Drifting lazily back to Earth I mused over the etymological connection between "cosmos," a word meaning order and beauty, and its derivation, "cosmetic." How grand it would be if there could be a mundane plane "Cleopatra's Beauty Salon" with hot baths, massages and a line of ketamine-based beauty products-cremes, unguents and all manner of sweet-scented emolients. Imagine being able to rub one of those lotions on the face and keeping that rosy glow all evening. Better yet, how about a ketamine perfume that would cause one's lover to remain gently high as long as he nuzzled one's neck. What beautiful love magic that would be! I regretted that our own supply was too limited to permit this kind of experimentation. Yes, I was back now, and could only whisper "thank you."
Had I spent the day at the finest spa on earth the effect could not have been one tenth as salubrious as that which remained for the next few days. Perhaps it was only my imagination but I could have sworn that my face was smoother, eyes brighter and skin more glowing than before. Certainly there was no way I could have dreamed up the sense of physical well-being that kept me smiling through a multitude of ordinary chores. It may not have been the highest or the lowest, but it was certainly the nicest trip I have ever taken in this or any other world.
For some time it had been in the back of my mind to stage a twenty-five-milligram samadhi session in the tub. Since the taking of long hot baths has always been one of my favorite modes of relaxation I decided the time had come to see if there would be a synergistic interaction between our "vitamin K" and the warm water. On February twenty-fourth I decided to find out. It was a Friday afternoon and Howard had been held over at the hospital for emergency surgery. I knew how tired he was and hoped the relaxation of the bath would soothe my disappointment over having this bite taken out of our precious weekend.
Lounging in the perfumed suds it seemed to me that my system must be becoming remarkably tolerant because nothing, absolutely nothing, was happening. There were no purring sounds, no vestige of giddiness. It was just a soothing soak, albeit my mind did feel remarkably lucid.
My toes, fanning out at the opposite end of the tub, were doubled by their reflection in the water in such a way as to bear a curious resemblance to wings. "Vestigal winglets," I thought. "How like the earthlings to get it all backwards! Mercury's wings should be not on his heels but on his toes." Now my fingers were looking like wings too. "Poor clipped pinions! Beating themselves all day against leaden typewriter keys, trying to incarnate Geminian wings of thought." But at least they served as reminders of where my wings should have been.
Physically, it seemed to me that I could have done gymnastics had the need arisen. Mentally, however, I felt high enough to envision the goddess, even though her form remained obscure. She was brighter and more beautiful than ever and her mind seemed to be impressing itself upon mine like large and small circles being concentrically alined.
"They will try to close the leaden doors of the establishment against you," she was warning. "But when the people want me I will come. The authorities will not be able to shut me out if those who understand will take action in my behalf. You must tell them that."
Now we are looking ahead in time. "They will make trouble for you," she went on. "But at the end you will hear me say, "Now my dear, you have completed your task. It is time to come home again.' " Still in my mind's eye I sensed her opening her arms to take me with her. Yes, it felt so very good to be going home to stay.
That was all there was to it. As I continued to soak it occurred to me that our account was becoming more like a diary than a book. There was never any way of knowing what the next day would bring. Everything was being recorded with the stipulation that irrelevant material could be eliminated at the end. Thus far, however, I had cut not a word.
Two new ideas were also seeping into my mind which seemed worth noting. One was to have Howard take pictures of me on a fifty-milligram trip to see if it would be possible to manifest any vestige of what I was experiencing within. The other idea was that probably Para Research would be the proper publisher for the book. Certainly the people connected with that concern were totally sympathetic and could be counted on to put the manuscript into print with efficiency and dispatch. If resistance was coming we should launch our missile while we could, like a warrior throwing his javelin before members of the opposition can grab his arm.
Because I was so eager to play the game right and not overdo a good thing I had planned to be a simple observer during Marwayne Leipzig's first samadhi session on Saturday, February twenty-fifth (Marwayne's description of this experience is contained in chapter 8 of this book.) However, when Howard offered me a twenty-five-milligram boost I gratefully accepted. Since he was on call that weekend he himself remained grounded. For my own part, I figured that twenty-five milligrams would render me just sensitive enough to tune in on Marwayne and to enjoy the Barbra Streisand record we planned to play as an accompaniment. Since I had eaten well that day it didn't seem likely that much would happen. It was, therefore, a complete surprise when I took off into an intensely meaningful flight of my own.
The first notable effect was that I found myself enthralled by the purity of Barbra's voice as she sang the lyrics of her record "Classical Barbra." Howard and I had played that album all during our courtship and I also had a tape of the same recording in my car. More than any other record it was "our music" and I had heard it at least a hundred times. Yet it had never rung more pristinely through the atmosphere than now. Several of the songs were sung in other languages and Barbra's accent in each one was flawless. I knew how hard she must have worked to perfect each bell-tone syllable. At the same time I heard her thinking, "No one will ever really appreciate this extra effort I am making, but I'm going to do it absolutely right anyway." At that moment I wanted desperately to shout out, "But we do appreciate it; we are grateful; the difference does matter!"
Had Barbra been there in the flesh I would have fallen at her feet in unabashed idolatry. For the first time I really comprehended the adulation given to movie stars and why they are worshiped like gods and goddesses. Of course they deserve our love, I thought, because they are the modern archetype makers, the heroes and heroines of the legends that feed our souls. The grooves of spinning records, the reels revolving film-these were manmade replicas of the wheels with which the universe eternally recreates itself-Hollywood prayer wheels. In my deeper meditations I had seen the archetypes being carved out from within, like coring an apple. Now I saw how they were shaped from without, like stamping the discs of recordings that could be played repeatedly. And always the shape was in one way or another reminiscent of a spiral.
Throughout this reverie I remained seated in the lotus posture, still aware of being in the livingroom with Marwayne and Howard. At the same time, to my overwhelming joy, I found myself returning to my cosmic beauty parlor. "This can't be," I protested. "I've already visited this archetype. It was wonderful beyond words but I know I can't just go back again and again."
"You don't seem to realize," the strong feminine voice that I had heard before reassured me. "The secret of a massage lies in making the same circular motions over and over. Lots of women go for beauty treatments every week. The magic is in the repetition. Just be peaceful now and let us work on you."