuring it out.

And honestly, every era has its opportunists.

There will always be people who are more interested in profit than wisdom. There will always be people performing spirituality rather than embodying it.

That’s not new.

The people I worry about most are actually the ones who think they already know everything about psychedelics.

And equally, those who cling so tightly to old frameworks that they refuse to explore new possibilities.

This is a living conversation.

We’re still learning.

It is fascinating. On one end, there are people who want unlimited access; on the other, there are people—even within spiritual communities—who are incredibly protective of these practices. It’s a wide spectrum.

Ben Stewart: Absolutely.

And honestly, I think seekers sometimes forget that not everyone is meant to walk the same path.

There was an incident in France where an entire town was reportedly exposed to LSD, and people thought they were dying.

And I’ve met people who felt pressured into taking ayahuasca before they were ready.

When they encountered their own shadows, they externalized the experience. They blamed the ceremony or the person who encouraged them, instead of taking ownership of what arose.

That’s why readiness matters.

We, as seekers, often assume everyone wants healing, transformation, or expanded consciousness.

But many people don’t.

And that’s okay.

There isn’t some great crisis where every person needs to take ayahuasca to become whole.

Most people are living their lives just fine. They’re raising families, contributing to their communities, and loving the people around them.

And we shouldn’t look down on that.

Sometimes, in spiritual circles, there’s this subtle elitism—the attitude of I’ve seen more of reality than you have.

I don’t find that compelling.

In fact, I admire people who simply say, “That’s not my path.”

Maybe they have a beer now and then. Maybe they never seek mystical experiences.

But they’re good people.

They show up for their families.

They serve their communities.

They’re grounded.

And perhaps forcing them to confront all of their shadows or see beyond the veil isn’t necessarily the most loving thing we could do.

Sometimes people are exactly where they need to be.

Another topic I know you love to explore—and one that is on many people’s minds right now—is artificial intelligence. It’s everywhere. From your perspective, how is AI helping or perhaps hurting spirituality? How do you see that relationship unfolding?

Ben Stewart: I actually just talked about this on Instagram recently.

I’m a filmmaker, and I have multiple AI programs open on my computer right now. At the same time, I’m making a documentary that explores the ecological and psychological impacts of AI, and more broadly, how technology shapes us.

That’s really the premise of the film: technology shapes us. Everything from chairs to bicycles to smartphones changes the way we move through the world.

When it comes to AI and spirituality, I think one of the first things spiritually minded people begin to realize is just how sophisticated and interconnected nature really is—and how casually we often sacrifice it for convenience.

We love what technology gives us. But many of us are disconnected from the true cost.

Some people don’t realize that much of the electricity powering our lives still relies on fossil fuels. Some children think chicken comes from the grocery store rather than from an animal.

And in the same way, most of us don’t yet understand the true cost of AI.

We’re still in the very early stages of building the infrastructure. Even those of us who follow the technology closely don’t fully know what it will become.

But it’s going to transform everything—finance, creativity, education, enterprise, data, jobs. The effects will touch every aspect of society.

Spiritually speaking, one of my concerns is the same concern people have always had with technology.

A calculator can weaken our ability to do math in our heads.

A bicycle could be criticized for making people walk less.

And now AI has the potential to outsource not only labor, but parts of our creativity and even our thinking.

At the same time, I think we sometimes get ahead of ourselves with the doomsday narratives.

AI is already having a significant ecological impact. Data centers are expanding rapidly, consuming tremendous amounts of energy and water. And that growth isn’t slowing down anytime soon.

Sometimes it feels like we’re feeding a fire that consumes more and more of the oxygen in the room—and then wondering why life feels increasingly chaotic.

The difficult part for me is that AI has also supercharged my own creativity.

It’s allowing me to tell stories in ways I couldn’t have imagined even a few weeks ago.

So I conflict with myself.

I don’t think all AI-generated work is empty or meaningless, as some people claim. But when I see content that is entirely AI-generated, I sometimes feel strangely deflated.

I find myself wondering:

What is real anymore?

And maybe that’s where the real work begins.

I think we have to do collectively what I had to do personally after Limitless—lean into the struggle and mine it for what’s good.

Because if all we do is complain, we surrender our agency.

Sometimes I feel that the smartest critics of AI are brilliant at predicting catastrophe, always moving Armageddon another week into the future.

And I don’t think they’re entirely wrong.

But I also wonder:

Can we spend as much time imagining the best possible future as we do imagining the worst?

That’s really where my films come from.

Yes, AI presents real risks.

But humanity has survived cataclysms, societal upheavals, and countless periods of transformation.

We are resilient.

That doesn’t mean we should ignore the ecological consequences or pretend everything is fine.

But it does mean we have agency.

I always come back to the Serenity Prayer:

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

That’s a story of agency.

Whether I’m thriving spiritually or falling flat on my face, I still have choices.

And AI doesn’t change that.

The train is moving quickly, and it’s accelerating.

But every decision we make still matters.

Every choice ripples outward—to our families, our communities, and perhaps much farther than we realize.

So I try to approach AI in a practical and honest way.

Not with blind optimism.

Not with fear.

But with the understanding that this may be one of the most profound technological shifts humanity has ever experienced.

And I’m still wrestling with what that means.

I think many of us are wrestling with the same question. We love the convenience and the possibilities, but we’re also beginning to ask what the hidden costs might be—not only for ourselves, but for the world around us.

Ben Stewart: Exactly.

I want to highlight your new Gaia podcast, The Pulse. It has just launched. Tell me about the vision behind it and the kinds of guests you’ll be featuring.

Ben Stewart: Thank you. I’m really excited about it.

The podcast is called The Pulse, and we’re bringing together a wide range of voices.

Some are longtime Gaia favorites. I’m interviewing people like Caroline Cory, Rashad Evans—the former UFC Light Heavyweight Champion—Aaron Alexander, who focuses on movement and conscious fitness, William Henry, Jason Shurka, Shanin Blake, and many others.

But what’s most important isn’t necessarily who is on the show.

It’s the spirit behind it.

I’ve always been a little skeptical, even within spiritual circles.

And I think skepticism deserves a seat at the table.

My skepticism isn’t there to silence people or dismiss their experiences. It’s there to ask better questions.

The thread running through The Pulse is this:

Can we separate the signal from the noise?

Not by deciding who’s right and who’s wrong.

But by giving people a voice and exploring their ideas with curiosity, balance, and practicality.

We talk about everything—ET experiences, channeling, consciousness, DNA activation, spirituality, and the paranormal.

These are topics that, at first glance, can seem far outside the mainstream.

And honestly, I’ve been surprised.

I’ve expected to push back more than I actually have.

Instead, I’ve met extraordinary people.

Take Darryl Anka, for example, who channels Bashar.

During one of our conversations, he said something that really stayed with me:

“Whether Bashar is an actual entity or simply a part of my own higher intelligence, I’m not entirely sure.”

That kind of humility impressed me.

And I’ve found that humility in many of the people I’ve interviewed.

So The Pulse isn’t about sensationalism.

It’s about looking beneath appearances and exploring the practical wisdom that can exist even in places many people dismiss as “woo-woo.”

And honestly, it’s been a lot of fun.

Where can people listen?

Ben Stewart: Pretty much everywhere.

Spotify, YouTube, and all the major podcast platforms.

The video interviews will be available on Gaia’s YouTube channel, and I’m incredibly honored to be hosting Gaia’s first major podcast.

Before we wrap up, are there any other projects you’d like people to know about?

Ben Stewart: The project closest to completion is DMT Quest II, a sequel to DMT Quest, which I released in 2021.

The film explores a fascinating question:

Why does the human brain naturally produce DMT?

It’s a mystery that opens the door to some profound conversations about consciousness, perception, and reality.

Then there’s Welcome to the Machine, which explores how technology slowly shapes human behavior and asks a simple but important question:

What does it mean that we created these technologies—and now they are reshaping us?

I’m also working on a documentary about the Orchestrated Objective Reduction Theory of Consciousness, developed by Sir Roger Penrose and Stuart Hameroff.

It’s a very complex topic involving consciousness and microtubules in the brain.

My challenge is always the same:

Take a deeply intellectual subject and make people feel something as they learn about it.

And finally, I’ve launched something very close to my heart: Soul of Film.

I’ve been making films for twenty years, telling stories even longer, and I finally decided I wanted to teach.

At its core, Soul of Film isn’t just about filmmaking.

It’s about understanding that our lives themselves are stories.

We all move through archetypes.

We all experience transformation.

And when we understand the structure of a story, we begin to recognize the deeper patterns shaping our own lives.

That’s really what Gaia is about, too.

Transformation.

And that’s the work I want to keep doing.

Where can people follow your work?

Ben Stewart: I’m mostly on Instagram. You can also find me at my websites and through Soul of Film.

Most of the things I create, I try not to put behind a paywall.

I want people to watch them, engage with them, and make up their own minds.

Thank you for being here and for the work you’re doing in the world.

Ben Stewart: Thank you.

And thank you for seeing it—and for doing your own version of it.