DOSE:

1 cig.

smoked

Cannabis

BODY WEIGHT:

130 lb

A Transformative Mystical Experience

Emotional dynamics working on me at the time of this episode are related here because I think cannabis catalyzed a response to those emotions, and it was totally unexpected and life-changing. It has taken me a long time to adjust to that transformation. At this point, many years later, it seems to me my cannabis experiences suggest notions of consciousness compatible with rare reported cases of multiple personality alters switching places with an original personality (For a credible case: Robert Oxnam's autobiography: "A Fractured Mind." Or for a philosophical treatment, 'Could Multiple Personality Disorder Explain Life, the Universe and Everything?', Jun 18 2018, Scientific American). The psychological profession is convinced that alters are dreams, and if that's the case a permanent place-switch logically implies that original personalities must be dreams, too. Articulating that conclusion, a typical daytime personality must be an evolving dream that dissociates when you fall asleep, and re-associates when you wake up.

A trance such as described in the other piece I wrote likely occurs when one's main daytime personality drops into the background like an alter, and proceeds to watch an independent (drug-catalyzed) dream unfold. The "all-nighter" described below probably involved that sort of trance, and it may well have been a necessary precondition for the experience that concludes this account. That unbelievably powerful experience also originated as a cannabis trance, but the independent dream of that trance was immediately followed by an overwhelming electrical sensation in my head. From that day to this, whenever I get high (typically when I go to Amsterdam, or California) I almost always have surprising, amazing, mystical experiences, suggesting that brain cells I only connect with when I get high entangled themselves with that transformative dream, while my everyday, habitual set of brain cells, for the most part, hung onto their usual connections..

After graduating from college I joined the Marine Corp reserve in 1962 to avoid being drafted into the army. My eight months of active duty impressed on me an intense lesson about life at the bottom of the social barrel. Reacting to that, I led a straight, square life for the next 6 years, ending up living in New York city working at the main office of a national company. My sister lived about 10 blocks away and she had a cool boyfriend who gave me a one ounce bag of grass. The first time I smoked some of it was at a party, and it made me so high I got lost trying to walk home. New York is laid out like a grid, and getting lost isn't easy!

My job was demanding, so I often worked late. At a late hour, stressed out and feeling the pressure of looming deadlines, as I walked home I would occasionally stop at the only bar along the way. It was gloomy and depressing there, and it occurred to me that instead of stopping at the bar maybe I should try smoking some marijuana. So I did; and it did relax me; but that's not all. It kept me awake for hours, hallucinating; and the next morning I was strung out, late for work, and had trouble concentrating on my job. So I decided to only smoke the stuff Friday night when I wouldn't have to worry about working the next day.

By 21st century standards, that '60s bag of grass was probably mild. I would roll my own joints and smoke them down to a little roach. The powerful effect a single joint had on me was probably due to the weekly spacing, so the neuronal chemistry of my brain had time to recover. Late one Friday night, as my mildly hallucinogenic trance stretched out, I was lying immobile on my bed and noticed I was beginning to snore. Not only was I gently snoring, but my body developed a sort of paralysis that, while perfectly comfortable, effectively inhibited me from moving a muscle. Oddly, I wasn’t unconscious even though my body was behaving like I was. And the next morning I was able to recall that strange experience clearly -- all the more remarkable because I had never heard of anyone who remembered themselves snoring.

Because these experiences would leave me spacey on Saturdays, I laid off for perhaps a month so I could adequately accommodate my girlfriend's demands. The next time a suitable Friday night came along, my life circumstances were more stressful than usual thanks to my new boss at work who was putting all sorts of pressure on me. My "trip" that night up to the point when I started snoring was much like earlier trips. But this time, as sleep paralysis settled in, I experienced a dramatic context shift. In a flash, I found myself watching a fox as it jumped across a stream, and my perspective tracked it as it trotted off into dreamland.

This dream and the ones that followed continued all night long. There were also intervals between the dreams when I seemed to be in a cavernous dark space where nothing was happening. During those intermissions, sleep-paralysis continued to grip me so I would just lie there, neither entertained nor bored, just patiently waiting for the next dream to start. When I became aware that morning was lighting up the room, my detached point of view continued to watch a dream unfolding as I weighed the alternative of waking up. Eventually I did decide to end the dream and wake up. But later, after launching myself into the day’s activities I discovered my unusual night’s sleep had been a poor substitute for the real thing. In fact, for most of that day I felt really spacey and tired, and was obliged to go to bed early.

My imagination was challenged to explain what was going on. What is this perspective that watches a dream as though watching a movie, I wondered? What really happens during those gaps between dreams? How did I transition so instantaneously from a mild psychedelic trance to watching a dream? What was the significance of the fox jumping across that stream? Could that stream be some sort of Jungian archetype representing the divide between ordinary experience and the land of dreams?

In the weeks following that "all-nighter" I hit a run of bad-luck. I had to travel with my new boss, and he started putting his hand on my leg while I was driving the car. I told him to lay off, because I was straight. Back in the office I got paranoid about him looking at me, imagining he was thinking of me a sex-object. But then my own sex life took a wrenching turn for the worse: my girlfriend got pregnant and I couldn't see us getting married. She hated her stepmother, was incredibly angry at her father, and I feared that if I ever pissed her off that unforgiving anger would take aim at me. So we batted around our conflicting perspectives; and then I took her out-of-state for an abortion, paid for it, and endured her terrible pain and anger.

That bruising episode was closely followed by a financial fiasco. While working a previous job I had bought a fixer-upper house and hired Harry, just a few years out of high school, to renovate it for me. While he was working on my house I switched jobs and moved into the city. When the renovation was finished I sold the house. But we had bought a truck and Harry had learned how to pick-up day laborers and manage their work, so he wanted to continue. We formed a construction company specializing in demolition, foundation work and masonry and I financed more equipment for him. Three years later his wife left him, running off to Europe while he was right in the middle of the biggest contract he had ever scored. He dropped everything and followed her to Europe, and after some weeks persuaded her to come back. When they returned I drove out to meet with him and figure out what to do. The discussion narrowed down to how to liquidate our equipment: two trucks and a backhoe.

In spite of that disaster we were still friends, so he asked me to stay for dinner. I was not their only guest that evening. A family that typified the signature culture of the ‘60s had come to visit from the west coast and they were spending the night. After dinner the west coast family’s dad, a fellow about my own age, produced a toothpaste tube, opened up its back end, and pinched out a line of marijuana, rolling it into a large cigarette that was passed around. Being so beset with troubles and dearly wanting to get them off my mind, I joined in. The conversation soon trailed off, and before long Harry and his wife retired to the bedroom while the west coast family stretched out on the floor. Apparently marijuana had a completely different effect on them than it did on me because in no time they were sound asleep: the parents in a big sleeping bag together and their two children strewn on the rug like sleeping cherubs.

It was getting late and I was thinking it was time for me to go. But countering that thought was the realization that my driving would be impaired by the weed, so I decided to wait until its effects abated. I lay back on the couch for a while, thinking about the mess I had made of my life. My romantic liaison had self-destructed. The job I had poured my energies into had become intolerable. My considerable investment in the construction business was gone. And I had already started looking for a different job, so I realized I would be uprooting myself again, maybe even leaving the city where I had lived off and on again throughout my life. Now I saw the city in a different light. My long-time dream of what my life would be like there was shattered.

As I lingered on the couch, torn between falling asleep and pulling myself together to drive off in my car, I felt like a broken person. I recognized that I was really was broken, and for the first time faced a hopeless feeling that welled up in me. On the floor I saw the little family scattered about, sleeping peacefully, beyond the cares of the world. A warm sense of their peace came over me and I felt myself falling asleep too. But because I hadn't decided to stay, I was fighting it. Then the despair that had occupied my thoughts told me to stop fighting and accept the oblivion that awaited me. I simply gave up and let go.

My consciousness felt like it was disintegrating. I willingly let it happen. A dreamlike continuum ensued, like a movie glimpsed from a distance. You hear the phrase "his whole life passed before his eyes"…it was perhaps something like that because it seemed to explain what my life -- and life itself -- was all about. This dream seemed to have infinite and timeless extension, yet it actually happened very quickly. Then, it cleared and after a few seconds a small, precise vision emerged. It was a vortex twisting out from a hidden point source and opening toward me like the bell of a trumpet. This vision lasted long enough to imprint itself like a photograph on my mind. Then, the dynamic of the vortex crashed into me like a bolt of lightning.

I had been reclining, about half propped up on sofa pillows, but this internal encounter jacknifed me, pressing my face to my knees while my hands thrust out to my feet. What my body was reacting to was awesome POWER, as though I being subjected to high voltage electricity coursing through my brain. For my ego, it was total humiliation, the knowledge that the power that had created me was putting me in my place, prostrating me between life and death.

The reaction of my perspective was electric. Skepticism, man-made myths, and philosophy that tries to objectify the unfathomable were swept away. I think the experience lasted about 30 seconds. When it ended I sat up, stunned. It occurred to me that the most important thing that was ever going to happen to me had just happened. Over the years, that estimate has proved accurate. In a matter of seconds I had gone from being a complete skeptic to being wholly certain. This was not belief; this was knowing. As I was sitting there, trying to recover, Harry's wife came out of the bedroom heading for the bathroom door, which was just beyond the couch where I was perched. She looked at me and said, “You look very sad.”

I was surprised to hear I looked sad, but then realized tears were silently streaming down my face. “Those aren’t tears of sadness,” I said, “those are tears of joy.”

She paused briefly, apparently digesting this information. “I wish tears of joy would happen to me sometimes,” she quipped. “Nothing ever happens to me.” Continuing on into the bathroom, she closed the door behind her.

I got up, let myself out of the apartment, and drove away. Although disturbed and in a state of intellectual shock, my driving proceeded with normal competence. But upon arrival I was still so stirred up that, instead of going right to bed, I walked around outside for an hour trying to adjust. From my present perspective, 52 years later, writing this account represents yet another way of trying to adjust. But actually, I think I've become a mellow, lucky guy.

Exp Year: 1968	ExpID: 114329
Gender: Male
Age at time of experience: 28
Published: May 1, 2020	Views: 964
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