A day marked by much frustration, and fittingly concluded by an intense (level 5) experience.
The story begins when I play sitter for my friend John who’s having his first smoking tryst with Sally. He’s tried salvia only once before with a quid, but didn’t feel more than a pronounced afterglow with enhanced psychic ability.
We find a secluded spot in a forest preserve. He has his pipe full and ready, braces himself to meet the Green Goddess, only to find to our annoyance that the torch lighter doesn’t work. Thwarted and with nothing to show for all the insect bites, we decide to leave it for another day and go for lunch instead.
Post-lunch at the local Barnes and Noble: I examine the lighter in semi-darkness, and find it working after all! Apparently, John didn’t see the light blue flame in the bright sun, so mistook it for dead.
We lose no time and drive to a clearing in another forest preserve. There’s less foliage and fewer insects here. John sits under the shade of a tree and fires up the pipe: a striking tableau that reminds me of Buddha’s enlightenment by the famous Bo tree.
On his first toke, he merely brushes the flame against the leaves. I remind him of the correct smoking technique. He takes his second toke hot and deep, applying the hissing flame to the salvia throughout the entire inhalation. “Hot?” I ask. He nods, unable to inhale for more than a second. After thirty seconds, he exhales. I urge him to take another hit. Slowly, as if in a trace, he does. He puts the pipe and lighter down.
There he goes….
……………………………..
Five minutes later, he’s back to tell the tale.
No visions. No memory of the third toke. No recollection of anything beyond his leg feeling dissociated from the body. As he’s coming back, he feels the leg rejoining him. He thinks he’s been “gone” for only a few seconds. Near amnesic effects. We ask, is this level 6? He’s only burned half the stuff—about one large leaf—in the pipe. Maybe he’s just unusually sensitive to Salvia?
We have more questions than answers.
Back home after work, I’m a bit concerned. I bought the leaves from mazatecgarden.com. Using the quid method, twelve MG leaves transported me to level 4+. But are they strong enough for smoking? Or just some weak crap good only for bulk use?
To get to the bottom of this, I pack the pipe outside. It’s
I give up and get back in the house. I’ve never been as
frustrated with Sally as today. To let off steam, I switch to surfing the web.
Thirty minutes pass. Quickly bored, I slip a music CD into the drive. Mark Isham’s “
The ethereal sound gets me thinking. Obviously, we should’ve inhaled longer. But the smoke is just too hot. If only there’s some way to cool the smoke…. I don’t have a bong, and my tall (34”) Egyptian hookah is too big and clumsy. Besides, the hookah bowl is too large to pack with a few Salvia leaves. And making a homemade bong is a lot of trouble.
Then I hit upon this idea. I stuff the pipe, as usual, and detach the removable shaft from the bowl. With adhesive tape, I join the pipe bowl to one end of my hookah’s six-foot long hose. The result is, virtually, a pipe that’s six feet long. This pipe’s long “shaft” should cool the searing smoke and allow inhalation for as long as the lungs can draw in air.
By the time I’m ready, it’s near
Great, now the salvia's much easier to breathe in. The rich, thick smoke saturates my lungs. After three tokes, I feel the usual disorientation. But still no breakthrough.
Then I notice a lot of the heavy smoke billowing from my end of the hose. The mouthpiece looks like the barrel of a rifle that’s just been fired. Instead of using the lighter again, I drag the remaining smoke in. I’m surprised at how much of it there is.
The next thing “I” sense is an awareness of the flow and ebb of some kind of multi-colored metallic liquid. Mostly silver in color, it also has streaks of red, yellow, green, and other hues that “I” find impossible to describe. Somehow, “I” am convinced that the metallic liquid is the only thing that exists, has ever existed, and will exist in the universe. I say “I” for lack of a better word, since nothing exists apart from this Cosmic Liquid, much less, myself. “I” distinctly hear the music in the background. The Liquid ebbs and flows, dancing and changing colors to the shifting notes of the music.
This “pure awareness” phase lasts for what seems to be ages. A motherly voice is calling my name. Then, I remember that there’s actually a living human being with my name and my memories: Me. I try to walk in the direction of the voice.
Suddenly, I realize that the salvia has kicked in with a vengeance. I try to move, but I'm glued to—indeed, am part of—the Cosmic Liquid! The Liquid quivers with each soft, rarefied vibration of the music. I see and feel myself flowing with it. My efforts to break free are utterly useless. I’ve joined the Liquid and can’t break away.
Again, the voice calls my name, and again, I try to walk towards it. But my struggle only creates a few insignificant ripples in the Cosmic Liquid. There’s no escape. Oh my God, I cry, Holy shit!
A brief panic—and then I realize the futility of fighting the vision. The voice continues to speak out my name. But now I ignore the call. Instead, I focus on the music and the inexorable flow I’m a part of.
Then, in a flash, I achieve the day’s breakthrough: the exquisite, indescribable beauty of my situation. Bathed in the radiance of countless colors, I participate in the ineffable Movement-Dance-Fluxion of the Great Liquid. The Liquid and its beauty are so overwhelming that I feel I’m being blinded and choked. But I’m awestruck—and the pain seems trivial.
For a moment, the vision breaks. I see the hose’s mouthpiece
still before me. Apparently, I haven’t moved an inch since the “divine
inebriation” started. Despite my best efforts to rise, I only manage to drop
both hose and lighter to the ground. What
the hell, might as well enjoy the trip. I stop
struggling, and instantly flow back into the sinuous, undulating Liquid.
As abruptly as it started, the vision ends. The garage, the car, my body are still here. And so is the living person with my name and memories.
I hobble away, humbled by the whole massive experience.
The next day, thinking about my trip, I dwell on these words from the Taoist books:
The highest good is like water.
Water gives life to the ten thousand things and does not strive.
It flows in places men reject and so is like the Tao.
Tao Te Ching, verse 8
But if you hide the universe in the universe, there is no way
to lose it. This is the ultimate reality.
You were born in a human form, and you find joy in it. Yet there
are ten thousand other forms endlessly transforming that are
equally good, and the joy in these is untold.
Chuang Tzu, Inner Chapters
Finally, I smile on seeing the August 2003 Scientific American cover, which asks the question: “Are You a Hologram? (Quantum Physics Says the Entire Universe Might Be).”