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A Neophyte's Journey Into Entheogenic Experience |
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Written by Chloroboy
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Tuesday, 12 August 1997 |
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Page 1 of 2 Disclaimer: ChloroBoy is a small-time rookie novice with no knowledge of anything, therefore he politely declines any responsibility for your foolishness should you unwisely attempt to emulate anything discussed in the following fictional essay.
The word “entheogen” first appeared to me during a brief stop at The Lycaeum. It struck me as odd that anyone would bother with using one term--much less in the form of an odd-sounding one--to describe hallucinogens and the like. How useful could that be? Did the term “entheogen” represent anything more than some bullshit linguistic attempt to “legitimize” drug use? Who created it? I ruminated over these questions for a time but never reached any conclusions, and soon thereafter forgot the matter altogether.
Then one day in late Spring, I ran across Gracie and Zarkhov 's writings on using harmaline and DMT. I found their experiences fascinating, and when I discovered that harmala/harmaline could be easily extracted from passionflower, I wasted no time in seeking one out. Going to the nursery, something I've done hundreds of times, was suddenly an odd experience as I tried to look casual while gawking at perfectly legal plants that could be used as hallucinogens. Even during adolescence, I had suspected there were multitudes of plants that could be used nefariously. How could it be otherwise? But actually learning about them, and acting on that knowledge, made me feel as though I was discovering Mother Earth's best kept secret.
I was in luck. The nursery had a couple of passionflowers, both “Passiflora cerulea.” An earthy lady glided behind the cash register and gave me a sly look. She obviously approved of my choice. “This is a beautiful plant,” she said. I froze for just a second . “Did you know you can make a tea with the blooms? It's like a narcotic.”
“No kidding?” I replied. Trying to restrain my enthusiasm over the two small vines on the counter, I groped for something innocuous to say. “Well that's...that's a nice, uh, little bonus, then,” I mumbled. Giddy with excitement, it was all I could do to not scream “Blooms, hell. The whole damn thing's psychoactive!”
My dear, sweet wife, Jane, usually tolerant of my whims, rolled her eyes when I told her what I wanted to do. “What the hell is an intergenic garden?” she said, exasperated, wondering if I would ever grow up. Reluctant to correct her pronunciation, I did my best to explain. It was evident that she did not readily share my enthusiasm for the subject. Grasping at some new way of winning her heart and mind for the millionth time, I explained there would be other benefits from my newfound hobby. In addition to my “medicinal” herbs, there would be culinary ones as well. Jane is a wonderful cook, and the prospect of fresh rosemary, basil, thyme and oregano was enough, barely, to offset her initial reluctance.
The next couple of weeks would be spent buying wood, hardware, pots, soil and building a couple of trellises and an herb stand. My precious plants would now be relatively safe from the daily swath of backyard destruction cut by my two seventy-five-pound, romping, roving canines.
The vines quickly began to thrive once transplanted into large pots, scaling the trellises and revealing what must surely be some of the most beautiful blooms on earth. The flowers themselves are short-lived but new blooms appear daily, revealing their delicate features in the early morning hours and folding up as sunlight fades into evening. And then there are those tendrils, so incredibly alive. Reaching, stretching, curling around the dowels of the trellis while carefully clinging to other tendrils, stems and leaves. Anyone who witnesses the steady growth of Passiflora would be hard pressed to state unequivocally that there is no such thing as “plant consciousness.” And that's just from watching it. Think about that the next time you're picking peganum harmala seeds from between your teeth. Don't deprive yourself of a rich entheogenic experience by neglecting to cultivate this wondrous plant.
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