Journeys into the bright world

An interesting discovery was that even a dose as small as twelve milligrams could produce a salutary effect. Normally it would not have seemed worth bothering with so minuscule an amount. One afternoon, however, I found myself nerved up over problems relating to our foundation and in no mood for an upcoming dinner party. Hence, around midafternoon Howard gave me a twelve milligram shot and I lay down for fifteen minutes. The effect was that which is supposed to be produced by a vibrating bed. It was just a gentle massage, jogging every particle of my scattered psyche back into proper alinement as a magnet might draw a mass of iron fillings into a coherent pattern. The sense of being "all together" lasted the rest of the day and greatly enhanced our evening.

Another mini-trip of fifteen milligrams was taken when I had been on a partial fast for the sake of removing a few pounds. Even though not eating, I sat at the dinner table with Howard. The dose seemed exactly right for the mood and setting. Throughout the meal I felt brilliant, beautiful, rich, relaxed and sparkling. Whereas a predin-ner cocktail would have dulled the senses this easeful upliftment intensified this every detail of that memorable meal. Yellow corn, green lima beans and red peppers in a casserole sparkled mysteriously in the candlelight. The salad of green and purple cabbage and orange carrots ringed with scolloped cucumbers on a bed of lettuce could have been nature's crown jewels. I had no more desire to consume these beauteous vegetables than to munch on emeralds and rubies, yet my soul was sumptuously fed.

Even our table talk remains imprinted in my mind. If one could always be just this high, I averred, what immeasurable influence and worldly accomplishment might be achieved? Since we could occasionally produce this sort of mood on our own, might it not be possible to maximize the ketaminelike substances which the body produces naturally, just as one can produce alpha waves with the aid of a biofeedback machine? When I reached peaks in meditation it was like climbing a hill under my own steam. There was always the necessity to push on. This was more like having a loving hand reach down to pull me up.

Before it had saddened me to have to redescend into the valley of humdrum occupations. Now I saw that the process of shaking off the dust of the plains was like washing. Even if the grime again accumulates, scrubbing is worthwhile simply for the sake of being refreshed. In the long run, being a clean person has its own positive effects.

The conversation then turned to the subject of synthetics, of which ketamine is one. "Well, God also made chemicals!" This was a common enough thought, but then it slid on into the idea, "And we are all chemicals in the body of God." I wondered why the word "synthetic" has pejorative overtones when synthesis is our evolutionary goal. Simultaneously I saw myself as an organic compound being broken down to the molecular level and then restructured into a more effectively functioning human being. It seemed like a rightful way to carry out nature's intent. On the whole, this experience taught me that ketamine may be advantageously used in weight control, since it can so easily diminish one's appetite.

That night I slept well and awoke at our usual outrageous hour of 5:30 am without the customary desire to crawl back under the comforter. Our mini-dose trips had been more useful than I would have expected. Perhaps, in the long run, this would be the way to go.

As the month of February wore on two predinner twenty-five milligram sessions provided an interesting contrast between ideal and real possibilities. In each instance Howard had come home from the hospital, we had our usual yoga workout and dinner had been prepared. It was that quiet evening time when many people would pause for a cocktail-a habit in which we do not indulge. The relaxation engendered was about as great as that to be expected from two stiff drinks, although of an incomparably higher quality. On both occasions we were sitting by candelight at opposite ends of the sofa with feet outstretched, enjoying the music on the radio.

The first time, to my great surprise, images began coming to mind of a house on the Olympic Penninsula (where! have never been) that would or should be our retirement home. It was a simple, comfortable old place set on a steep hillside overlooking a river. Outside was an informal garden, ferns and tall evergreen trees. Inside, the sheen of dark wood set the tone for a high-ceilinged living room with a piano and massive stone fireplace flanked by a cosy country kitchen. I even saw the shed where Howard kept his fishing equipment and inhaled the mossy rain-drenched fragrance of the surrounding forest. We called it "the twelfth house" because it would be our final sanctuary. (In astrology the twelfth house is a place of retreat.)