Another leak, by popular demand, from By The Grace of Gaia: A Journey Through Psychedelics and Beyond
Do You Want to Go to Jupiter?
Cascading alien cities of obviously sacred geometry shimmered forth in a palette dominated by magenta. Spiral cathedrals that worshipped themselves as evolutionary technologies asked me to visit them as if featured in brochures of galactic tourism. “Wander the Amazing Sentient Crystal City Grown From Self Aware Amethyst! Participate in Ancient Reptile Architectural Re-Enactments, Climb the Self Healing Ruins of the Cosmically Famous Reverberating Quartz Nautilus That Speaks Itself Echoing Into the Future!” The buzzing blooming confusion of the Amazonian night chimed in from without, confirming the alien solicitation. “Do you want to go to Jupiter?!”
But as the unspeakably gorgeous kaleidoscope of extraterrestrial architecture continued to turn, a comically enormous wave of certainty welled up and burst forth from within me. Finally I responded to the absurdly beautiful come ons. “But I love this world!” I swooned as if I revered the Earth itself as my teen idol.
Huge palm fronds waved gently beneath a full alabaster moon. Yes, they were solar panels, opening to the light gathering and transforming it, we now know, through the help of the quantum attributes of light. Somewhere in the distance, tiny primates whooped. Closer by, away from the huts and under the silver glowing frisbee of a moon, a man was transparently and unmistakably having difficulties. “It’s just that I am having trouble with the harmalines. The body load.”
I nodded, feigning to understand how he could feel the distinctions between molecules when everything was One. The solar panel palm fronds were waving their hospitable enormity. I looked skyward, following them. The full moon sprouted thorns as I gazed upon it.
“I am under the distinct impression that the area of my brain responsible for linguistic coding is not functioning.” For a moment the man seemed relieved, as if this insight did something about the harmalines. He sighed, then looked more alarmed than ever.
“Well, I have some very good news for you.”
We were strolling now, slowly, outside the main hut where the ceremony had begun. We had both wandered off from the circles of icaros. Some visiting Daimistas were singing at the top of their lungs. I unconsciously began shouting to make myself understood.
“The good news is that there is no such area of your brain!”
We both gasped in laughter at the non existent threat and my inexplicable shouting. I thought about the EEG’s of human brains interacting with ayahuasca that I had seen – they had what researchers characterized as remarkable “coherence” – all areas of the brain were “firing equally.” This coherence was as unmistakable as it was difficult to interpret. One researcher had told me that in his view interpreting an ayahuasca experience in terms of the EEG data was rather like interpreting our conversation based on the sound of nearby traffic noise. The moon still wore a corona of thorns.
I recognized the man from the close quarters of the van we had taken to mile marker 31. Even as everything was blending together, I experienced something radically distinctive in him.
“What do you do when you aren’t drinking ayahuasca and shutting down non existent areas of your brain responsible for linguistic coding?”
“ I work with veterans with Post Traumatic Stress disorder.”
“No, I mean everything in me is saying “No.” But I know that can’t work.”
“Say yes to the “No!” You have to say “Yes!” even to the “No!”
“Did I tell you yet about my past lives? A woman, killed by some Cosaks. Sometimes she…returns. And: She’s me.”