Even though the joy vibrations lingered on, the forcible dilation of my sensory apparatus left me "freaked-out" and exhausted for three days. Consequently, I determined not to push my luck by soliciting a repeat performance. It was enough to know that this luminous reality existed and could be apprehended even while the soul remained attached to its cage of flesh. I was grateful for this gift of "gratuitous grace" and willing to descend into the valley from whence the next mountaintop of spiritual discovery would have to be climbed under my own steam.
Now more than five years later it appeared that another chance might be granted to peck like a fledgling chicken beyond the egg-shaped confines of the skull. Even with my yogic practices this dome of bone remained an obdurate barrier between my ego-encapsulated persona and the bright beyond. Several months earlier when Jane first mentioned ketamine she insisted that although the substance was as potent as LSD it was gentle on the body, clarified the mind, and lasted less than an hour. Moreover, in many people it produced what appeared to be genuine out-of-the-body experiences.
Being of the school of thought that holds that you don't get something for nothing it was hard for me to believe that any drug could shatter the rigid defenses of consciousness without damaging the embryonic organism within. Nevertheless, I was impressed by Jane's insistence that she had taken the substance at least two hundred times herself and had presided over as many sessions with others. Only once had there been an adverse reaction. On this exceptional occasion difficulty arose because the subject tried to move about as the drug took effect. Evidently he was trying to assert his own powers of control.
Even with my limited experience I well understand this problem. With all "mind-manifesting" substances surrender is the name of the game. Once you take that dive into the deep waters of the psyche it is useless to make a frantic grab for the springboard in midair. Changing one's mind at that point can result only in a disagreeable bellyflop. The forces engendered must take their course. In this respect the cultivated relaxation of yoga makes an excellent preparation for the psychedelic plunge. Still more important is the basic quality of faith in the goodness of the Universe and in the divine Self within.
We had little difficulty finding Jane's house, which lay snugly hidden below the hillside where the traffic snaked back and forth between mountains and sea. Jane herself greeted us warmly at the door and ushered us into a sanctuary that was an esthetic delight, alive with thriving plants, a few exotic sculptures and wall hangings and with a view of the sparkling surf below. The wide-windowed livingroom was sparsely but elegantly furnished with black Japanese-style mats and cushions laid out on a shining wooden floor. At one end a sloping brick fireplace melded harmoniously into the richness olj trailing greenery, while at the other a redwood porch jutted out among the treetops. Each graciously fashioned touch was an invitation to repose.
Toward the end of the afternoon the three of us drove to Big Sur's world-famed Esalen Institute where we luxuriated in the outdoor mineral baths while watching the sun sink over the sea and the stars come out. As the darkness deepened Jane lit candles and incense and I was reminded of the purificatory bathing rituals said to have been practiced in the legendary temples of Greece, Egypt, and Atlantis where sleep therapy was commonly practiced. Gazing at that candle flame against the sky I hoped that if my long-time dream of helping to launch a holistic healing center ever came true the work would be carried on in a place with natural hot springs.
Returning to the house we met Jane's spiritual "little brother," a slender young man with long hair who had adopted the East Indian name Rama. Although Rama lived reclusively back in the hills he made occasional trips to Mexico where he was able to obtain a supply of ketamine. Although he did not bother to explain the nature of his mission to the authorities, presumably he was breaking no law since no steps had been taken to ban this particular medicine.
Somehow, in an understated way, it was conveyed to us that Rama would share his precious elixir with us if we so desired. Isabel, who is fortunate enough to be naturally clairvoyant and able to tune in on cosmic verities without a chemical booster, declined, but I gratefully accepted the offer. From start to finish the issue of payment was never raised. I knew that Jane, who worked hard for a living, was not affluent. Certainly Rama was not making a fortune as a drug runner. The purity of their intentions was incontrovertible.
As the evening wore on Jane, with a minimum apparent effort, produced an exquisite dinner for four. The menu consisted of fresh baby artichokes which, to our amazement, had no chokes, salad, soup, fruit, nuts, and a discreet glass of wine. No one seemed to be in any hurry to do anything. Around ten o'clock Isabel excused herself to retire to a small side bedroom and I made my place for the night on one of the livingroom mats.
As I relaxed, Rama explained that he would be the one to administer the injection. The sterilized needle would be inserted not into a vein but directly into the muscle tissue. I was simply to let go and enjoy the experience. It was clear that Rama was an expert with the hypodermic which he thrust into my arm smoothly and painlessly. I noticed that the fluid was as clear as water and took only a couple of seconds to leave the syringe. In less than two minutes, far sooner than expected, the rush began.
Session 1
It started with a slight giddiness and a noise like the chirping of crickets. The cricket chorus rapidly swelled to a smooth purring roar similar to that produced by the motor of a well-tuned racing car. This was not one solid sound but rather a propeller-like staccato whirr which seemed to come from an external source. I felt effulgently happy and at ease, even though the traceries of dark beams against the white ceiling were now dancing back and forth and dissolving into a kaleidoscopic reverie of geometrical designs. The sensation was reminiscent of the times I had inhaled nitrous oxide at the dentist's office. But that had been like standing at a door. This time I was going – in. It also felt like going home. My voice thickened; speech was impossible, and then I was spinning round and round like tumbleweed and the sense of familiarity was becoming greater and greater…
In the next half hour, during which the drug was operating at maximum potency, I never lost consciousness, even though ordinary body awareness was totally gone. To an observer I would have appeared completely insensible, deeply anesthetized. Yet, even though the memory of that state remains it can only be called "indescribable." To speak of a thunderous silence, or a multidimensional sphere turning upon itself, or of identification with undifferentiated vibratory energy is probably as close as words can come to portraying a truly ineffable condition of existence. This inner realm, full of sound, color, and sensation was itself entirely formless. Here there could be no distinctions between subject and object, this and that, I and thou. Only the vast nameless faceless process remained, churning on and on and on. Somehow it seemed evident that it would continue to roll around that way forever like a ponderous wheel upon which the chariots of the gods might ride on to eternity.