by J D Arthur
One particular event during this initial period was especially vivid and can serve to illustrate the general tenor of my experiences at the time. From my notes:
One bowl 5X Mazatecan:
After smoking one bowl, the effects were instantaneous. Immediately, I saw a symmetrical flower, perhaps eight pointed, which opened into the other world, as I sensed the presence of beings, simultaneously. The immediacy of the change was startling. There was quite a bit of disorientation. I sensed that there was someone there. Suddenly, I encountered a male about forty or fifty years old with a black mustache. He appeared to be Mexican. It occurred to me that he might somehow be connected with the salvia I had just smoked—possibly a farmer or some sort of guardian of the plants. He was laughing good naturedly at my growing predicament—I could not remember who I was or from where I’d come.*1 I knew that I had another life somewhere but couldn’t remember anything about it. I couldn’t remember whether I was an adult or a child and was quite disoriented.
Suddenly, a very raucous parade, complete with marching band, flags, and a bass drum engulfed me. This was also so bizarrely out of context that I felt even more bewildered. The parade came from my right. After a moment of horrifying confusion, I realized that the parade was a prank performed by an old man who also appeared off to my right. He was older than the first and very thin. He had evidently concocted the parade as a way of teasing me about my amnesic predicament.
Just then, two young girls entered the scene. They were about eleven years old, possibly twins, and were evidently daughters of the Mexican. They had black hair pulled back into buns and were wearing skirts and black shoes. They were also laughing, aware of my situation, and teasing me. One of them, as a way of describing my inability to remember where I was from, began joking. She said something, which on some level I found precise and hilarious, and I attempted to repeat what she had said. When I began to speak, I was unable to form the words. At the same time, I realized that it was a language that I couldn’t speak. Evidently, to demonstrate my anxiety about my loss of memory, she leaped down and put her foot into a crevice in the floor—which was not flat, but looked organic, like a living being. I noticed that I was standing, perhaps ankle deep in this crevice, which was not unlike a huge vagina. This somehow was meant to demonstrate my predicament. They were all laughing good-naturedly at me, including the old man, who apparently was the uncle of the girls.
Shortly after this, the scene began to lose its intensity and slowly began to slip away. There was an image of a cloth slowly descending—as when someone is making a bed and the airborne sheet slowly comes to rest on the mattress. It was at this point that I began to remember who I was, along with some of the details of my other life.
During this time, similar vignettes would present themselves. I would find myself in circumstances that were at once foreign yet familiar. In all of these instances, I would be at a total loss as to who I was, how old I was, or from where I’d come. On some level, I was aware that I’d initiated some sort of action that had led me to that circumstance, but could not remember that it had been to smoke a hallucinogenic substance, or that I began the journey sitting in a chair in a small workshop. Although to focus on this amnesic state could lead to increasing panic, one could just as easily let go and simply perceive what was unfolding.
Indeed, it seems that this is one of the salient features of salvia—it allows one, in some sense even instructs one—to gradually, and without fear, abandon the framework of reason that’s based on a cumbersome conceptual reference, and that is never called into question throughout the course of one’s life. It’s been my experience that salvia can lead to a unique state that one might characterize as “thoughtless awareness.” This state, although on the surface seemingly paradoxical, is actually strangely and reassuringly familiar. It’s as if, with repeated trances, one develops this skill gradually and effortlessly, leading to a genuine, what might be termed “functional awareness” that seems inherently essential for this type of exploration.
It was during this time that a particular episode occurred that, in retrospect, I hold significant, although at the time, I regarded as inconsequential. After smoking, I experienced the usual onset of images. Within a few moments, the state focused somewhat, and I found myself in the presence of an older woman. She was of slight build and seemed to be either Haitian or perhaps East Indian. She was wearing a long skirt and headscarf and seemed to be performing an odd action with her hands, as if she were drawing something apart or perhaps kneading and pulling an imaginary doughlike substance—it seemed reminiscent of playing the “cat’s cradle” string game, only without the string. She had a bored demeanor and said, almost offhandedly, “You’re accepted.” On some level, it was implied that this was connected with a type of proficiency at “letting go,” although these feelings were very vague. It was as if she, personally, couldn’t care less about the information she was relaying—it seemed as though she was merely fulfilling a task. Within moments, the scene faded and I found myself returning to a normal state.
The next morning, I was initially hesitant to relate the story to E., since it would sound so pompous, while at the same time the experience itself had little or no emotional impact. I thought it was just another scene that was part of the flood of random images that I was encountering and thought no more about it. I didn’t bother writing the experience down.
About a week later, I decided to smoke again. I followed my usual routine. This time, however, something was different. Even now, years later, it is difficult to pinpoint exactly what this difference entailed. Somehow, on some level, the state had stabilized. I was now returning to the same place, although this place did not necessarily entail location, in the normal sense. It was rather a state or feeling that had gained some sort of perceptual and emotional solidity. Although all the various external features of the visions were different, there was something that I was returning to—something was becoming familiar. In subsequent experiences, there would open up an entire range of feelings that was always somehow rooted in this abstract stable place.
During this time, my experiences involved a new range of emotions that was often strangely comforting. I was beginning to feel a decided kinship with something with which I’d been totally unfamiliar. In one event, for instance, I was witnessing a scene that, externally, was insignificant. It was a small hut in a clearing. It was implied that there were other dwellings nearby, but they were outside my sphere of vision. The hut looked primitive but not recognizable as belonging to any particular time or culture. This scene, however, was accompanied by a group of feelings that were somehow a unified whole. These feelings encompassed peacefulness, a feeling of familial warmth, and a perception of what might be characterized as a sense of belonging to a tribal group. There were also overtones of a mode of simple, natural awareness that were somehow soothing. Like so many of my encounters in the salviaic state, this, once again, was alien yet curiously familiar. To say that these emotions felt as if they somehow echoed archaic memories would be to imply more than I intend, but they did seem to represent the ultimate fulfillment of some type of primordial human yearning.
There were also other instances, which would be repeated in varying degrees in subsequent trials, where I found myself the outsider. What tended to predominate in many of these sessions was the perception, occasionally voiced, that my presence was almost an inconvenience, an annoyance that was endured, for whatever reason. Often, this would result in a chiding or joking atmosphere. I was the burden that had to be borne, sometimes literally. On a few occasions, there was the perception that I was being carried, almost like a toddler.
In one session, I was being carried in some type of hammocklike sling that seemed to be made of some sort of netting. On another occasion, I found myself in a group of children (I also was a child) who were being taught by an older person. The teacher appeared displeased or annoyed by my presence. He was evidently persuaded to let me stay due to one or more of th
e students in the class. One peculiar aspect to this occurrence was the feeling that the teacher was used to dealing with “my type” and disliked the process. It was unclear at the time what characteristics delineated my type, but I felt that I was part of a group that was shunned for one reason or another. Interestingly, I came away from the experience with an odd feeling of kinship with my advocates.
It was also at this time that some of my experiences began to take on a somewhat disconcerting aspect. On several of my excursions, I was given to understand that the realm that I was exploring was connected with the dead. This was a somewhat shocking revelation; since it went against everything I would normally believe. I would usually consider any references to a simplistic concept such as the “land of the dead” as either allegory or superstitious babble. Nevertheless, my experiences were beginning to lead me in a different direction that I had no choice but to explore.
On one particular occasion, I had smoked two bowls of Oaxacan salvia. I was immediately taken, apparently under each arm by two young girls aged fourteen to sixteen. Not knowing my age, I had the distinct impression that they were older than I, not unlike big sisters. They were laughing and joking, moving me along as if they were escorting me somewhere. I was enlivened with feelings of joy and exhilaration. At one point the girl on my right suddenly recoiled, withdrawing her arm from mine. She seemed to be revolted by me. As she backed away she declared, “You’re not dead!” in an accusatory fashion and withdrew. The feeling I experienced was that they had presumed that I was dead and was somehow joining them. As I began to regain an awareness of my surroundings, it seemed that the girls’ revulsion stemmed from the fact that I had a flesh-and-blood body, which was evidently a disgusting concept to them.
As I began to settle into normal awareness, I had a fleeting memory of the previous time I had smoked. In that encounter, someone there, a male, had also said something to the effect of, “They’re usually dead when they’re here,” but it seemed more of an impartial observation on his part, and not meant to impart anything of importance. Strangely, I had forgotten this vignette in the intervening time.
These references to the dead, or “land” or “place” of the dead, would be repeated at intervals during the coming months. Sometimes they would be in response to one of the unvoiced questions. One woman who seemed almost annoyed, asserted, “Of course, this is the land (or place) of the dead!” as if it were obvious to anyone but a fool.
The presences I was encountering on a regular basis were a paradoxical adjunct to my pursuits with salvia. On the one hand, I had no idea who or what they were. I felt that they were real enough to cause me harm, if they wished. They never struck me as particularly benevolent— neither did they seem threatening. On the other hand, I was beginning to view aspects of their world with great affection. I was beginning to trust the experience a bit.
When they first made their appearance, the word that came to mind, in attempting to recall the encounter, was spirit—not due to any specific attributes of theirs, but more due to the poverty, not only of our language, but also of our concepts. How else could they be described? They weren’t angels. They weren’t devils. They weren’t spectral visages. They had all the attributes of ordinary people. On one salvia excursion, this appellation had evidently been on my mind, on some level, while just entering the state. In that outer region, I might have been anticipating encountering the spirits. It seemed that as I entered the state and was beginning contact, the concept of spirits seemed not only grossly inaccurate, but demeaning and disrespectful. Since that time I’ve preferred to characterize them as “presences,” “companions,” and the like, both from a wish for precision, as well as from a feeling of deference.
Evidently, one of the primary uses of salvia among the Mazatecs, as well as among some contemporary adherents, is in the area of divination. Since salvia seemed to have so many unknown possibilities, I thought it would be worth exploring this aspect as well. It was suggested in some recent writings that one should hold a question or similar thought in mind while entering the state. This would evidently focus the mind on a particular person or event, which would be elaborated upon by the salvia.
I smoked my usual amount of salvia while concentrating on a particular thought. As I began to enter the state, it became obvious that, in order to genuinely enter that realm to which I was becoming accustomed, I once again, in an ironic twist, would have to relinquish my ordinary thought processes, which, of course, was precisely where my question resided. Without the footing of thought, there could be no question. It just didn’t seem possible to bring the camel with me through the eye of the needle. It was becoming obvious to me that the form of awareness that characterizes what I’d come to understand as the salviaic state was radically different from what we normally think of as “mentation.” It’s not so much that we are witnesses of perceptions brought on by salvia; rather, we, ourselves, change in our very nature, when entering the state. This change grants us access to a new range and quality of perceptions that would be impossible to grasp with our slow, lumbering, fragmented consciousness. The new awareness is immediate, fluid, and unencumbered with the bulky armor of conceptual thought.
As I went deeper into the state, other more subtle feelings surfaced. It seemed that to enter the state tenaciously holding on to a thought was rude, almost belligerent. One was entering a deep transcendent experience, and to carry in any conceptual baggage, as if to demand its validation, was a demonstration of disrespect. It was not that anyone or anything would be offended, rather, that the acquisition of this state of trance was the result of several factors, one of which, it seems, is a type of openness or humility. Of course, this was my own subjective assessment, and I don’t mean to paint with too broad a brush. The particular state that I, myself, was entering necessitated these conclusions; it demanded a more or less total break with consensual reality.
Perhaps this is not always the case with others. To be aware of one’s surroundings, people, and other images on a conscious level is a different state than the one to which I’ve been referring. I don’t mean to imply that this type of experience isn’t valid, it’s simply not the one I found myself bound to pursue. Perhaps at some time in the future, this avenue of divination will seem somehow more accessible, possibly through some type of twilight state with which I’m as yet unfamiliar; but at present, I’m inclined to abandon its pursuit.
During this time, the intensity of my experiences would vary. Oftentimes, I would simply find myself in a scene that would engender simple groups of feelings. I would emerge in what felt like a type of kitchen, seated with a group of people. The scene itself was vague, but the feelings accompanying it were warm and welcoming. I felt a kinship with my hosts, and a sense of acceptance. On another occasion, I was being “dressed” or somehow prepared for some type of event or ceremony—again—feelings of affection and protection predominated.
At other times, the scenes were more intense and demanding. One such excursion occurred on a somewhat deeper level. I was in the process of lighting the second pipe when I began to feel all the effects of the first. I felt the presences impatiently hovering. My coordination seemed impaired, so I took a few token puffs and put the pipe down. I was getting acclimatized to the state, when suddenly it seemed as though a strong wind was blowing me irresistibly to the left, with great force. At the same time I distinctly heard a voice say, “Just come with us.” There was an impatient tone to the suggestion. It was definitely more of the nature of a suggestion than a command. Although the pull was very strong, I was reluctant to let go completely and be swept away to something that was so totally unknown. I was able to maintain my hold; and although the urging seemed instructive and gentle, it seemed best to decline, particularly in light of recent allusions to the dead.
It seemed that this particular session was the most pronounced and immediate contact I’d experienced to date. This was the first time I’d felt such an emphatic and personal invitation from such an unk
nown source. This scenario would repeat itself quite often in the years to come. There is usually a group of people beckoning me in a genuinely friendly manner to join them. The state this appeal engenders is very paradoxical. On the one hand, it seems a magical opportunity, the possibilities of which seem limitless. On the other hand, one is gradually given to understand that death itself is a magical beckoning that holds endless promise as well. Whether these two states of invitation are one and the same is unknown. At this point, I’ve declined the invitations, since, to fully acquiesce, it would seem that one should be willing to accept equally the genuine possibility of either option.
Among other “fixed stars” that have shown some movement under salvia’s influence has been the concept of time. Reason, from our normal perspective, would posit that the experience of salviaic trance is short lived and that one must always return. The power and intensity of the reality of the salvia state, however, would posit that time and reason are part of this world, not that world, and that both realms are decidedly separate, if not antithetical to each other. The rules that apply in this world don’t apply there.
On a few occasions, I’ve had the feeling that there were “pockets of eternity” into which one could slip and be trapped. These feelings, of course, don’t give validity of themselves to this concept, but since one’s mind, thoughts, and language can all seem foreign and out of one’s control, these feelings can be daunting. The reality of this world is based upon our evaluation and acceptance of the totality of our sense perceptions. The reality of the salviaic state is also based upon the same criteria, no matter how bizarre or disconcerting those perceptions might be.
Since time itself is a concept resulting from perceptions of our physical body in this world, held together with the glue of thought and memory, once these factors are taken out of play, nothing is immune from transformation. It seems theoretically possible that, since time is inexorably linked with perception, if the nature of those perceptions is altered, the perception of time might also be altered. If our linear perception of time is represented by a horizontal line, the salviaic perception of time might be seen as a vertical spike, varying in amplitude, in that line. The aboriginal concept of “dream time” seems to allude to such possibilities. Salvia can give the impression of being outside time, since the factors that engender and define the passage of time have been transformed. If, as science tells us, time itself can be altered by such seemingly unrelated factors such as gravity and motion, perhaps other factors, of a more penetrating interior nature, should not be dismissed so readily. Ironically, time, it seems, needs a perceiver of its passage to exist.