Journeys into the bright world

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.

With regard to our group samadhi sessions we were surprised to discover how easy it was to integrate the various individuals who showed up at our gatherings. Even when they were unaquainted with each other or were on quite different "trips" there was always a general feeling of unanimity. On one of these occasions in which I myself joined, it seemed as though we were all "spiders of light" weaving a shimmering web which could be dissymetrically attached to any convenient leaf or twig and still maintain a concentric design. One couple was weaving their threads together, another friend was deep in his own reverie, others were looking on and all the while Howard, who had abstained, was monitoring us. Yet we all seemed to be in the most exquisite mental rapport. It was, therefore, no surprise when afterward one of our number commented, "I felt as though we were all spiders hanging out on this one big web."

It was during that same session that I found a new theme being repeatedly drilled into my head. The beat that went on insistently on three descending notes was, "Love is the name of the game. Love is the name of the game…" The experience was so intense that it was impossible to refrain from whispering the phrase two or three times out loud.