Existence Is Illegal

This is your brain. This is your brain manufacturing its own illegal drugs.

Anyone with at least a hint of intellect that has inquired about the efficacy of the U.S. drug policy should be well aware that our “War on Drugs” has been an abject failure on virtually all fronts. Most, however, remain unaware of what is perhaps the most delicious hypocrisy of all with respect to this failed policy: that all human beings are in possession of an illegal substance at all times. Yup, that’s right. We are all just a bunch of drug-addled criminals that deserve to be locked in a cell and chained to our captors. Seriously though, if the current drug laws were actually carried out to the fullest extent, every citizen in the country would end up behind bars.

The substance I am alluding to is DMT (N, N Dimethyl-tryptamine), which is a “psychedelic” chemical found all throughout the natural world and produced by the human brain. The exact biological function of endogenous DMT is virtually unknown; however, some hypothesize that it plays a central role in “normal” waking consciousness, thus making everyday existence a sort of “controlled psychedelic experience.” It is only when this control is loosened in some way that altered (psychedelic) states can arise. Rick Strassman, M.D., one of the leading researchers of this chemical, speculates that this loosening of control over DMT production in the brain is what helps create the imagery associated with dreams, near-death experiences, and mystical-type states. These theories, at the very least, call for serious continued study of this mysterious chemical. Unfortunately, DMT research has been severely limited from the beginning in large part due to government restrictions, which are perpetuated by a deeply-ingrained skepticism and prejudice among the scientific community with regard to psychedelic drugs.

DMT is considered a Schedule I substance in the U.S., which is the most tightly controlled class of illicit drugs. Although this law is explicitly written for the drug in its pure form, it also extends to ayahuasca, which is a commonly ingested tea made from DMT-containing plants.

Let’s examine this a little closer:

It is basically illegal to own plants that contain a chemical that is also produced naturally in the human brain. The reasoning behind making these natural DMT-containing plants illegal seems to be: if one is in possession of such plants it can be inferred that that the possessor plans to “abuse” the chemicals inside the plants by consuming them with the goal of intoxication, which of course is illegal. This same logic could be applied to our possession of endogenous DMT if we accept Strassman’s theory that the chemical plays an active role in producing dreams and mystical states. This would essentially amount to us all committing crimes when we drift off to sleep at night or practice intense spiritual disciplines like meditation or yoga, for example. Thus, natural human experience could rightly be considered illegal.

Now, let’s consider whether or not DMT and ayahuasca can rightfully be deemed a schedule 1 drug according to the DEA’s standards:

“For a drug to be classed as schedule 1 it must be found that:

(A) The drug or other substance has a high potential for abuse.
(B) The drug or other substance has no currently accepted medical use in treatment in the United States.
(C) There is a lack of accepted safety for use of the drug or other substance under medical supervision.”

There is no basis whatsoever to say that ayahuasca or pure DMT have a high potential for abuse. Repeated use of these “drugs” does not result in the common addictive symptoms of tolerance and withdrawal. On the contrary, sensitivity rather than tolerance to DMT develops through repeated use. In other words, a smaller (not larger) dose becomes necessary to achieve the same effect over time. I should also mention that DMT is classified among the most dangerous drugs to consume (class A) despite the fact that it appears impossible to overdose on and that there are no specific health problems associated with its use.

It is ridiculous to say that ayahuasca in particular does not have any accepted medical use in this country, chiefly because our drug policies actively stifle the research that would be necessary to back up this claim. In fact, anti-psychedelic-drug sentiment squashed the legitimate study of endogenous DMT almost as soon as it was first discovered. In contrast, scientists who discovered morphine-like endorphins were awarded Nobel prizes (Strassman, 48).

Thankfully, research projects investigating the potential medical uses of ayahuasca are currently being conducted in various places abroad. Preliminary results from these studies suggest that ayahuasca, rather than being a drug of abuse, can actually be effective in treating addictions to real “drugs” like alcohol and heroin. Other claims for ayahuasca’s unique healing properties have also been supported by anecdotal evidence for years, although these still remain largely unsupported by research. Regardless, the standard of accepted medical use remains somewhat ambiguous. For example, despite clearly having a high abuse potential, cocaine is less controlled (level II) than DMT in our current system because it is claimed that it has “some accepted medical applications.” Cocaine was indeed once used commonly as a topical anesthetic; however, this medical use of the drug was largely abandoned in the early 20th century when more effective and less debilitating treatments (e.g., lidocaine) took its place. Heroin’s early use as a pain reliever suffered a similar fate, yet that drug is no longer considered to have “some medical applications.” Go figure. (Please contact me if you think you can solve that riddle)

Since the intoxicating effects of ayahuasca and DMT can be very intense, it is understandable that one may draw the conclusion that such drugs cannot be given in safety under medical supervision. This, however, is simply not true. When taken under the right kind of medical supervision, which would include proper preliminary screening and careful attention to psychological (set) and physical (setting) variables, a fair amount of safety can be ensured. Rick Strassman’s groundbreaking clinical DMT trials in the mid 1990’s proved that the drug can be administered with relative safety. Although, even these conditions were less than ideal, primarily due to research restrictions i.e., having to administer the drug in a drab, sterile lab environment rather than providing a setting that would be more inviting to a psychedelic experience. More recent research with psilocybin (“magic mushrooms”), however, provides a better example of how psychedelic research can be conducted to maximize safety precautions for subjects.

In conclusion, an analysis of the three conditions that are used to justify DMT as a schedule 1 illegal drug makes it clear that this classification is founded upon pure, unadulterated horseshit. I believe it is time for the orchestrators of the “Drug War” puppet show to step it up a notch and imprison the whole lot of us for possessing endogenous DMT. At least that way this heinous and entirely ineffective policy would appear to have some logical coherence rather than remaining ultra-ambiguous and insanely hypocritical. An alternative, of course, would be to drop these ridiculous laws in order to at least enable qualified professionals to study important chemicals like DMT as thoroughly as possible.

References

Strassman, R. (2001). DMT: The Spirit Molecule. Vermont: Park Street Press.

~Wolf

Getting High Without Drugs

I have long been fascinated with experiencing altered states of consciousness. Since I no longer choose to ingest certain chemicals in order to induce these states, however, I have since turned to exploring other avenues of tweaking my primary modes of perception. The following is a list of my top three favorite ways to “get high” without the use of drugs.

WARNING: The following exercises may be contraindicated for people with certain physical disabilities (e.g., epilepsy) and/or mental illnesses (e.g., bipolar Disorder, schizophrenia).

1. Lucid Dreaming

Have you ever wanted to actively engage with your dream life? This can be achieved through the practice of lucid dreaming; an experience akin to being fully immersed in a fantasy world, while maintaining an awareness that you are actually dreaming and that your physical body is asleep. Some people arrive at lucid dreaming naturally, but most of us require an abundance of practice in order to achieve this state. Thankfully, there are certain steps that, if followed correctly, will eventually result in dream lucidity. Lucid dreaming does not only hold the prospect of being insanely fun, but may also have significant therapeutic potential; a subject currently being investigated by researchers. [For a comprehensive resource on the subject, check out Stephen Laberge's website].

One possible therapeutic application of lucid dreaming is for confronting recurring nightmares, which are almost always indicative of some unconscious complex that is not being adequately addressed by the individual. If you are having a recurring nightmare of a man stabbing you to death, for example, the result will always be the same; death by stabbing. If you are fortunate enough to achieve a lucid state while experiencing this same nightmare, however, you would be able to retain some level of awareness that you are only dreaming, and hence the fear factor of the knife-wielding murderer would be lowered dramatically. You can then engage in the dream without the usual level of fear, and thereby confront or destroy this would-be attacker before he kills you yet again. Theoretically, by accomplishing this goal (facing the antagonist of your nightmare), you may also overcome the unconscious issue behind the dream without ever necessarily realizing it. This is just one possible example of how lucid dreaming can be fun, exciting, and potentially therapeutic.

2. Sensory Deprivation

In the absence of sensory stimuli, the mind can always be counted on to provide its own objects of perception. Are you not at least mildly curious to see what thoughts, images, or experiences could be encountered when you let your mind break away from the hindrances of everyday perception? If you are not at least intrigued by this idea, consider yourself either pathetically boring and/or incredibly fearful of getting in touch with yourself. [The authors of this site indulged our intrigue with regard to sensory deprivation some years ago, as witnessed here.]

Most authorities maintain that what is perceived under the conditions of sensory deprivation are merely hallucinatory. Although it is likely true that the content of a hallucination does not exist in any reality outside the mind of the individual observer, it can nonetheless provide us with meaningful information. It is rumored that Francis Crick, before co-discovering the DNA molecule, clearly saw a vision of the double-helix while “hallucinating” under the effects of LSD. Whether this is true or not, there can be no doubt that many valuable insights have been engendered via experiences of similar types of altered states. Such states should therefore, at the very least, be respected as tools for initiating certain higher-order creative processes.

[If you are interested in finding a sensory deprivation (flotation) tank in your area click here.]

3. Tantric Sex

Sting is not the only person out there who has become acquainted with the benefits of tantric sex. This practice (sometimes referred to as kundalini yoga) is essentially a blending of certain yoga and meditation practices within the act of sexual intercourse. This is not an exercise that comes easily by any means, but if practiced enough, holds the potential to take sex to a "higher" level. Speaking for men, specifically, sex is almost always performed as a means to an end; creating the all-powerful money-shot is most often the goal. In contrast, taking the focus off of the orgasm is taken as an implicit rule in tantric practice.

The sexual act undoubtedly raises one’s energy levels (whether you call it plain old sexual arousal or the raising of chi, prana, orgone, etc). Instead of harnessing that energy with the goal of expelling it all at once through ejaculation, however, those who engage in tantric practices attempt to steer the energy of their libidos toward achieving certain altered states of consciousness (e.g., mystical union, rapture, etc). In this way, the tantric practitioner experiences moments of bliss, comparable to or exceeding that of normal orgasm, without actually cumming in the formal sense. Again, if this topic does not at least slightly pique your interest, consider yourself a hopelessly boring individual.

~Wolf

And now, for your viewing pleasure: A ridiculous dramatization of the sensory deprivation experience via the sloppy 80's movie, "Altered States."

The End of the Universe

Once, in the throes of this heavy dextromethorphan trip I closed my eyes and saw the end of the universe. Not in a temporal sense—I wasn’t envisioning Armageddon or anything like that—but rather I saw that the universe was finite. My intoxicated and delirious brain had taken me over the vast reaches of space across billions of light-years through myriads of brilliantly glimmering galaxies until finally I came to an abrupt and startling halt. There, in the dark obscurity of distant space I encountered a menacing-looking wall so large I couldn’t tell where it began or where it ended. My brain could take me no further; it was the end of the journey. I had known no bounds, either physical or mental; my understanding was total. Suddenly, a sense of angst started to creep up on me little-by-little until it was so acute I was horrified to realize what I had just seen. The universe is limited, I thought. It is walled off! And then it hit me. We are all inmates in this colossal cosmic prison, condemned to act out the same routine day in and day out ad nauseum in the continuous loop that is our human tragedy. I had been sitting in my comfy office chair while exploring the universe, and when I realized what that giant barrier meant I recoiled violently, almost snapping the back of the chair clear off the seat.

With this epiphany came another: once we reach the end of the universe as I had, all hope is lost. That night I traveled farther than anyone ever had only to find that our universe is a prison and our freedom an illusion. We are no different from the convicts in San Quentin or Sing Sing who have been sentenced to a confined existence of daily redundancy. Our prison is bigger, but our fate is the same. Like the convict, we are restricted by limitations—the enemy of hope, which all humans possess and count on. We base our lives not just on how things are but how we would like them to be, and we often act in such a way so as to try to bring about some desired end. Hope is a fundamental component of the human condition. It is what keeps us going and gets us out of bed in the morning. Hope is the human being’s raison d’être. The realization of our hopes is contingent upon our overcoming the limitations standing in the way. With the end of limitations comes the end of hope.

So imagine my terror when, after having transcended all possible human limitations, I ran into that wall. I could go no further not because there was some other limitation I needed to surmount, but because there were no more limitations. Period. In my total understanding I knew that the wall could not be broken through or overcome in some way because I knew exactly "what" was on the other side. Nothingness. Oblivion. The Void. To think or speak of what was beyond that wall is entirely senseless. And I fully concede that I'm doing the concept no justice by attempting to name it because what I’m referring to is, after all, unnamable and unsayable. It simply cannot be said; for we do not possess the linguistic tools to describe it, nor do we even have the mental capacity to conceive of it. But in that moment sitting in my chair a universe away from planet Earth, I Understood, and never had I been so unnerved. Perhaps Wittgenstein was right when he said, “The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.”

Know your limits...even if you can reach the stars.

-Max

Isolation Tanked: My time in a sensory deprivation chamber

The everyday routine of my banal existence was becoming increasingly unbearable by the minute. Work. School. Intolerable relatives. Nagging love interests. Mass culture. You get the idea. It was a tired and absurd act of redundancy which resembled the darker side of a dextromethorphan trip. Drastic action was needed. My sanity had to be saved and my mind cleansed of the rubbish which had been piling up in it.

Some time in an isolation tank seemed a plausible remedy for my ennui-induced melancholia. An isolation tank—or sensory deprivation chamber—is quite simply a large metallic box partially filled with water dense enough with Epsom salt so that the person in it can float on his back. The device is soundproof and inside it is blacker than Dick Cheney’s soul, and the only sense of touch is the feeling of water. The idea is to deprive the brain of external stimuli as much as possible.

Climbing into a tank was not my idea. Wolfgang had been ranting about its wonders for a good long while. Initially I thought the whole idea ridiculous, but on that dreary spring afternoon his incessant declamations about sensory deprivation and drug-less hallucination won me over. We drove to Auburn, Massachusetts over an hour away so we could fork over $50 apiece so we could each spend an hour in this devilish contraption. But, truth be told, I felt it was a small price to pay to satisfy a deviant curiosity. Most of all I wanted to see if I would hallucinate. I sure hoped so, as sometimes when the brain is deprived of stimuli, it can generate its own and make “realities” to fill the void; hence the “drug-less hallucinations.”

A brief aside: I would like to mention how Dr. John Lilly—who is elsewhere mentioned on this site—was a pioneer of the isolation tank. Lilly was fond of injecting himself with Ketamine and LSD before crawling into his chamber in what had to have been a pretty maddening ride. Now, surely most members of the general public would regard this endeavor as not only ridiculous, but indicative of an extremely disturbing and dangerous pathology. But rather than be cause for stigmatization, Lilly’s research and insights should garner him praise—at least among the enlightened. Indeed, social ostracism is often an indication of true genius.

When we arrived at the building where the tank was, I saw that the place was called the Crystalline Matrix. I carefully inspected the outside of the establishment, which looked like a dive. But when we went inside, we were greeted by fine interior decorating and colorful burning candles emitting peach-scented wisps of smoke. Suddenly, a vixen-looking woman emerged from an adjacent room. She had funky-looking eyes which seemed to be hiding some hideous secret. At that moment if she had told me she had just finished strangling three children with piano wire in the other room, I would have believed her wholeheartedly.

Wolf told the vixen that he had called earlier to let the place know we were coming. She said—in the creepiest manner possible—that she had been expecting us, and that she was positive we were going to enjoy our “time in isolation.” This is it, I thought. This is how it’s going to end. I'm in a real-life horror film and I’m going to be dead quite shortly. The vixen will never let us out of this place alive.

As I was coming to terms with my impending demise, another woman walked in. She was older and was definitely lacking adequate dental care. Her face was rough and tired; her whole being seemed frail. The vixen began talking to the hag and said, “You must be Destiny’s mother,” to which the older woman replied, “Yes.”

This exchange disturbed me more than the imminent death I thought was soon coming. While “destiny” could very well have been an actual person that the two women were referring to, I got the spine-chilling sense that they were not talking about a person, but rather, destiny, in the abstract. It was all so madcap and surreal. I thought, Am I tripping? Because this is definitely the kind of shit that happens when an alien substance is taking your brain out to the woodshed. Destiny’s mother? What the fuck? As if destiny itself weren’t already a scary enough prospect. I knew nothing of destiny then, nor do I now. But I tell you this. Although none of us may know what destiny is or what it holds for us, on that fateful spring day Wolf and I saw its mother; and destiny’s mother isn’t pretty. The fruit may not fall far from the tree.

After some uneasy small talk with the vixen proprietor, she briefed us on the basics of the tank. All this time, I was peeking over my shoulder to make sure no demons were sneaking up on me to rip my soul away. She then brought us to the tank room where I stripped down to a bathing suit I had on under my jeans, crawled in, and shut the door.

The Epsom-saturated water was piss warm. In a deprivation tank it has to be because if it’s too cold the tanker (one who is in an isolation tank; I just made that up) will be too focused on being cold. A successful tank experience begins with the understanding that you shouldn’t focus on anything while you’re in the tank. Thoughts should be kept to a minimum. Let the sights and the sounds and the smells come to you.

After what I estimated to be about thirty minutes in the tank, I began hearing what sounded like the tenor saxophone solo from Prokofiev’s score to Romeo and Juliet. It gradually became clearer and clearer, with the rest of the ensemble joining in to play the entire piece. I was angry because at that moment I assumed someone was playing music that I could somehow hear in the tank. The music was accompanied by rapid and intermittent flashes of yellow spots which I could “see” as I “looked” upward. While this was going on, I for some reason considered the possibility that I was no longer at the isolation chamber place, but somewhere else. But how could that be possible? If I’m in this tank, how could I not be at the place with the tank in good old Auburn? Where has this contraption taken me? Will I be able to return? How isolated is this isolation tank?

These were the thoughts racing through my mind when suddenly on my chamber door there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. “Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—only this and nothing more."

Only it wasn't a visitor, (nor a Raven) but the Vixen who then opened my chamber door. “Your time is up,” she said cryptically.

After I got out, dried off, and put my shirt and pants back on, I told Wolf that I was pissed that someone had decided to play music and provide me with an audible stimulus. He was perplexed. “What music?” he asked.
“That classical music they were playing. Prokofiev.”
“There was no music.”
“I heard it.”
“Dude, I was right here the whole time. I would’ve heard it. Besides, you were in a soundproof fucking tank.”
“Huh.”

Apparently my brain had made the whole piece up. Well, it hadn’t made it up, but it replayed it based on its previous hearings of it, which had been some time before—definitely over a year. The music had been a “real” hallucination, as of course had the flashing yellow spots.

So that’s what happened to me in the tank. I won’t say that it was wild or crazy or anything like that. Rather, the experience was pleasantly and calmly surrealistic. When I emerged from that tank I felt as refreshed as I had in months. I was rejuvenated and wanted a tank of my own. I still do.

-Max

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