Pihkal

by Alexander Shulgin

  Dante was saying to Shura, "Just fifty more should do it," as they walked past me into the kitchen. I assumed he was asking for a supplement. I wondered what time it was and looked at my watch. The hands were pointing in interesting directions, but I couldn't make sense out of what they were doing. I tried to recall what Shura had said when we'd been in the circle, and remembered the words, "Eleven, almost on the dot." That was a start. Now, to figure out what it meant. The whole concept of clock time was un-graspable. It didn't seem to apply; it had no relationship to anything that was going on.

  I giggled and sat down, trying to understand what my watch was showing me.

  I can't remember why I looked at my watch in the first place. What was the question? Why did I want to know the time?

  I laughed to myself, trying to keep from disturbing others in the room; the whole thing was ridiculous and hilariously funny.

  Shura came into the room, trailed by Dante and Leah. He looked over at me and raised an eyebrow, "What's going on?"

  I said, "I'm feeling like a complete idiot; I can't make sense out of my watch! I wanted to know what the time was, and now I can't even remember why!"

  Shura smiled and ducked into the kitchen to look at the big electric clock. He reported back that it was twenty minutes to one o'clock in the afternoon and it was still the month of May.

  I said thank you and suddenly remembered the question, "Oh, yes! I've got it back! I was wondering how long it's been since we took the mescaline - whether we've plateau'd or not yet - that's why I was looking at my watch in the first place."

  Shura said, "It's about one and a half hours, and we've still got a bit of climbing to do before we level out. Are you comfortable so far? Is everything okay?"

  I said I was fine, except for my problems with clocks and watches.

  Leah said to me, "I was a bit light - Dante was, too - so Shura gave us a supplement. It's probably my imagination, but I could swear I'm already feeling it!"

  I thought about Ruth and hoped she could tolerate a bit more of a climb, if that's what we had ahead of us. She was seated on the couch, her face showing only a suggestion of anxiety.

  Wonder how much farther one can go? I feel engorged with energy-light already.

  I rose and walked toward the front door. There was only the slightest sense of physical weight, and every motion, every gesture of the body was graceful.

  I walk in grace. I move in grace. I live in Grace.

  Outside was the green world. The big pine across the brick path from the front door was an old friend, its branches always busy with birds and squirrels, and of course the insects which sapped a little more of its strength each year, as its natural life came to a close.

  I looked down at the uneven bricks in the path, some of them jutting several inches out of the ground, where the pine's roots were pushing them. I smiled, thinking about the tree/ whose needs had created a rather unusual entranceway; Shura always warned newcomers that they'd have to watch their step/ and probably a lot of them wondered privately why the path to the front door was allowed to remain that way, every second or third brick displaced. Shura had explained to me that any effort to cut the pushing roots under the path would hasten the death of the great pine, and he wanted it to live out its full life-span, so visitors would just have to step carefully.

  Hearing laughter from the living room, I postponed further exploration and went back inside.

  For the first time since the circle in the kitchen, we were all gathered in one room. John was still stretched out on his back, blanket-wrapped, eyes closed, his face serene. Ruth was on the couch next to George, one hand resting on his thigh. George's face wore a slight, contented smile. Leah was in a chair, looking through one of Shura's big art books, turning the pages very slowly. Ben was seated in the armchair next to her, his head back, eyes closed. Dante was sitting on the edge of the mattress pad, near John, muscular arms folded around his raised knees. He was rocking himself gently.

  Ginger was at the big window, arms raised to her sides. Her feet were still, but the rest of her body moved as if she were rehearsing a dance to music only she could hear, while she gazed out at Mount Diablo and the valley below it.

  Shura was seated on the piano bench, talking with David, who stood at the back of the grand piano, leaning on its closed black top.

  There's nothing to drink out here. I'm hostess. Go to the kitchen, bring out water and juice and glasses. Don't get distracted until that's finished.

  Opening kitchen cupboards and gathering together what 1 needed, I noted my thoughts drifting, and realized I would have to focus deliberately and continuously on each specific task, if anything was to get done. I talked myself through the counting of glasses, persuaded the ice-cubes out of their trays and into a pitcher of water, spoke encouragement to the different juices as I poured them into other various containers, and by using the sound of my own voice as an anchor, managed to keep track of what I was supposed to be doing. I heard myself chuckling, now and then, at being so stoned.

  When I had put everything out on the coffee table, I gave myself permission to be not responsible for a while, and sat down cross-legged on the floor near the room-dividing bookcase. My Observer noted, simply as a matter of interest, that I was choosing a place symbolic of where I liked to be in any group, a location which allowed me to see all the others in the room, to keep track of what was going on. I was part of the group, but also subtly detached.

  The Watcher. The Outsider. Or is it The Writer? Same thing. This is the perch of a person who doesn't want to be truly part of any gathering, who wants to keep some aspect of herself separate, not absorbed by whatever is going on. Good or bad? Neither. Just the way it is. The way I am. That's why I can identify with Shura's lone-hermit side, the part of him that sometimes wants to be away, off to the mountain. Each of us has a large part that loves connection and sharing, the sense of community, but only for a while. Then we need to be alone again, to draw the energy back inside ourselves.

  Ruth was saying, "- colors are really vivid; they seem to jump out at me, you know - a little red Hello here and a blue Hello there - and everything I look at seems to be moving a bit."

  George whooped, "Moving! Boy oh boy, is it moving!"

  Shura leaned forward to ask, "George, is it all right for you, is it okay?"

  "Yup," said George agreeably, "It's quite a bit to handle, but I don't think it's too much. I'm feeling pretty good, so far, to tell the truth."

  "Well," said Shura, "Where you are is where you're probably going to stay, at this point. We've been on for about two hours, and I think it's safe to say we're at the plateau."

  I remembered Shura telling me that the climb to the plateau could take sometimes as long as two and a half hours, so he must have said that, I thought, to reassure both George and Ruth that they didn't have to be on guard against further intensification.

  Since they had told themselves they were able to manage whatever they were already feeling, they would dismiss a slight increase - if there were going to be any - as just more of the same safe, tolerable plateau.

  Pretty good thinking, for five hundred milligrams, if that's what he's doing. And I'm not doing too badly, either, considering the fact that I'm sitting here like a lady Buddha made of extremely active light-molecules, not sure I have a body at all. George said, "I'm relieved to hear it. There's no friend like a good plateau!"

  Ruth patted him, smiling in agreement.

  Glancing up, I saw Shura's eyes on me, warm and questioning; I responded with a full smile, letting him know I was all right.

  He got up and left the room. In a minute, the sound of music came through the speakers from the back room. Gregorian chants. Everyone was silent, listening to the exquisite singing with their eyes closed. Ginger was still standing at the window, but she had turned to face the room. Now, eyes shut, arms lowered, she moved slowly to the music, her face intent.

  I closed my own eyes, finally, and found myself inside the top o
f a cathedral, a golden cupola flooded with light, floating upwards past a stained glass window whose colors were a blur of star brilliance, drifting close to the point where the lines of the roof converged. I could feel something compelling beyond it, urging me to go out through that point to the other side.

  The Observer cut in to say that I was quite probably going out of body, and that it might not be the most appropriate thing to do under these particular circumstances, especially since I didn't know how to manage it or what would happen to the part of me I would leave behind.

  Indulging in such an adventure, it warned, could result in anxiety and even alarm among the others in the group, especially if my body flopped down like a rag doll. I might be thought inconsiderate and attention-hogging or something like that.

  I opened my eyes and blew air through pursed lips, looking for some way of staying firmly grounded, still feeling the pull of that place of convergence, the longing to go through that center to whatever was out there beyond it.

  It occurred to me that all I had to do was keep my eyes open; there were bodies and faces to look at, to focus on, and in paying attention to them, I would be able to keep from drifting too far out.

  Ben rose from his armchair, heading toward the bathroom. He moved somewhat slowly, but seemed steady on his feet. Leah had laid the art book on the floor and was sitting with hands clasped in her lap, head down. I knew she was in a meditative state - relaxed but aware - and that she was intensely involved in an experience of joy; I could feel it in her, from across the room.

  George had opened his eyes and was looking around as if checking out the tendency of different things in the room to move and flow. His face was child-open and the only remaining sign of anxiety was in one hand which opened and closed against his sweater, the short fingers extending spasmodically to rub the wool, then folding again. Ruth's face was set in concentration on whatever she was seeing behind closed eyelids. Both hands lay loosely at her sides.

  When Ben returned, he said to the room at large, "That's quite an experience, trying to make sense of the different parts of the toilet and the different parts of myself, all at once! Not to speak of getting them to relate to each other in the appropriate way!"

  Eyes snapped open and and comments rose from all quarters, "All you have to remember is lid up, stream down," and, "I'm next. If I'm not back in half an hour, send out the big wooly dog with the thing around its neck," from David, while John groaned, "Oh, Lord, save me from a full bladder for a while yet."

  Sometime during the next hour, Shura got up, flashed a smile at me, and quietly left the room. A moment later, the music was turned off. He returned and tiptoed back to his piano bench.

  I was looking through a book of fairy stories with illustrations by the great enchanter, Arthur Rackham, and everyone around me had been silent for a long time, absorbed in their various interior worlds, when suddenly the room was jarred by a single, forceful note struck on the piano. On the pad, John's body jerked in shock. He yelled, "Owww!" and sat straight up, then turned around to glare at Shura, who was grinning broadly behind him, the guilty finger still on the key.

  John sputtered, "What do you think you're doing" in such outrage that the rest of us, who had also been jolted by the unexpected hammer-blow of sound, dissolved in laughter. Shura lifted his eyebrows and struck another note, equally loud, watching us intently. John jumped again, as if kicked in the spine. This time, he managed a weak smile as he protested, "Don't DO that, I beg you!"

  A third ringing note pulsed through all of us, and we watched John, empathizing with him as he huddled in his blanket, now laughing helplessly at his own vulnerability, crying, "Stop, stop, stop, Shura! No more, please!"

  "Really remarkable, isn't it," observed Shura, smiling with satisfaction, "How exquisitely sensitive the nervous system can become, under the influence."

  Small boy puts tack on chair, rewarded by yelp, now explaining it was scientific experiment.

  "That was pretty powerful," said Dante.

  "Nobody went through the ceiling, though, except poor John," said Ginger.

  "Poor John, indeed," muttered that person, "It was actually painful - I mean, like a physical blow to the body. And will you do me the kindness of warning me if you're going to do it again, so I can leave the room? I really don't want any more surprises of that kind, Shura."

  He means it. No more Mister Nice Guy. Shura had the grace to look faintly embarrassed/

  "Okay, you can trust me. I won't startle you again. I just had to try it, to see how much increased nervous system sensitivity there might be. I hadn't expected quite that much, John!

  You certainly are the star lab rat!"

  John glowered at him, "Thanks a whole big lot!" then joined in the laughter. But he didn't lie down again, and from where he sat, he could keep an eye on the piano keyboard.

  Ginger was sitting against a wall, ankles crossed. She hummed comfortably and said, "Well, I like where I am. I think I could get used to this level, with a little practice."

  David picked up a floor cushion and put it down next to the coffee table, where he sat and carefully poured out a glassful of juice. He looked around and asked, "Does anybody else want some of this?"

  Shura called out, "By the way, everybody, remember to drink your fluids. There's plenty on the table. Don't let yourselves get dehydrated."

  We obediently got up to fill glasses and tumblers, then returned to our chosen places. Again there was stillness, the only sounds being an occasional deep breath expelled inside the room, and bird chatter outside. I looked around at the closed eyes, and gratefully closed my own.

  I was aware, first of all, of the enormous energy in my body, and inside my head the entire field of vision was suffused with light. There was a sudden feeling of certainty that if I focused my mind in a particular way -1 wasn't sure what that way was, but I knew it existed -1 would be able to see through my closed eyelids. I just didn't know how exactly to make it happen.

  The waves of microscopic bubbles or light particles, or whatever it was that kept sweeping through me, were intensifying, and I felt close again to going out into another place or dimension, and I wanted to go.

  I opened my eyes and looked over at Shura, who was sitting on his bench with closed eyes. I said, as casually as I could, "Shura, could I ask you to come over here for a moment?"

  He was by my side immediately, and I whispered, "This may sound melodramatic, but I keep feeling as if I'm going out of body, and I think I shouldn't, considering the circumstances. It would be sort of bad manners. What should I do? It's very strong - the pull to keep going up and out - and I'm not sure how to stay down in here," I pointed to my chest and smiled, because Shura's eyes were huge and glowing, and his hair stood out from his head like white flames.

  He stood up and said loudly to the group, "I would like to invite you all to please get up and form a circle, holding hands, for a couple of minutes. It may help anchor anybody who thinks he's floating a bit too much,okay?"

  Everyone rose, chairs were pushed back out of the way, and we gath ered in a circle, holding hands. I looked around and saw that the faces directly across from me - Dante, Ruth and George - shared a common look of inwardness, and their eyes were closed. I sighed deeply and closed my own. The feeling of wanting to rise through the top of my head was still there, but so was the sturdy presence of the palms and fingers of the people on either side of me, David to my right. Ginger on my left.

  I felt myself a complete individual, separate and distinct from everyone else, and simultaneously, a participant with others, a member of a family, which was the entire species.

  I was aware, as I had been on the peyote day, so long ago, of a level of reality in which every human being was connected with every other, and that the connectedness was not of mind or personality, but of something far more basic; it was a spiritual or psychic touching which was blocked from consciousness most of the time, but which existed nonetheless, from birth to death. We were all wo
ven into one tapestry, and at some deep, unconscious level of ourselves, we each shared everything known and felt by every other living person on the planet.

  Why must we be unaware of this, except for times when some of us might experience a revelation, a sudden state of grace, or when others of us might decide to open ourselves with meditation or a psychedelic drug? Why the shutting off of this awareness? Maybe because our assignment is to live our individual lives, our own singular stories, and we can't do that if we're open to everyone else's emotional and spiritual happenings.

  We wouldn't be able to focus, to evolve as distinct and different entities, if we could feel

  everything that was going on in everyone else all the time. We would be a group consciousness, as the rest of the life forms on earth seem to be. And humans are meant to develop single identities, while still participating in their basic connectedness. Why? Because that's what the universal Mind intends as the next step in the adventure, the next chapter in [he tale. Whose adventure is it? Whose tale?

  Into my mind came the memory of the spiral, my microcosm-macrocosm experience, and the un-nameable Friend-Companion who had greeted me each time, with laughter and love, at the end. It's the Friend's journey, I thought.

  And therefore it's also mine. My incomprehensible Friend is what I am also, and our purposes are the same, even though I can't be allowed to remember what they are while I'm living my physical life. And every human being on the planet is what I am - we are all different, one-of-a-kind forms of the friend.