The Hardest Drug

Have you ever had the desire to be a witch and fly around on a broomstick? Well I can tell you how to make that dream come true. It's quite simple really. All you need is any standard broomstick, some belladonna and a vagina. Belladonna (also known as deadly nightshade) is a highly toxic vine that when ingested, causes severe delirium and hallucinations in addition to wreaking havoc on most vital organ systems. Some credible sources actually contend that the witch-flying-on-a-broomstick myth is derived from an actual practice that some medieval women participated in, which involved their use of a belladonna-soaked broomstick as a dildo. If you ingest the drug in this fashion you can be sure to fly; that is, if you don't perish in the process.

According to folklore, Satan is particularly partial to this plant, and is known to emerge from time to time in order to care for his crop. If you ever want to meet him, belladonna is the way to go. Back in my more adventurous days, I seriously flirted with the idea of attempting this experiment (minus the broomstick and vagina of course). In retrospect, I am thankful that I was not so reckless, but I must admit that this mythical drug still has some allure. I guess I can't completely rule it out.

The following is a direct quote from the website found at this address: http://www.dhushara.com/book/twelve/tw4.htm

All of Mandrake, Belladonna and Henbane contain atropine alkaloids, of which scopolamine is known as the hallucinogenic component. It is from the admixture of these three, along with the fat of a stillborn child that the ointments of medieval witches were prepared: "But the vulgar believe and the witches confess that on certain days and nights they anoint a staff and ride on it to the appointed place or anoint themselves under the arms and in other hairy places" (S&H 88). The witch riding on her broom is believed to be specifically associated with the application of such an ointment to the vaginal mucosae which forms an ideal method of cutaneous entry. The inclusion of toads legs would also be consistent with the bufotenene present in the skin of the genus Bufo.

The witch preparing herself with her broomstick. Datura meteloides.
A Shiva Datura flower on a Tantric yoni-lingum (S&H 1979).

It was believed that such witches would ride on their broomsticks to black sabbaths where they would cavort with male sexual manifestations of the devil himself in the form of an incubus. A truer picture would be sensation of flying produced by tropane intoxication and the use of the forest as a meeting place for worshippers of the ancient Earth Goddess, possibly in a fertility rite involving the use of the hexing herbs as power plants.

~Wolf

A Review of Fox News's Red Eye

It would be a trying task for even the most imaginative human being to envision a satirical news program worse than Fox News’s Red Eye, which can be seen each weeknight at 2:00 am. The program is hosted by a man named Greg Gutfield, who—if his performance on the show is any indication of the sort of person he is, and I believe it is—is one of the most bucolic, classless, childish, and unfunny people I have ever had the displeasure of watching. Gutfield’s three regular blogger panelists, who somehow manage to be his equal in terms of knavery and tastelessness, ought not to have their names mentioned, lest someone erroneously believe that these two young men and one young woman are worth remembering.

Gutfield too, would be a forgettable figure were it not for his nightly “comedic” performances which are so monumentally awful, so humorless, so artificial, so lacking in anything which even remotely might be said to contain an iota of wit, that the viewer is essentially forced to remember this phony man and his equally phony act.

To call Red Eye sophomoric would be to insult greatly television shows which have been accused of having that characteristic. In attempting to be edgy, the show—steered by the inept Gutfield—quite often takes a politically incorrect turn, and fails to achieve, despite its best efforts, a punch line that any half-wit simpleton from America’s Red State backwaters would find worthy of a whiskey-induced chuckle. The regular panelists, however, frequently cannot help but laugh uncontrollably at each other’s “jokes” and “commentary;” and this simply amplifies the pathetic nature of this half-baked project which not even a stoner who is as high as a kite would find amusing.

Concerning the aforementioned “edginess” of the show, Friday’s program featured a fine example Red Eye’s political incorrectness in action. During a segment which lasted about just under three minutes (which, as a length of time for each of the show’s discussion topics, is par for the course, if not longer than the average), host Gutfield and panel doubted the effectiveness of slipping roofies into drinks as a method for male bar patrons to incapacitate unsuspecting females so that they may rape them. Gutfield implied that the so called date rape drug Rohypnol is just some kind of scapegoat which drunk women who have been taken advantage of blame for their having been raped. Subsequently a comment was made or a verbal exchange occurred, which was missed by this observer (attempts to locate a transcript for this and other episodes of Red Eye on foxnews.com were unsuccessful), that prompted uncontrollable laughter from the pack of cackling hyenas, and carried through the break and into the next segment. Who would have thought that slipping women roofies could make for such knee-slapping conversation?

I could reel off some further remarks about other segments on the show, but no description, no matter how illustrative, could do justice to that which is being described. To appreciate truly the stupidity of Red Eye, one must witness it first hand, although I will certainly excuse those who wish to spare themselves from such an unpleasant experience. All in all, Red Eye is a forced, awkward, bombastic piece of programming which attains a level of idiocy which might otherwise be somewhat entertaining were it not for the show’s unbelievably pathetic and contemptible nature.

~Max

Rabbit Hole Intellect

We’re in a rabbit hole, man. I’m not sure if it leads anywhere.

This is an unsettling thought for any human being, yet most of us have had this notion cross our minds at some point. It usually follows personal inquiries regarding life’s “meaning,” whether there is “life after death,” or the question as to whether there is something more to life than we now presently perceive. The title of this post is an excellent verbalization of what someone once called, “the existential creepies”—the idea that one hasn’t the slightest clue as to what his life means, if anything at all.

Regardless of what we think about life and its significance or lack thereof, we are all in this rabbit hole. It is a seemingly endless network of tunnels leading everywhere but nowhere. We are frustrated by the sheer infinite number of routes and their lengths and implications because the more we investigate, the bigger our universe becomes, and the smaller we get. Smaller and smaller and smaller, until we are nothing but amoeba dust in an inexpressibly gigantic cosmic Petri dish.

Such a realization would be traumatizing to a goodly number of people, which is why they turn to divinities to help not only explain why they exist, but where they are going after they cease to be as organisms. Notice the need by many an assurance of immortality, of an afterlife. They are not content with their time on Earth. Indeed, life can be addicting; it is the most powerful narcotic ever known. Rare is the person willing to give up his life without the most vigorous and valiant of fights, yet he has no idea just what it is he is fighting for.


Wolfgang and I (Max) do not turn to divinities and grand narratives for insight into this matter. We believe that there is no insight to be had in this regard. It would seem that most individuals blindly accept the beliefs and dogmas handed to them by their parents, who accepted the exact same beliefs and dogmas handed to them by their parents, and so on. As people are gradually inculcated with doctrines, it is only natural for them to accept these as the best explanation for the way things are, since they really know no other approach—at least not to the degree that they are acquainted with the belief system insisted on them from childhood.

In a way, we are paying a price for rejecting the traditional and prevalent beliefs of our society. We are in the minority when it comes to the God question. The best we can do is say that we humans are the result of a countless series of events which came after the Big Bang, a theory which we feel is plausible but not for certain. Of course, we have no explanation for what came before that, and so we are not going to pretend to have one.

No one can really know how the universe came about for sure. Many claim to know for certain that it was God, or Allah, or Brahman, or whatever, that created the universe, but none of this can be demonstrated scientifically, since these explanations cannot even be tested. If God in fact created everything, where did God come from? Who created God? He had to be created somehow. Our Sunday school teachers never seemed to be able to answer this question to our satisfaction. They’d say, “God was always there.” But this will not do. God had to have some kind of beginning. Yet no argument is given for this “fact,” which is very easy to accept when one does not think for oneself, and when one lives in a society where over ninety percent of the population holds this basic belief. Of course, there are variations on the theme, but none of the theistic faiths offer sufficient logical explanation which demonstrates even the remote possibility that God exists. There are some, such as Aquinas and Anselm in the Catholic faith, who have advanced theories attempting to prove the existence of God. Aquinas drew on Aristotle’s notion of the “first mover,” which he understood to be God, but for some reason he was not compelled to theorize about whom moved the first mover, in which case, it wouldn’t be the first mover.

It is not our intention to give an exposé on the philosophical questions surrounding metaphysics, but rather to show some of our basic concerns about something which a substantial number of people believe that we do not. We are skeptics, but are certainly willing to at least entertain certain ideas which may be improvable and even disreputable. In fact, we often go to great lengths to investigate extremely implausible ideas, but do so mainly for the sake of the experience itself. We feel that our perspectives of the world are broadened by exposing ourselves to phenomena outside our conceptions of reality ‘as if’ they were true. This method of investigation not only enriches the quality of experience, but also helps maintain intellectual honesty. Thus, at the end of the day, we still admit that we truly know very little, if anything at all.

~Max and Wolf

Ayahuasca Vs. My Ego

The following piece describes my first experiences ingesting ayahuasca, a potent visionary brew used for millennia by natives indigenous to the Amazon basin. In Peru, at the Blue Morpho Lodge, I ingested this sacred medicine while participating in a series of shamanic healing ceremonies. After emerging from my first ceremony with entirely positive albeit unremarkable results, I grew increasingly cocky about my ability to tolerate powerful psychedelics. This is a re-posting of the account in honor of a new documentary that chronicles other experiences at Blue Morpho.

Trip 2

Hamilton (the shaman) accommodated my arrogance by accepting my request for an extra large dose of the brew, which resulted in my receiving a full four-ounce cup instead of the standard one or two-ounce dose. In order to swallow that much liquid death, I had to fully prepare myself mentally before throwing it back. Part of this preparation involved silently expressing my intentions for the ensuing trip. In shamanic language, this involved asking the ayahuasca spirits for their assistance.

“Please provide me with deep insight and wisdom,” I asked the spirits which I did not believe in.

I then raised my cup, said “salud,” and somehow managed to swallow all four vile ounces of the green sludge without evoking my gag reflex. I then handed the cup back to Alberto, quickly sprawled out on my yoga mat and closed my eyes.

“Bring it on plant spirits,” I thought to myself. “Do your worst.”

In challenging the so-called spirits to kick the shit out of me, I was really looking to do battle with the nether-regions of my unconscious.

“If there is any darkness in me that needs to be confronted I want to face it now.”

Provoking this challenge expressed my confidence about being able to weather any visionary storm the ayahuasca sent my way.

The initial phase of the intoxication was ordinary enough, mostly consisting of intense kaleidoscopic visions. Yet it soon became apparent that the effects of the medicine were achieving an intensity I was wholly unprepared for. I was no longer simply a passive observer of interesting mental imagery. My visions were now assuming a quality of movement and I was forced to take a ride.

I began traveling at a high rate of speed in my mind, as if soaring through some colorful tunnel to another dimension. I had no idea where I was going or if the tunnel even had an end. I felt lost and increasingly out of control.

The tunnel vision eventually faded, giving way to what can only be described as pure chaos. I was now flooded with an infinite barrage of imagery coming from every conceivable direction. It was impossible to focus my attention on anything in particular. Now I was not only lost, but helplessly consumed by utter pandemonium.

The turbulence of this trip was now bothering me enough to start thinking about asking Hamilton for help, something he had advised all participants to do if feeling the need. As soon as I contemplated this course of action however, my ego chirped up and starting dissuading me from asking for his assistance.

“You are not suffering that much.”

“You don’t want to be the one to interrupt the ceremony.”

“You can get through this alone.”

Of course these were my own thoughts, but I was experiencing them at least partially from outside myself. In a sense, I was observing my own ego. I remained in that chaotic place for light years in non-linear time, waging a war against my higher self and stubborn ego. Towards the climax of this war, it seemed that one side had to officially declare total victory once and for all. If my ego had won the battle, I felt there would have been no saving me from the absolute depths of chaos.

I had no choice but to utilize all of my fortitude to end the conflict. Then, as if attempting to purge my sense of profound inner turmoil, I instinctively shouted, “HELP!"

The shamans’ icaros (spirit songs) stopped briefly and the room grew quiet. Hamilton made his way over to me and crouched down beside my mat.

“What is the problem?” he asked.

“I just need a personal icaro,” I somehow managed to mutter in his ear.

It was instantly clear that this communication was more than sufficient for him to understand my predicament. He then commenced with shaking his chakapa (leaf rattle) and singing an icaro while hovering over me. I kept my eyes closed and tried only to focus on the melody of the song.

After listening to the shaman’s tune for no more than ten seconds, the state of chaos with all its twisted, jumbled visions instantly vanished. In its wake came visions of heavenly realms and an assortment of angels coming to assist me. Never had I witnessed such beauty.

“How are you now?” Hamilton asked me after finishing his song.

“I am perfect.” “Muchas gracias."

The ceremony continued as I remained in a state of utter bliss, in harmony with the universe. I had asked the spirits for insight and wisdom. Once again, they did not fail me.

The knowledge I gained from this trip had to be delivered in the form of a powerful experiential lesson. It was only through facing a realm of chaos hitherto unknown that my higher self came to directly battle my silly ego, which allowed me to relinquish all self control. The effect of the help I received from the shaman confirmed that I desperately needed his assistance. The ayahuasca had just taught me the value of surrendering.

Hamilton would often say that “the medicine will always provide just what you need.” Apparently I needed an ego check.

“Maybe an average dose will suffice next time,” I thought to myself.

Trip 3

The powerful experience of confronting my own powerlessness was supremely humbling and helped imbue me with a sense of security and peace as I prepared for my next ceremony. This time I made sure to ask Hamilton for an average sized dose, to which we both chuckled in mutual acknowledgment of the soundness of that decision.

I now presented the shaman with a different request. I asked him if I could graduate from my yoga mat on the floor to sitting in a chair next to the apprentices during the ceremony. He agreed to this proposition but offered one caveat:

“If you fall out of the chair you cannot get back in it,” he said with some seriousness.

Hamilton had previously told the group that we could volunteer for the chair challenge, although he warned us that it made for a much more difficult experience. In fact, the ability to remain seated in a chair for an entire ceremony is often the first test that a shaman’s apprentice must pass in training.

Tonight my request to take the chair challenge was not motivated by the same cocky ego that asked for a stronger dose the night before. My respect for the brew was growing, and that respect had helped open previously unlocked doors to my spirituality.

This time upon receiving the sacramental cup, I set my intentions for divine guidance and inspiration. I then respectfully ingested my modest dose and awaited further teachings. The first quarter of this ceremony was pleasant and highly manageable. Then the purging began.

The state of chaos I had previously become familiarized with had now returned with a vengeance. Only this time, instead of my ego, it was my physical being that was assuming its dominance over me. Demons and malevolent insects of all kinds quickly had me surrounded, progressively increasing their assaults with each wretched contribution I made to my blue vomit bucket.

This agonizing state of affairs of course seemed to last an eternity. The combination of such mental chaos mixed with gut wrenching purging was so insanely intense that I now could not even entertain the thought of asking for help. I was powerlessly trapped in hell and nothing could save me.

After almost filling my bucket, I looked down into what must have been at least a liter or two of chunky green bile. Inside I saw maggots and small dark creatures having a grotesque orgy of destruction in my vomit. I placed the bucket on the ground and tried desperately to collect my bearings by focusing solely on my breathing. Confident that I had successfully emptied the contents of my stomach, I began to feel some relief. Still, the demons and their motley crew of minions continued with their assault.

“Leave me the fuck alone already,” I shouted in my mind.

Then, almost instantly, a familiar lesson occurred to me.

“I just have to ask for help.”

Instead of actually yelling to summon the shaman for assistance, I now simply thought the word “help” in the comfort of my own mind. As soon as I manifested that word, the demons retreated and the same angels from the night before arrived to help send them on their way.

Seeing these angels again filled me with the purest sense of gratitude I had ever known. As I blissfully watched and interacted with them, I kept repeating the same word over and over again. Each time I thought the word, I was graced with more beauty. I was ascending to the heavenly plane that I had only glimpsed at before.

No description could ever capture the ecstatic state of love and appreciation that enveloped me. This was indeed a classical mystical experience. As I naturally wanted to remain in this state for as long as possible, if not forever, I did not dare break from repeating the 'help' mantra. The angels continued to carry me higher and higher.

“But how far can I possibly ascend?” I thought.

The answer to my query then appeared before me in stereotypical fashion as the face of an elderly Caucasian man, with long flowing white hair and the beard to match. He extended his hand to me and I reached forward, grasping it tightly.

“I am sorry for neglecting you all these years” I told him. “I didn’t think you existed.”

“I always have and always will” he replied. "And now you know how to communicate with me.”

In the presence of this vision I truly felt saved, as a child being protected by the infallible mother. I began to reflect on this message of turning to a supreme being for help, and how my lack of a spiritual connection had likely been behind many of my recent troubles.

The ceremony began to wind down almost immediately after my deity vision faded away. As I reflected on the events of the preceding four hours, I was struck by the magnitude of what had been accomplished. Not only had I passed the chair challenge, but I had also revoked my license to operate a dogmatic Atheistic conception of the universe. Once again, the medicine provided exactly what I needed.

I will never forget the serenity I felt in the following moments as I listened to the shaman sing his last icaro.

~Wolf

Ketamine Logic

For God’s sake man, don’t pre-program!

If you ever find yourself floating in a sensory deprivation tank with a head so full of ketamine that the distance of your perceiving mind from your physical body seems light years apart, it would be wise to heed the advice of the late physician and philosopher, John Lilly. This eccentric, yet vastly intelligent explorer of altered mind states was keenly aware of the cognitive problems that arise from the natural human desire to adhere to an "explanatory principle." He saw this problem as becoming especially salient when navigating realms beyond 'normal' human consciousness.

Adherence to an explanatory principle, as he put it, is akin to having certain beliefs or faith in the objective reality of some idea. The placebo effect demonstrates this power of the mind to turn something believed to be true by the subject into a more objective truth (i.e. physical changes). This power of belief and its concomitant power of suggestion (belief inducer) can be immensely useful, but can also serve as roadblocks to any serious investigation of altered states through creating self-imposed limitations on how far into the abyss of mind one can go. Lilly saw the direct individual experience of these non-ordinary states of consciousness as the most useful tool for exploring potential metaphysical phenomena and advised future navigators of these realms (referred to as psychonauts in the psychedelic community) to take care in minimizing "pre-programmed" ideas or expectations when embarking on such a journey.

In "Programming the Human Bio Computer," Lilly specifically proposed using a “formalistic” paradigm when investigating altered mind-states, an approach “which assumes that the bio-computer itself generates all of the phenomena experienced” (p. 75). In other words, nothing is assumed to exist in reality independent of one’s own mind. He concludes that the formalistic view is simply the safest assumption to hold when pursuing the limits of our current knowledge; maintaining this view serves to safeguard one against the limitations of more restrictive assumptions of reality. An exploration of altered states while adhering to this construct is therefore seen as the best way to yield the most authentic knowledge in this area.

A deeper appreciation for consciousness exploration is in particularly high demand in our time. Recent advances in quantum physics are increasingly revealing that the nature of the smallest particles of matter behave in ways that are counter-intuitive to the traditional scientific, materialistic perspective of reality. Some in this field even suggest that there is evidence supporting the possibility of an infinite number of universes existing independent of our own. The idea that altered states of consciousness may be capable of performing hitherto unknown metaphysical feats does not seem so far-fetched in comparison.

The common experiences of psychedelic users (e.g. being visited by alien entities, traveling to other planes of existence, etc) may not all be the result of hallucinations and may instead reflect genuine encounters of alternate realities. Even if this is believed highly improbable, an exploration of this outstanding possibility would be no less useful. Just as Lilly proposed questioning our assumptions about consensus reality however, he also cautioned against becoming convinced of the reality of what one experiences in an altered state. His framework for investigating the depths of human consciousness is thus seen as the best model to assist with the new field of "inner science."

In order to get the ball rolling, I propose federal funding to assist with opening public sensory deprivation centers across the nation. In these centers, the full range of psychedelic compounds will be on the menu to assist users with exploring the boundaries of "alternity." Ideally, funding for consciousness exploration should parallel that currently spent on NASA. If the aforementioned proposals are accepted, I expect the field will grow exponentially. Children across the land would soon begin dreaming of becoming a psychonaut when they grow up.

"In the province of the mind, what one believes to be true is true or becomes true, within certain limits to be found experientially and experimentally. These limits are further beliefs to be transcended. In the mind, there are no limits."

RIP John Lilly

It's time to right the wrong done to Reich

(My letter to the President)

Dear President Obama:

I am writing this letter to request that posthumous pardons be granted to the late Austrian-American psychologist Wilhelm Reich and American physician Michael Silvert, who were disgracefully incarcerated by the United States government in the 1950s simply because they advocated an unorthodox scientific theory. It was Dr. Reich who postulated that all electromagnetic and gravitational activity occurred via a massless intermediary which he called “orgone.” It was upon this foundational principle which he built many of his theories on biology and psychoanalytic therapy. While I, nor any “reputable” scientist or psychologist would agree that orgone even exists, the fate of Dr. Reich can only be described as cruel and outrageous.

Dr. Reich fled from the Nazis in August 1939 and came to America in search of a better life for himself and his family. He thought that in the U.S. he would be able to continue to study his orgone theory, and also explore the use of orgone therapeutic devices without being harassed or threatened. Unfortunately he was wrong. The Food and Drug Administration thought Reich a fraud and succeeded in convincing a judge to grant an injunction on the interstate shipment of Reich’s orgone-related literature and equipment. In May 1956 this injunction was violated when Dr. Silvert moved some theraputic equipment across state lines. Reich was arrested and brought to court in chains and represented himself. He was sentenced to two years imprisonment, and died in a federal penitentiary in November 1957. Before he went to jail, FDA officials took a play out of the stormtrooper’s playbook, and physically destroyed his therapeutic devices and burned many of his books. For his part, Silvert also went to jail and was released, but committed suicide shortly after Reich died, whose demise he felt greatly responsible for.

You don’t have to agree with Reich’s claims to know that what happened to him was one of the most ridiculous fates ever endured by a man who committed no actual crime. Dr. Reich was not a fascist; he was not a racist; he was not a pervert; his ideas were simply controversial. I encourage you to investigate further this sad case of a man who went to prison, and whose spirit was broken so that he died alone in a dark cell he had no business being in the first place—in any decent country anyway. I am asking you to rectify this horrible miscarriage of justice by granting presidential pardons to Dr. Wilhem Reich and Dr. Michael Silvert.

Dr. Reich once wrote,

I would like to plead for my right to investigate natural phenomena without having guns pointed at me. I also ask for the right to be wrong without being hanged for it.

It is time to bring Dr. Reich down from the gallows.

Sincerely,

Max [last name withheld for this posting]