Orphaned Sculpture

While taking a walk in the wetlands on an overcast, rainy day, I found what appeared to be a giant wood-carved mushroom lying on its side at the edge of the water. My first impression was that a beaver had inadvertently ingested some part of a psilocybin mushroom and was recreating its vision. But that seemed unlikely. 

I dragged it to the bench for a better look. Definitely not a naturally evolving piece of driftwood either. At least temporarily, with my intervention, the orphaned sculpture is now a table companion to the bench.

Nobody Dies Anymore

Tiny Rant

Nobody dies anymore. They do, of course, more gently and euphemistically just pass away. Even pets don't die. The harsh reality cannot be born, so pets too just pass away. 

The transformation in language is not quite complete however. We will know that moment has come when from the pulpits we hear that Jesus passed away on the cross.  

The Psychedelic Society

 

I was a hippie era bystander in the San Francisco 60's. I loved the counterculture and liked to join in at Goldengate Park, the Filmore and the Avalon Ballroom, but I couldn't do the drugs. Hippies dropping LSD had no guardrails; no guides watching over you, no guarantee of product or dosage.

No Guardrails

I tried to get all those safety features in place, but it didn't happen. When President Nixon passed the draconian anti-drug laws, I gave up the pursuit of a psychedelic experience. Fifty years later, we're getting a gradual thawing of those drug criminalization laws and in Washington state, I now have another chance. A friend and I joined the Psychedelic Society meetup group. No actual drug taking is allowed at these meetings, but we can talk about our experiences, or lack thereof, and get acquainted with others who share our interest.

The first meeting we attend is set in a large, darkened room that has a distinctly seance atmosphere. It's a gathering of around twenty people, most look to be in their 30's and 40's with a small minority of senior citizens. The topic for the evening is death. As we go around the circle, each person gets a turn to talk about whatever the topic of death brings up for him or her. I'm surprised by the seriousness of the sharing, people telling their intimate stories, a therapy group of sorts. The seance atmosphere is not about contacting the dead but contacting a deeper level of ourselves.

One man in our group does see dead people in his room at night. He tells us stories about being a child in a country that was in war torn chaos, where death was everywhere and all around him. He tells about being separated, lost in the jungle, and being led back to his village by a woman guide that no one else could see. His life has been a black hole of despair. He remains separated, not from his village now, but from other people no matter what village or what country. He is the last person in the circle to speak.

We are good listeners in this psychedelic society. Sometimes one of us asks a question or makes a comment, but mostly we give our full attention to each person's story. It creates an instant bond with people who were complete strangers to me when I walked in the door.

The next meeting has a quite different atmosphere and feel. We're meeting in a building that was an old schoolhouse with large, magnificent cross pane windows and ancient, smooth wooden floors. The lighting is turned up several notches this time and the seance atmosphere is erased. My friend and I come early this time and spend the first half hour doing group breathing exercises led by a young man who accompanies our breathing with drums and crystal singing bowls.

Our topic at this second meeting is to talk about insights we've had when taking psychedelics. Several people in the circle are alcoholics who've used psychedelics to help them recover and their stories reflect their varying degrees of success. A few people report life changing insights, but the majority report experiences that are quite transient and less exciting. The man who sees dead people in his room at night is once again the most interesting to me. He has had some very fruitful psychedelic sessions since our last meeting and is coming out of his total despair position. He is seeing that he is always going to be "different" but it doesn't have to mean that he is completely separate; that maybe it's okay to just be different and live with it.

I have no psychedelic experiences to report but I tell the group about my insights when on or coming out of anesthetics during multiple surgeries. I went to a different plane of existence and thought I lived there. The light was like the golden light of our fall season. There was a feeling of remarkable harmony with very low to nonexistent threat of violence. I was in a cottage with a room full of convivial people when the back door opened and I was catapulted out.

"You can't stay here," they told me, "You have to go back now." I had no memory of another place and I begged them to let me back in, to let me stay. They showed me an image of my husband. "He'll be fine," I told them, "He can find somebody else." They showed me an image of my son who was still a minor and it was over. I had to go back to that place I was beginning to remember where violence and immense suffering pervade. I was reluctantly going home.

Waking from another surgery, I was filled with unquestioning acceptance and love for all beings. My hospital room was a swarm of people coming and going and I saw beauty in everyone and everything. Each individual seemed perfect just as they were. That beatific state of mind continued for several hours before I went to sleep and woke up in a more judgmental, unfortunately more normal state. I could see that it's possible to cultivate that desirable state but I haven't managed it.

Belonging to the Psychedelic Society means that I have opportunities to meet people who can facilitate a psychedelic trip for me. I'm in no hurry, I discover. Coming out of covid isolation to explore compelling topics with kindred congenial companions is perfect.