I was aware that my hand had slid down off the couch and felt as though I wanted to uncross my legs. With attentive concentration I made the effort to lift my arm and uncross my legs. To my amazement they were feather-light and I did both with the greatest of ease. It was as though I were a foot or two off the couch and my hand and foot were weightless. I wondered if I could open my other hand; instead I opened my eyes. Soft greens filtered through the kaleidoscope of color I had been viewing, and for a brief moment or two I was back in the livingroom. Howard was tending to a candle, paring some wax from it. Looking toward the far wall I saw the familiar Indian screen and the hanging plant above it. Seemingly the plant had expanded in size and was in full bloom. It was gently swaying back and forth. "Howard must have knocked it somehow," I thought. But as I kept looking at it I realized that it was a measured, metered swing, not diminishing in scope. "That plant is moving to the beat of the universe," something in me remarked.
Closing my eyes the familiar Streisand songs caught my attention again. The color patterns were still forming before my closed eyes, now linear, now vertical. It occurred to me that these patterns had astrological correlates. "The first colors were Piscean," I mused, recalling the greens. Now came the shimmering gold tones, not as paint but as light. "Leo." Could I see any reds? Having an Aries Moon and Mars in Scorpio I looked forward to viewing a panoply of reds, just as I had been privileged to witness the greens and blues.
"The colors have been analogous," I thought. "Oh stop it. You are doing your Virgo thing of examing all the details too closely." This analytical bent annoyed me since the patterns were-changing too swiftly for me to study them in minute detail.
I smiled to myself. Then followed an exquisite array of reds and purples, almost black in their density. "Aha, Scorpio!"
Suddenly I was seeing the sheer, creamy green tones again and a voice said, "And what are you going to tell the ladies at Juneau?" (I am slated to teach an astrology workshop in Juneau, Alaska, in mid-March.) I waited poised, as though some magical answer might be given, or some heretofore untold truth in astrology might be revealed to me. But that crystalling voice did not supply the answers. I smiled, knowing that I would have to work on a speech and preparation of the workshop.
It is impossible for me to describe the full scope of this experience. I haven't the necessary vocabulary. But throughout the entire time I was fully aware of my own being and name. I never lost contact with the idea that I was a privileged observer to something infinitely more beautiful than I had ever perceived before. Vertical planes changed into linear ones and I "went with them," sliding between to merge with the colors themselves. Some of what I saw reminded me of the colors one sees when oil and water mix together and run down a driveway, not as dirty oil but as shimmering violets and blues. The colors enveloped me; I was part of them, and at the same time an observer. At one point it was so beautiful that I shouted mentally, "If this is samadhi, HERE I AM!"
My cautious Virgoan nature also reminded me that perhaps one of the reasons I was delighting in all these colors is because I was born with Venus conjunct Neptune in Leo. "Could I grow to love' this?" I wondered. "Could I become addicted to it?" Yet I knew that ketamine is nonaddictive. I mention this to illustrate that although I was being carried along, immersed in the greatest beauty I could possibly imagine, my mind was still able to function lucidly in its own capacity.
"Ah," I thought, hearing Barbra, "now she is singing in French… She does it really rather well." Then I let go again, drifting with the free-form currents of color. In the beginning I was grateful for the familiar music, as it was my tie to ordinary reality. However, as I went further into the flowing oscillating, ever-varied color patterns I sometimes felt faintly annoyed, resenting that my familiarity with the music kept bringing recognition to my mind. When there was a piano accompaniment the piano was almost like a new instrument to me, it was so unbelievably clear in its tones. I remember mumbling, "This one is my favorite, and I never knew it before. It is so pristine." Then I smiled to myself again thinking, "What a typically Virgoan remark that must be!"
Opening my eyes again I saw Marcia sitting on the floor near the foot of the couch. Her eyes seemed to take up more than half of her face. "Incredible eyes," I thought. Then I decided I would try to say it, and found that with remarkable ease the words came out, "You have the most exquisite eyes."
For a moment I felt saddened because I realized the effects of the ketamine were wearing off. Deliberately I closed my eyes, determined to have yet another "vision." Instead I saw some fine red-patterened lines looking rather like cracked crystal. These gradually took on a fuzzy grayish look as if a fungus were growing on them. "Well," I thought reluctantly, "that must be it," and opened my eyes again. I asked if it was all right to sit up and they both assured me it would be fine, but to do so slowly in case of light-headedness. But I seemed to be in full control of all my faculties, with no ill effects whatsoever.
Marcia brought me a cup of herb tea and a bowl of mixed nuts. I ate them and sipped the tea, munching away and talking. Sentences were sometimes left incomplete, as my mind simply could not find words and sipped the tea, munching away and talking. Sentences were sometimes left incomplete, as my mind simply could not find words to describe the experience. Occasionally it would waft back into a dreamy state, nostalgically recalling where it had been and seeking to recapture those visions of ethereal beauty. Private thoughts pushed in.
"I wonder if the spirit enjoys something like this when the body dies? Did I catch a glimpse of eternity? How beautiful the universe is!"
I asked how much time had elapsed from the moment of the injection until I had sat up and talked. I seemed as though it could not have been more than twelve minutes. Marcia was not sure. Howard checked his watch and replied, "About forty-five minutes." During the experience my mind would sometimes tell me, "It is going so fast. Flow with it," as if I realized that this intense concentration could not last. Afterward I wondered if being so Mercurial is not a drawback. Ice cream melted in my mouth even as I was tasting it. And then I thought to myself, "Isn't it always so, with anything exquisite?" and I was glad that my Mercurial mind functions as it does, permitting me to recall the forty-five minutes as one recalls a happy time with a dear friend, a bath one gave an infant a long time ago or being in love the first time.
I walked to the window looked out at the soft greens and grays of our February winter afternoon, and remarked, "What a beautiful Washington day. I do love Washington."
Almost from the start of our work with other people I realized that of all the many enterprises in which I have engaged in this lifetime the practice of "samadhi therapy" is the one that has been of the most service to others. Consequently, it is the most personally fulfilling. It was especially gratifying, therefore, to discover that Howard felt the same way. As he put it:
All the years I have spent my life's energy giving anesthesia to ungrateful patients, and what's more disappointing, in assisting surgeons who have forgotten the simple art of showing appreciation for services rendered. Comparing the indifference of these supremely educated, ever determined-to-do-more-surgery doctors with Marwayne's "Thank you, Howard, for one of the most beautiful experiences I have had in this lifetime," I am of course motivated to carry on with this research on a full-time basis.