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1: You Have to Die to be Reborn
Anesthetic drugs with actions at specific sites in the central nervous system have been sought for a long time as alternatives to general anesthetics which have far-reaching effects on the brain. The most successful of these to date has been ketamine.
—Introduction to Anesthesia: The Principles of Safe Practice,
(5th edition) Dripps, Robert D.. M.D.. Eckenhoff, James E., M.D.,
Leroy, Vandam, D. M.D., W.B, Sounders Company.Description
Ketalar is a nonbarbiturate anesthetic chemically designated dl 2-(o-chlorophy-2-(methylarnino) cycfahexanone hydrochhfide. It is formulated as a slightly acid (pH 3.5 to 5.5) solution for intravenous of either 10, 50, or 100 mg ketamine base per milliliter and contains 0.1mg/ml Phemerol (benzethonium chloride) as a preservative. The 10 mg/ml solution has been made isotonic with sodium chloride.
—Parke-Davis
My first ketamine-ruled flight into the Bright World that glistens behind the flashing neural synapses of the brain was launched in Big Sur, California.
It was April 1976. On this mellow spring afternoon my driving companion Isabel Buell and 1 were wending our way up the Pacific Coast feeling more carefree by the hour. Having left our homes in Southern California that morning we were on the first lap of a lecture tour to Seattle and British Columbia where we where scheduled to introduce people to the technique of reincarnation therapy which I have termed "hypersentience." This art of recapitulating former lifetimes has been extensively discussed in my book Hypersentience and is now widely practiced as a rapidly growing branch of modern psychotherapy as well as for the sake of spiritual self-development.
As the miles felt behind us I found myself anticipating the pleasure of introducing Isabel to my friend Jane who was to be our hostess for the night. At that time Jane, who is a distinguished writer and psychologist, was ensconced in a charming house perched on a pinnacle overlooking the sea. Because it might jeopardize her current career I am not using her real name in this book. However, everything else in this account has been set down precisely as it happened since at no time were any of us engaged in illicit practices.
I have always been inordinately proud of my friends and was already envisioning the social time ahead with Isabel with her cloud of dark hair and snapping black eyes and Jane with her serene blonde comeliness, azure gaze, and starlit intellect. How gratifying, I thought, that two such mentally superior women should also embody such an abundance of physical charm. Already Isabel and 1 had enjoyed an enchanted day and our long journey had only just begun.
As our loaded station wagon wound back and forth along the serpentine coastal highway I toyed with the hope that it might be possible to experiment with a little known psychedelic delicacy about which Jane had spoken a few months earlier when she had come to my hometown of Ojai, California. She said that the substance was a synthetic compound called ketamine, that it was more potent than LSD, and produced no negative reactions. Indeed, many had found it to be the essence of bottled bliss. Naturally, therefore, I was suspicious.
At this point my feelings about chemical mind trips were mixed. I have always avoided drugs of all sorts and did not even keep aspirin in my medicine cabinet. Even now, although I am married to a physician, vitamin pills and some burn salve constitute my entire therapeutic repertoire. In our household anyone who gets sick can expect to be dosed with herb tea and encouraged to do yoga exercises.
I have always opposed the taking of barbiturates, amphetamines, and all forms of uppers and downers, except in cases of real medical need. Resorting to such artificial aids is like borrowing money from a bank. Sooner or later whatever has been taken out has to be paid back with interest. In the meanwhile, the circadian rhythms of the body are disrupted and addictive tendencies have been encouraged. The current trend toward cocaine sniffing is to me a loathsome development. However, when it comes to the therapeutic potential of certain psychedelic drugs it appears that there are still many subterranean veins of gold to be explored within the human mindfield. If religion is the opium of the people, then the hallucinogenics may be the inside dope.
As a longtime metaphysical student I felt duty bound to cultivate some first-hand acquaintance with the magic potions that so strongly stimulated the occult revival of the last part of this century. After all, much of my literary success stemmed from the coincidence of having returned from a two-and-a-half year sojourn in India to set up shop as a yoga teacher in 1961, just in time to ride the rising wave of interest in Eastern philosophies. While observing the successive crests of the Zen-Beatnik-Macrobiotic-Psychedelic-Hippie movement it was gratifying to fancy that I played a small role in advancing the causes of yoga, astrology, and re-incarnation therapy. At the same time, those of us who were in the vanguard need to remember that the cocks who crow at daybreak have not thereby made the sun come up. For sure, the light of a new age was ready to dawn.
Although I had smoked some grass, experimented with mescaline twice and LSD once, and even ingested two tablespoons of heavenly blue morning-glory seeds, none of these substances had been totally satisfactory. Marijuana was no special "turn on." Mescaline produced some intriguing hallucinations along with a few real spiritual insights but left the body ravaged. The morning-glory seeds, choked down via a cup of viscid tomato soup, resulted in the same kind of "high" but tasted and felt so nauseas that for years I couldn't stand the smell of tomato soup. All these endeavors left me with the tantalizing sensation of having caught a few sneak previews of a show that never came to town.
My single LSD trip was painful but well worth the risk. At eight o'clock on an evening of undisturbed solitude I swallowed the small white capsule supplied by a hippie friend. During the next two hours of waiting nothing happened except for an increasing malaise. By ten danced behind my eyes and there appeared no doubt but that insanity was pressing in. An hour later there seemed little chance of surviving the night. Surely I was dying! What would happen when my lifeless corpse was discovered?
After still another wretched hour my body was suddenly compelled to sit bolt upright. Glancing at my watch I noticed that both hands pointed straight up. !t was exactly midnight. At that moment a current of blue flame rose from my spine along the backbone and shot out through the top of my skull. Like champagne bubbling from a bottle my spirit rushed out into an effervescent empyrean in which the entire cosmos resembled a gloriously scintillating multi-petaled lotus. This had to be the primordial, eternally flowing fountainhead of creation, the supremely effulgent core of all that which is!
This awesome peek through the rent veil of space and time probably lasted less than ten seconds. At that point the thought occurred that if I didn't somehow contrive to squeeze back into the cramped contours of the body it would be impossible ever to return. Reluctant-submitted once again to the bondage of the brain.
The rest of the night was glorified with visions of sparkling colors, flowing streams of light, and bursts of gemlike scintillae, as though the watchkeepers of the psyche were celebrating their brief spate of independence from normal perceptual controls. In tune with these neural pyrotechnics my heart seemed to open up and melt with a beatific love for all beings. I totally grasped the fact that compassion is the consciousness of God and that the capacity to relate sympathetically to all beings is the purest manifestation of the divinity within. Would it henceforth be possible to make my own life a more radiant expression of that sublime concern for the lowest and least particles of creation?
From that moment I have never doubted the essential reality of the vision perceived during my ten-second glimpse into the illimitable grandeur of a Self-illuminating cosmos. I knew beyond all question that the revelation was not just in my own head. That corruscating blossom was no mere mirage of a mind disordered by an artifically induced concatenation of phase sequences in the cortex. To this day I believe that this is how the universe really is—an incandescent vortex spiraling outward through multi-dimensional designs of indescribable richness and beauty. And, amazingly enough, the whole pattern looks much like a flower.
Even though the joy vibrations lingered on, the forcible dilation of my sensory apparatus left me "freaked-out" and exhausted for three days. Consequently, 1 determined not to push my luck by soliciting a repeat performance. It was enough to know that this luminous reality existed and could be apprehended even while the soul remained attached to its cage of flesh. I was grateful for this gift of "gratuitous grace" and willing to descend into the valley from whence the next mountaintop of spiritual discovery would have to be climbed under my own steam.
Now more than five years later it appeared that another chance might be granted to peck like a fledgling chicken beyond the egg-shaped confines of the skull. Even with my yogic practices this dome of bone remained an obdurate barrier between my ego-encapsulated persona and the bright beyond. Several months earlier when Jane first mentioned ketamine she insisted that although the substance was as potent as LSD it was gentle on the body, clarified the mind, and lasted less than an hour. Moreover, in many people it produced what appeared to be genuine out-of-the-body experiences.
Being of the school of thought that holds that you don't get something for nothing it was hard for me to believe that any drug could shatter the rigid defenses of consciousness without damaging the embryonic organism within. Nevertheless, I was impressed by Jane's insistence that she had taken the substance at least two hundred times herself and had presided over as many sessions with others. Only once had there been an adverse reaction. On this exceptional occasion difficulty arose because the subject tried to move about as the drug took effect. Evidently he was trying to assert his own powers of control.
Even with my limited experience 1 well understand this problem. With all "mind-manifesting" substances surrender is the name of the game. Once you take that dive into the deep waters of the psyche it is useless to make a frantic grab for the springboard in midair. Changing one's mind at that point can result only in a disagreeable belly flop. The forces engendered must take their course. In this respect the cultivated relaxation of yoga makes an excellent preparation for the psychedelic plunge. Still more important is the basic quality of faith in the goodness of the Universe and in the divine Self within.
We had little difficulty finding Jane's house, which lay snugly hidden below the hillside where the traffic snaked back and forth between mountains and sea. Jane herself greeted us warmly at the door and ushered us into a sanctuary that was an esthetic delight, alive with thriving plants, a few exotic sculptures and wall hangings, and with a view of the sparkling surf below. The wide-windowed livingroom was sparsely but elegantly furnished with black japanese-style mats and cushions laid out on a shining wood floor. At one end a sloping brick fireplace melded harmoniously into the richness of trailing greenery, while at the other a redwood porch jutted out among the treetops. Each graciously fashioned touch was an invitation to repose.
Toward the end of the afternoon the three of us drove to Big Sur's world-famed Esalen Institute where we luxuriated in the outdoor mineral baths while watching the sun sink over the sea and the stars come out. As the darkness deepened Jane lit candles and incense and I was reminded of the purficatory bathing rituals said to have been practiced in the legendary temples of Greece, Egypt, and Atlantis where sleep therapy was commonly practiced. Gazing at that candle flame against the sky I hoped that if my long-time dream of helping to launch a holistic healing center ever came true the work would be carried on in a place with natural hot springs.
Returning to the house we met Jane's spiritual "little brother," a slender young man with long hair who had adopted the East Indian name Rama. Although Rama lived reclusively back in the hills he made occasional trips to Mexico where he was able to obtain a supply of ketamine. Although he did not bother to explain the nature of his mission to the authorities, presumably he was breaking no law since no steps had been taken to ban this particular medicine.
Somehow, in an understated way, it was conveyed to us that Rama would share his precious elixir with us if we so desired. Isabel, who is fortunate enough to be naturally clairvoyant and able to tune in on cosmic verities without a chemical booster, declined, but I gratefully accepted the offer. From start to finish the issue of payment was never raised. I knew that Jane, who worked hard for a living, was not affluent. Certainly Rama was not making a fortune as a drug runner. The purity of their intentions was incontrovertible.
As the evening wore on Jane, with a minimum apparent effort, produced an exquisite dinner for four. The menu consisted of fresh baby artichokes which, to our amazement, had no chokes, salad, soup, fruit, nuts, and a discreet glass of wine. No one seemed to be in any Hurry to do anything, Around ten o'clock Isabel excused herself to retire to a small side bedroom and I made my place for the night on one of the living room mats.
As I relaxed, Rama explained that he would be the one to administer the injection. The sterilized needle would be inserted not into a vein but directly into the muscle tissue. I was simply to let go and enjoy the experience. It was clear that Rama was an expert with the hypodermic which he thrust into my arm smoothly and painlessly. I noticed that the fluid was as clear as water and took only a couple of seconds to leave the syringe. In less than two minutes, far sooner than expected, the rush began.
SESSION 1
April 1976 BigSur, California 50mg
It started with a slight giddiness and a noise like the chirping of crickets. The cricket chorus rapidly swelled to a smooth purring roar similar to that produced by the motor of a well-tuned racing car. This was not one solid sound but rather a propeller-like staccato whirr which seemed to come from an external source. I felt effulgently happy and at ease, even though the traceries of dark beams against the white ceiling were now dancing back and forth and dissolving into a kaleidoscopic reverie of geometrical designs. The sensation was reminiscent of the times I had inhaled nitrous oxide at the dentist's office. But that had been like standing at a door. This time I was going in. It also felt like going home. My voice thickened; speech was impossible, and then I was spinning round and round like tumbleweed and the sense of familiarity was becoming greater and greater....
In the next half hour, during which the drug was operating at maximum potency, I never lost consciousness, even though ordinary body awareness was totally gone. To an observer I would have appeared completely insensible, deeply anesthetized. Yet, even though the memory of that state remains it can only be called "indescribable." To speak of a thunderous silence, or a multidimensional sphere turning upon itself, or of identification with un differentiated vibratory energy is probably as close as words can come to portraying a truly ineffable condition of existence. This inner realm, full of sound, color, and sensation was itself entirely formless. Here there could be no distinctions between subject and object, this and that, 1 and thou. Only the vast nameless faceless process remained, churning on and on
and on. Somehow it seemed evident that it would continue to roll around that way forever like a ponderous wheel upon which the chariots of the gods might ride on to eternity.
It came to me that this was also a millwheel by whose grinding action my small personal concerns were being entirely rubbed out. The last husks of "I-ness" were wrested from my grasp, pulverized, and shucked off like chaff reduced to dust. Yet the light of awareness shone on undiminished. That is, the ego was gone—yet the Self was exactly as It always had been.
For a discipline-prone individual like myself who had always made a staunch effort to remain on top of every situation [his necessity to relinquish every last vestige of control was an amazing state of affairs. But now there was no choice but to drop all sense of separate identity, all plans, purposes, thoughts, feelings, and desires, and simply urge onward upon this sonorous revolving circuit of primal power. There was nothing, absolutely nothing that could be done except to submit and let it be. In all this I did not feel that I was being elevated to a higher level of existence. Rather, the substance of my earth-bound psyche was being inexorably reduced to its own common denominator, like molecules and atoms dissolving into some intangible substratum of electricity.
To summarize that instant—and insistent—transformation I would say that the lesson this and subsequent ketamine trips taught me was that one can discard all traces of ego awareness and individual volition and still be more than one was before. The loss of personality does not bring extinction. It seems to me, therefore, that any thoughtful person who tries the same experiment and achieves similar results must be disposed to accept the fact of immortality. How else can it be possible to drop the body, emotions, and mind and still exist as a self-aware entity in a realm of infinite and animate potential? How else can one suffer the loss of every known form of sensory perception, pass through that roaring void of hyperkinetic numinosity, and then return intact to the human condition? Even though we sink down through the bottomless abyss, falling all the way to its nethermost depths, there is something in us that endures and rises again into the light of a new day.
For years I had read of such states of being in the writings of Eastern philosophers and Western mystics, but most of what they had said had of necessity remained book knowledge. In general, their word pictures related about as closely to my ketamine experiences as the blueprint of a house relates to the daily exigencies of functioning within that structure. We are indeed fortunate that blueprints are provided and they are indisputably useful. On the other hand, such line drawings can convey only ihe barest impression of how it actually feels to live, move, and grow up within that home situation.
Unquestionably the most interesting part of this first ketamine trip was the gradual process of spacing back into the body. As it dawned on me that I still possessed a physical form and would have to repossess it my first thought was, "Oh dear, I have completely blown my mind. Now my friends will have to deal with a zombie. What a bummer for them!" At that point it didn't seem remotely possible that 1 could ever return to the phenomenal world of things and doings in which 1 had formerly functioned.
Vaguely it entered my head that I was on a lecture tour and was supposed to be speaking about something called "hypersentience." The word had a somewhat familiar ring but I couldn't recall what it signified. What was it? "So now I'll have to cancel the tour. Will Isabel go on alone
Well, life continues even if this small self is out of the running."
The music in the background was ethereally beautiful. Jane had put on a record of Hindu chants and I had never heard such superlative sounds. Listening was sheerest ecstasy. "Rama, Rama..." the voices flowed on and I was melting into that iridescent current of divine love. "Everything is perfect, absolutely perfect!" I exclaimed to myself in wonder. How could Jane have known that this music would be so soul-satisfying just at this time!
As I began to look out of my eyes once more I became aware that Jane was sitting silently beside me. It seemed so terribly important that she should be there, and that we should be sharing this sacred interval together. I fancied that we were fellow priestesses in ancient Egypt, that I had been lying in a stone sarcophagus in a death-like trance, and that she was my hierophant who would usher me back to the world of the living. Images of colonnaded temples, sphinxes, pyramids, and winged figures floated behind her. I loved her enormously and felt that we had been through something like this before in one of the mystery schools of legendary eras. Surely we would remain soul sisters forever. "You are my initiator," I whispered, certain that she would understand.
For some reason I also wanted to convey to her that I thought that ketamine was a gift from Venus. Not just that it was a Venusian substance in the astrological sense but that I felt as though it had actually been brought, or manifested, from another, higher planet as a gift of grace to help relieve the present human plight. But the idea was too complex and I gave up trying to speak of it.
When once again I was able to look at my watch I realized that the entire experience had lasted less than an hour. My mind felt pure, peaceful, and refreshed though when I tried to move 1 discovered that I was still dizzy. I knew that I would sleep well that night—as indeed I did.
The following morning I felt as though the conduits of my consciousness had been thoroughly cleansed. Stepping outside was like witnessing the dawn of creation. Every leaf and flower was polished to a brilliant sheen, the sea sparkled and the air was dewy fresh. I knew that there would be many impressions to ponder on the way north. Seemingly, some element of my former personality had died, but some other part that was far more vital had been reborn. Whatever it was that wanted to come to life was important, but I didn't yet know how or why. Perhaps it would be enough simply to wait patiently and without pushing or prodding see what might emerge from a new season of growth.