For thogh we slepe or wake, or rome, or ryde,
Ay fleeth the tyme; it nil no [will no] man abyde
--Chaucer, The Clerk's Tale
What I am looking for is not out there,
it is in me
They have eyes but cannot see
Contented with little,
yet wishing for more
And ye shall know the truth,
and the truth shall make you free
The truth won't set you free; it is what it is. But recognizing it, will.
It was reported this morning that some people died at a group therapy session in Berlin after ingesting unknown substances (Two People Die in Poisoning at German Therapy Group.) Which brings me to a provide both a PSA and our Sunday homily: Know what you know.
First, you should know Lisa is not a druggie. But she's not a Carrie Nation, either. Her mother participated in one of the early psychotherapeutic studies involving LSD with Dr. Wolf in the early 1960's, so when two friends within the span of a month suggested she might try the hallucinogen Ayahuasca, it was compelling. It is not a suggestion one receives every day. Other than going stark raving mad like an outcast from the set of Reefer Madness, there seemed no harm.
One friend had ordered some online from Denmark, but had no idea how to mix it; the other offered a group setting under the observation of a local therapist, which seemed preferable.
Mine is a little story of a short, perfect trip led by curandero Raul of the Peruvian jungles. I will not do it again, as it is not necessary. The denizens assure me it is always different, but there is nothing more I need from this.
The stuff itself tasted vile -- like a cross between Haley's M.O. and Elmer's white school paste, with some small bits of wood thrown in. Having never tripped before, I had no preconceptions. Nothing happened for what seemed the longest time, and I began to think I'd been had, the wood bits thrown in much like the Army chef who crushed two eggshells and added it to the powdered eggs so the recruits could feel like they were eating something fresh. But then, my cells began their decay.
Not a pretty sight, as the flakes were seen hopping off my legs, and I was treated to a quasi microscopic view of cellular decay. Crepey and greenish, it disgusted me. My best efforts at slathering on skin creams were foiled. I smiled, as the trip had begun.
. . . Read more at Big Brass Blog