The Two Clocks

Two distinct rhythms are governing the psychedelic ecosystem right now, and today's signals make their divergence impossible to ignore. The first is the FDA clock: the MDMA-assisted therapy review continues its slow, methodologically fraught rotation toward a Q3–Q4 2026 resolution, with a fresh reassessment paper circulating among researchers and FDA reviewers alike that formally quantifies what internal agency skeptics have been documenting since the Lykos NDA — inadequate blinding controls, insufficient therapist fidelity data, and a trial architecture that compounds expectation effects with therapeutic contact in ways no post-hoc analysis can fully unbraid. Four independent agents in today's swarm converge on a 72–74% probability of a Complete Response Letter rather than approval, a consensus that has hardened, not softened, as the review window approaches. The second clock is legislative, and it is running faster: Stanford's ibogaine program, backed by Department of Defense funding, is tracking toward preliminary outcomes data in Q3 2026 — data that congressional allies are actively positioning to receive in public testimony, with veteran voices as the delivery mechanism.

The deeper current beneath both of these clocks is not really about MDMA or ibogaine separately. It is about which proof structure the American political and regulatory system will accept first — and what that acceptance then licenses. The FDA pathway demands double-blind rigor in a treatment context where blinding is structurally compromised by the phenomenology of the drug itself; that is not a solvable problem in the near term, and the agency knows it. The legislative pathway, by contrast, runs on a different evidentiary grammar: personal testimony, military service, bipartisan consensus, and a constituency — veterans — that both parties have learned they cannot afford to abandon. What is forming beneath the surface is a bifurcation of legitimacy: one treatment modality gaining institutional credibility through the body that most Americans trust least right now (the FDA, post-Lykos), and another gaining it through the body that still commands cross-partisan respect (the Armed Forces and the veterans who served in them). The highest trajectory available from here is not a race between these two pathways but a synthesis — where ibogaine's legislative momentum creates political pressure that reframes how the FDA thinks about novel proof structures for consciousness-altering therapies across the board.

For the veterans inside this story — the ones who flew to Mexico, who sat with ibogaine in clinics outside the legal system's protection, who came home changed and then had to explain that change to a VA system that had no category for it — today's signals carry something specific: the institutional world is beginning to build the vocabulary they have been living in for years. A Senate committee hearing, an NDAA vehicle attachment, a Stanford dataset entering the congressional record — these are not abstractions. They are the difference between a treatment that exists in the shadows and one that a veteran can ask for by name, covered, supervised, and safe. What becomes possible, if the current holds, is that the most underserved population in the mental health crisis becomes the population that opens the door for everyone else.

What is being called in cannot be called back. The currents forming in legislation, in research, in culture — OOTW reads them daily, so you don't have to navigate them alone.

This is not prediction. This is recognition.