Howard. Well, It's Christmas.
Marcia. Yes, it's a Christmas tinsel, light and fluff trip. They're not going to give me the biggie yet. The next present will be after the New Year. This one was all pretty pretty pretty packaging. Tinsel and paper and fluff and light and love and massage and Merry Christmas. It was all Santa Claus and no Christ…
It's mad to say it. Maybe madness is saying things you think in your sane moments but don't dare say. Again and again, a thousand times, I look at your face and I think, Howard looks just the way I think of Christ. That face on the icon. I couldn't love God but I could love Howard. (At that moment Howard's face in repose actually was looking to me like the face of Christ.)
The Hindus are so lucky. They understand these things. You can read about it in the big Ramakrishna book. The mad woman who thought Jesus was her baby-only it was the baby Krishna. They know about finding God through the person you're with. They understand the divine lunatics. I can really understand guru yoga-finding God, or Christ, through the person you're with. But it's a terrible trip to lay on someone. To say, "You look the way Jesus looks." I never loved Jesus. In fact it was a real turn off-all those awful crucifixes. I hated them. But I could really love Howard. And to me now, Howard looks the way Jesus should have looked.
I wish I was a musician. I would write a song and call it, "I wanted Christ and you gave me Santa Claus."
I'm out now. I don't have the nystagmus. And you still look like Christ to me. There's a part of you that is of that archetype. That face on the icon…it's your face. The whole crown of thorns thing, the whole bit. (At that moment, Howard's hair, which is curly and stands out around his face actually did look to me like a crown of thorns. It was only afterwards, however, that I realized that with this intensely real vision I did in fact see Christ as well as Santa Claus. The difference was that Santa was a fleeting hallucination whereas my "Christ" was really there.)
Marcia. I was resisting. The goddess Ketamine has a wisdom of her own. I think it's just a matter of timing. This is what I needed today.
After I was well back to normal I encouraged Howard to take his turn. The following transcript is not very long because most of the time we were listening silently to Christmas music.
Howard. Everything is white. Pretty sound. Um, that punch smells good.
Marcia. I can't smell anything.
Howard. Save me some. That will be good when I come out. Promise me you'll have a cup of punch waiting for me. I can smell it. It's like my nose is in the pot. Hmmm, Mary's made her punch. I love Mary.
Merry Christmas, Ketamine. Merry Ketamine. (Long silence.) I know you love me and you know I love you. It's a whirlpool. I'm starting to go into the vortex. (Long silence listening to music.) That's Christmas. It's significantly significant. (Laughing together.) It's all together one. Wow, very pleasant. (More laughter. Wordless communication.) It's the most wonderful Christmas. Ah, that song is just perfect. I'll always remember this. Wow. Oh God! We're right back to God.
Marcia. We always end up there, don't we? He always gets into these trips.
Howard. This is the universal trip. Wow. Merry Christmas. The Sun and the Moon. I hate to sound so omnipotent. What a beautiful puzzle! Gentle…soft…pillow…fluffy…wow. (Slowly) Who am I? Why am I?… Time and hypertime. It's all love, happiness. Happiness has to have sadness… (Authoritatively) When I set foot on Ashram North… It will be, it will be. True Ashram North will be in the Olympic Peninsula. And they'll come from all over the globe… Remember, Howard Sunny, how powerful this medicine is. You have been chosen as the esoteric anesthesiologist to administer the esthetic anesthetic. Always remember and respect its potency. Marcia. Tell me more.
Howard. Away from the maddening crowd… I have this overwhelming feeling of love.
Marcia. It's the medicine of Venus, pure Venus.
Howard. Why do you love me so much? (Laughing) Is it because I'm God?
Marcia. Maybe.
Howard. We're all gods.
Marcia. You're my way of loving God, I guess.
Howard. That tape recorder can't keep going and going. I have no conception of time.
Marcia. It's still going.
Howard. This stuff is potent. It goes into every crevice of your soul. There can't be one little web that isn't scoured.
Marcia. This is what Christmas is about. You go to that horrendous amount of work so that you can feel the way you feel now.
Howard. Ah, samadhi therapy. (Laughing) Where am I? Who am I? What am I?… Places and spaces.
Although our December 27th session was held after a daylong partial fast I was still feeling earthbound from the several extra pounds of all-too-solid flesh accrued from our holiday indulgences. Hence it seemed logical to assume that fifty milligrams would be no more effective than the fifty taken the day before Christmas. Consequently, I started out sitting erect with my back against the door. By the third minute my body was flattened and my mind once again riding the whirlwind back to the "eternal now" where it seemed as though I had always been. Whereas on planet Earth many events can happen in different places at the same time, there in the cosmatrix many times happen in the same place. Since this is a completely indescribable reversal of customary modes of perception nothing is said of it on the following tape.
Session 14
Marcia. I think what I have built up is more of a psychological than a physical tolerance. But I could be wrong. I was wrong about a lot of things. For example, I was wrong in thinking that I would come to a point where I wouldn't need you with me when coming out. Instead I need it more than ever… Now I'm feeling it already. One minute and ten seconds and I can feel it. One of the reasons the experience is pleasurable is because I know what's coming. It could be panicky if this were the first time and I was in a hospital. There wouldn't be any pleasure at all. It feels good because I know that I'm going into the bright world.
Howard. If you're in the hospital you don't get to feel anything. You go right out.
Marcia. Yes, I guess I'll go deep this time. (Whispering) The esthetic anesthetic. Oh it's so beautiful. Oh…
Howard. Your pulse is up.
Marcia. (Mumbling. For the next twenty minutes I was completely incommunicado. As always, however, there was no diminution of consciousness. As I started the return journey I found myself at the start of the assembly line out of which arechetypes are minted. Everything was turning in such a way as to make it evident that all creation is based on spiraling forms of motion. Witnessing this living geometry of a self-sustaining cosmos it appeared that the same processes governed atoms, men, solar systems and galaxies. Semantically "uni-verse" means turning toward the one center, and this is what I actually saw.
My impression was that there are many interpenetrating levels of archetypes and that this time I had been whirled out of the cosmatrix-as from a centrifuge-onto a subtler plane than any on which I had previously tarried. In a sense, the cosmic vortex seemed to function in the manner of a railway roundhouse which turns the engines to a different angle and alines their wheels with one or another of various possible tracks. On this pivotal level the experience was devoid of emotion. At the same time, the mere fact of being there affected me to the core of my being. It was as though I had to start from these abstract realms to dig the channels through which feelings, released at a lower elevation, would later flow.)