by J D Arthur
When smoking salvia, there is a definite procedure to be followed in order to best experience the effects. First of all, one wants to fill the lungs as fully as possible with the smoke; therefore, a pipe is preferable to a rolled cigarette. Due to the harshness of the smoke, some people prefer water pipes to cool and filter the resultant smoke. I, personally, found that a corncob pipe worked perfectly. In addition, one could have two or three pipes loaded with salvia before smoking, thus multiple lungfuls could be taken sequentially, without the necessity for reloading while one is in a semi-inebriated state. Secondly, due to the high vaporization temperature, as well as safety concerns, an ordinary disposable butane lighter is well suited to ignite the salvia, the flame being held continuously over the bowl of the pipe. Lastly, the smoke must be retained in the lungs for as long as possible. This, obviously, aids in the absorption of the smoke by the lung tissue.
My first experience with smoked salvia was of a decidedly different order than with the tincture. Whereas the tincture allowed one the luxury of “snapping out” of the experience, the smoked salvia was more demanding and disorienting. The visions were more intense and involving, although still retaining their arbitrary nature.
Smoked salvia was anything but pleasant. The vignettes could range from the mundane to the nauseatingly bizarre. Again there were presences, but more nagging and disorienting. The visions, in my case, were meaningless, repulsive images from the ’40s and ’50s. Cartoon characters, crooning trios from the ’40s, roller-skating carhops—all made their appearance in a maddening swirl of nonsense.
To make matters worse, it became apparent that this was not a controllable situation. I was being sucked into this cacophonous vortex, while trying desperately to hold on to my sanity. Thankfully, the experience was fairly short lived, lasting only four or five minutes, but leaving me with a profound sense of relief that I had escaped this whirl of madness unscathed. For the first time in my life, I’d felt that my mind was no longer under my command and that the power to control such a state was beyond my grasp.
Salvia was unlike any other mind-altering substance I’d ever experienced. Besides its frightening grasp on the mind, it also seemed devoid of the types of emotional richness I’d experienced with hallucinogens in the past. How could absurd visions of roller-skating carhops possibly be of any use for spiritual exploration? The visions themselves seemed odd, since I had no choice but to conclude that they were images from some deep, unknown region of my own psyche; their arbitrary, cartoonish nature seemed foreign to my own life and actually felt as if they were being “presented” to me, rather than being revealed from within some part of myself.
The whole experience was actually a disappointment. I’d felt that I’d finally gotten my hands on a genuine divinatory plant, used for centuries by the native peoples of Mexico, and the best my demented Western psyche could come up with was this freakish cartoon. I felt that my newfound enthusiasm for salvia had come to a screeching halt. I decided at the time that I should try it once more, just to make sure. I thought the chances were likely that, after one or two more sessions, I’d abandon salvia as a pointless deliriant.
About a week later, I decided to smoke again. I loaded two pipes with Mazatecan leaf, as I’d done previously. I was expecting another plunge into madness and had no expectations. After smoking, I began feeling the same disorientation—the same feeling of fighting for control; I began to see, as well as feel, the same ’50s motif—the same cartoonish images.
This time, however, something was just slightly different. It seemed as if there were some type of link with my last excursion. It was as if, rather than starting out with a new series of inexplicable images, I was somehow picking up where I’d left off. There was an odd sense of continuation. There seemed to be something interesting about the experience this time—it felt a bit less threatening, less foreign. There was almost an element of humor, as if I were being told that I didn’t need to be taking things so seriously. There were also, on some level that was totally unknown to me, various images that seemed to parody my holding on to the ordinary world. The mechanism of this parody eludes description; it was more like a complex of feelings reminiscent of the fever dreams that claim one’s mind during illness than an actual scene viewed with the eyes. This, in itself, was an interesting phenomenon. It was almost as if I were being chided, on some level, for my state of mind.
Although this seemed to be an odd development, it didn’t seem that significant at the time; it was merely another oddity connected with salvia. It is only in retrospect that the situation held some significance.
After returning to normal awareness, I noticed that the effects of salvia would linger for about an hour. This was, at the time, another interesting development. In the past, after a hallucinogenic experience such as LSD, the “afterglow” state was a very enjoyable transition. Everything appeared in a new and meaningful light that one would endeavor to savor and prolong.
Salvia, on the other hand, was a different experience for me. The ordinary world was a relief. After the induced “madness” of salvia, the mundane elements of normal life were a restful balm. It was as if the salviaic experience was so disturbing, at such a depth, that any distraction was welcome and refreshing. Although this characterization of the salvia experience can appear to weigh heavily on the negative side, there was, at the same time, a growing excitement fueled by the all-encompassing reality of the experience. I’d never come across anything like this before. The short time that one is actually in the salviaic state is, in the beginning at least, a merciful benefit. I remember thinking, at the time, that if the experience lasted much longer, the prolonged intensity would be psychologically devastating.
I continued smoking salvia at irregular intervals throughout the following months. Again, my experiences were beginning to evince some sort of internal consistency. The nature of the images and feelings I would encounter were always changing, but there seemed to be developing what might be called a cumulative awareness. Somehow, there seemed to be a continuity among the successive forays. They were frightening on the one hand, but somehow fascinating on the other. The more I entered this state, the more I was becoming familiar with this terrifying foreignness.
During this time, it was becoming apparent that, despite the fear and apprehension accompanying each event, one thing was obvious—I’d always come back—my mind was still intact. However disorienting the experience, it was, indeed, temporary. I was feeling more and more confident that nothing bad would happen to me “over there.” At the same time, I was beginning to adapt to the state that had been so foreign initially. I was beginning to let go. The fear that I was losing my mind, in my first experiences with salvia, had loosened its grip a bit. I was unconsciously becoming more willing to relinquish, for a few moments, the fierce clinging to the psychological framework that defines and stabilizes the world. Of course, after returning, I wanted that same framework— rock solid and steady—once again, and it always was. Salvia was offering me the option to explore both sides.
My experiences with salvia during this time were radically different from one to the next, but I was beginning to notice certain similarities among the events. My usual procedure was to load two pipes with crushed dried salvia leaves. I’d then smoke both pipes in succession, although oftentimes, after holding and releasing the smoke from the first pipe, the effects would already be beginning to be felt. After exhaling the last pipeful, the full effects would begin.
Most times the journey would be initiated by a centering of the visual field. It was as if I’d become aware of a central point in my field of view that would somehow unfold and spew out a rush of images and feelings. The images themselves were very much like dream images— vague and shadowy, yet wholly present. In my case, there would be a splash of rushing faces—peripherally demanding—occasionally voicing words or performing actions in a fleeting sequence that was as vague as it was ephemeral. This flood of faces would be accompanied by a wave of feeli
ngs that had a peculiar flavor. They were not the ordinary feelings of joy or fear, but would be imbued with a specific “foreignness.” This would be apparent only later when the event was being recalled. What had seemed somehow understandable in the state was now irretrievably beyond reach.
On a somatic level, the experiences were all fairly similar. As the rush of faces and scenes would envelop me, my attention would be focused strongly on those elements, while, at the same time, my body would be in a state of what might be termed “tense repose.” Salvia would have the dual effect of numbing the body, to a certain extent, in an external way, while at the same time engaging the bodily senses in a very direct, yet internal way. After first entering the state, I would feel something akin to “pins and needles”—primarily, it seemed, in my face. This gentle stinging was all but unnoticeable, initially. It always seemed intertwined with the psychological aspects of entering the state, as if the two were one process. It was not an unpleasant sensation; on the contrary, it was exhilarating. It was an almost blissful corollary to the dipping into the well of faces.
Another physical sensation that was regularly making its appearance was the overwhelming sensation of movement. Initially, there seemed to be a rapid forward movement, as if one were plunging headlong into a pool of water. The movement was swift and sustained. Within a few moments, I would become aware of secondary forces moving laterally to the left or right. This has been a consistent occurrence throughout many of my salvia journeys. There is a profound feeling of direction in many experiences. Oftentimes, I would feel that I was being blown by a strong “wind,” to my left or right. It would become paramount to “hold on” and not be swept away. This wind would make its presence felt often in subsequent sessions, to a greater or lesser extent. Again, this was not an unpleasant experience necessarily but, rather, part of the all-encompassing landscape that was gradually opening before me.
This sensation of direction was evidently so involving that I would often “awaken” with my head turned strongly to the left, almost over my shoulder. I’d been totally unaware that such physical correlates had been in play. These were the only instances, however, where there was any type of physical counterpart to the intense inner forces that were claiming my attention.
In addition to the sensation of movement, which was becoming a regular feature of my experiences, was the feeling that I was pushing upward through some sort of membrane at the crown of my head. The image that presented itself was not unlike a cocoon from which I was emerging. Like so many of the experiences unique to the state of salvia “intoxication,” it seemed remarkably natural and somehow familiar. The sensation was, on some level, almost what one might term “organically instructive,” while at the same time was physically approaching what one might call a “state of bliss.”
The intensity of this occurrence would vary, but it would come to be a regular feature of many experiences. Often, after I returned to the normal state, the crown of my head, seemingly at the point of the crown chakra in Hindu physiology, would be sore, although this was not a particularly unpleasant sensation. I mention the crown chakra not to draw any inference but merely to more precisely isolate the location of the sensation.
During this time, the experiences I was having began to take on more of what might be termed “personal” characteristics. I was becoming accustomed to interactions, on some level, with “others.” These interactions would usually consist of short vignettes often accompanied by some type of verbal description or injunction. Often these declarations would be in response to a question that was never asked. For instance, on one occasion, I was instructed to, “Tell her (my wife E. was implied) you’re with us.” At the same time, I found myself surrounded by vaguely familiar dolphinlike beings, who seemed to exude a playful joy.
There was a brief but vivid sensation of exuberant swimming. Again, this episode was, although very brief, emotionally significant; the event left me with the impression that, although alien, this world could also be welcoming and perhaps even protective.
This also was one of the first times I noticed a process that would repeat itself often in the future: the manner in which one asked a question. Here, a question is a verbal formation consisting of a sequence of words coupled with an interrogatory word or phrase. Over there, a question seems to consist of a state of feeling or being. One doesn’t have to voice a question; indeed, it appears that one might not even know that one is asking a question—it’s simply a state. Only after receiving an answer does one intuit that a question must have been asked. One could posit that this state of questioning might be accomplished by consciously or unconsciously holding a specific person or thought in mind, but I’ve felt that this was most often not the case, since the answers given would be in response to something well outside my normal frame of reference.
It was during this time I began experimenting with a stronger form of salvia known as 5X. This enhanced leaf contains approximately five times the salvinorin A content of regular crushed leaves, allowing one to consume considerably less smoke, while engendering a more powerful experience than could be achieved with normal crushed leaves. This enabled me to enter the state in a more immediate and forceful manner.
My first experiences with 5X were dramatic and exhilarating. The depth of the trance was stronger and more all encompassing than I’d experienced to date. The sensing of the presences was overwhelming. It was during this time I began to feel that the reality of genuine entities in this realm was undeniable. The depth and richness of this state was unlike anything I had ever encountered. On a physical level as well, I was beginning to experience sensations that were radically different from any I’d experienced previously. I began to feel the disturbing sensation that, with the slightest effort, I would be able to disconnect from my physical body.
This, like so many other facets of the salviaic experience, hinged on a unique series of perceptual events that, in their totality, gave rise to a singular mode of perceptual knowledge. This, seemingly very real, potential for leaving the body consisted of a physiological “acknowledgment” of a new series of somatic perceptions describing, in effect, a new “body.” This new body could be intuited and on some level almost felt. This was experienced simultaneously with the abandonment of the usual sensations that define and reinforce the normal perception of the body. It was as if the perceptual bias of physicality could be altered by merely shifting the perceptual emphasis from one modality to the other. Salvia seemed to, on the one hand, minimize the normal physical sensations flowing from the body through its numbing effects, while at the same time enhancing these inner sensations through means that were as mysterious as they were palpable.
Although this sensation of the potential for leaving the body was somewhat frightening, it felt, once again, remarkably natural. Since all these sensations, as well as the world I was beginning to explore, were completely new to me—as well as intimations I was beginning to glean in consecutive salvia excursions—I opted not to abandon myself so readily to a sphere that was opening up so rapidly and was, to say the least, so incomprehensible.
In the months to come, this sensation—that I could abandon the normal physical matrix almost at will— became a regular feature of my experiences with salvia and seems to be the mechanism of many of the transformative processes that have made their appearance over the course of time.
2
INTENSIFICATION
It was in this first year of experimentation that my experiences began to take on an increasing sense of realness that was both alarming and exhilarating. I was beginning to feel that I was becoming connected to a genuine “place” that entailed both psychological and physical dimensions.
During this period, I was also becoming increasingly familiar with this state and the inhabitants that were becoming the focus of these events. The fact that I would encounter these personages on a consistent basis was beginning to define the nature of the experience itself. I was feeling more of an emotional connection tha
t was slowly, but decidedly, coming into focus. The vignettes that presented themselves were of a more personal nature than before, with more interaction from my companions. What had once manifested as a meaningless cacophony was gradually becoming transformed into a coherent, approachable phenomenon. Although the entire course of the event was alien and uncontrollable, there still remained an increasing interest in the connectedness that was gradually unfolding.
In order to remember as much as possible about the experiences I was undergoing, I began to keep an occasional journal detailing some of the more salient events. At the time, I had mixed feelings about committing my experiences to paper. I thought that it might, on some level, be antithetical to the genuine alien nature of these experiences, which, by their very nature, could barely be recalled, much less described accurately in words. It was as if I was afraid I might jeopardize the flow of interaction I was experiencing by focusing my ordinary awareness on the state. I thought that, perhaps, I should simply experience these events and not look back.
I also had no reason to believe that the successive trials would entail any dramatic progression beyond what I was already witnessing. To have a journal of consecutive incidents seemed an amusing, but arbitrary, waste of time. The radical nature of the experiences I was having, coupled with my wish to recount, as completely as possible, the nature of these experiences with a few close friends, however, overcame my reticence. Generally I would record my passages on the day following the event, but after a period of time, I began my recounting within an hour of returning to my normal state. This tended to facilitate a more complete retelling of the events, as well as to augment my memory with the still lingering flavor of the excursion.