Journeys into the bright world

The trouble with most drug-induced "highs" is that eventually one comes down with a depressing thud. With ketamine, however, the high is followed by a mellowing. For my own part, there was a continuing effort to gear the whirling cogs of my untrammeled mental gyrations to the mainspring of my daily rounds and to make these large and small wheels mesh within a single framework of space-conditioned time. In general my body seemed better balanced as though concentric circles of light were radiating from the heart. Nerves like violin strings could be more easily tensed to the point where, neither too tight nor too relaxed, they could sound a clearer note. On the negative side, however, I felt as though I needed more protection, and certainly more sleep. In moments of fatigue there was a part of me that felt fragile, blue-veined and shattery, like the finest of fine white porcelaine figurines. That sense of frailty was hard to admit because I wanted others to be able to enjoy the experiences with which we had been so richly gifted. Nevertheless, there was never any question but that honesty would come first.

Drug-taking has long been associated with spaciness, unrealism, and impracticality. In this regard there seemed to be no dulling of the cutting edge of my ability to apportion the many demands of a demanding routine. There was, however, a greater openness to the feelings of others, a more compassionate concern for their problems, and a more conscientious determination to help. This sensitization had its drawbacks, leaving me often on the edge of tears. On the other hand, sympathy has its uses and understanding can be a practical asset. Certainly the ability to care provides an incentive to efficient and effective action. To one who can perceive the end results of innate predispositions the dull pragmatism of the confirmed cynic is probably about the least practical attitude there can be.

These motivational evaluations were stimulated by our resolve to write a personal narrative detailing our adventures with ketamine. Even while it dawned on me how much work such a project would entail our days became extraordinarily busy. I wanted to be the perfect wife, stepmother, cook, housekeeper and therapist. Mail was flowing in, all of which I answered even though the costs of doing so far exceeded book royalties. New lectures had to be prepared, Ananta Foundation had to be managed, and our Bulletin written and sent out. A trip abroad was in the offing and the phone was as importunate as ever. Even when we arose at our customary hour of 5:30 A.M. and worked straight through the day I never really felt caught up.Normally this much activity would have caused a distracting sense of pressure. But somehow I didn't feel that hard-pushed. Then a thought clicked. Formerly, my main energy drain had stemmed from the frustration of having too little time to devote to spiritual disciplines. But since it had become possible to enjoy "instant samadhi" at will, what did it matter if there were fewer hours to pursue the means which supposedly would have led to this same end. The craving to pay more attention to myself had been actuated by the desire to achieve the kind of realizations that all at once had become ours for the asking. No longer did it seem necessary to fly breathlessly up the trail to some hypothetical mountaintop. Having already perched upon the heights it now made sense to pause, enjoy the scenery along the way and remain open to the possibility that even these lower elevations might offer views which, in my helter-skelter ascent, I had been missing.

According to the tradition of yoga there are many modes of development, all of which eventually lead to the same goal. By choice my path was karma yoga-the discipline of selfless service. However, even while asserting that doing for others is the surest and fastest way to God, there remained the suspicion that in the busy-ness of attending to a multitude of chores I was neglecting my own spiritual development. Recently a dear friend had termed me a "phony" because I was running about organizing programs and giving lectures instead of sitting in meditation and cultivating the power simply "to be." Her words could not have been so cutting if some part of me hadn't admitted that she had a point.

Now however, all these efforts, even the abortive ones, seemed justified. I knew my own wandering mind well enough to realize that not even years of meditation could have brought the insights derived from fifty milligrams of ketamine. Henceforth I could concentrate on worldly duties without that soul-deep hunger for the sweet silence of undisturbed solitude. The resolving of this conflict was for me the first and most flavorsome fruit of samadhi therapy.