The foolish reject what they see, not what they think; the wise reject what they think, not what they see. ~Huang-Po
The day we had chosen for preparing and consuming the mescaline looked like it would be clear and warm. Jack said that was a very good thing, as there’d be quite a lot of sitting around and waiting to do. It was 6am and only just getting light but we wanted to start early.
Jack pulled out an oblong box that, before we’d crossed the border into Canada, he’d hidden in a secret compartment in the side panel of the van. Inside was a cactus wrapped in clear plastic. I’d expected a Peyote cactus, the one I recognised from my childhood in Mexico, those small, flattened bulbous buds with the white and yellow flower on top, but instead it was a San Pedro cactus. Adam had told him that this one was from the Peruvian Andes, from a very good batch.
The San Pedro had lengthy, girthy, ribbed stems, and when Jack cut into one the cross section looked like a star with seven points. He cut off a section around two feet long for the two of us. He said it was enough and that we’d have a little left over if we decided to do it again. He put the remaining bit of cactus back in the box, careful not to prick himself with the spines as he did it. He unfolded some notepaper – the instructions for the preparation from Adam. I sat down, put a rug over my shoulders, and stroked Oak, who had decided to rest her head on my lap. I watched while Jack got out all the things he needed and laid them out on the earth in front of me. A gas canister, camping stove, several large bottles of water, a large cooking pot, two knives, two lemons, a wooden spoon, and a battery powered blender. The blender was also a gift from Adam, Jack told me, solely for the purpose of extracting the mescaline. He kept checking back to his small page of handwritten notes. Then he mumbled something to himself and went round to another part of the van and rummaged through some things. A few moments later he came back round to the back of the van with a cotton t-shirt in his hand and he placed it down with the other objects. He started packing the items in a large empty backpack.
Soon we were carrying the kit deep into the forest. We followed a path for a while and then veered off, wading through fern and shrubs I didn’t know the names of. Within about twenty minutes we reached a small clearing and decided it would be our spot. I put my bag down, looked around me. An ocean of foliage surrounded us. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the colour green. I breathed in deeply and I could smell a delicious mixture of decaying bark, fresh greenery and fungi.
Jack unloaded his backpack and arranged the contents onto a large rug he’d spread out onto the uneven ground. We sat down opposite each other with all this stuff between us, and I watched him as he consulted his instructions and proceeded to arrange the objects in a way that made more sense to him.
‘What can I help with?’ I asked.
He cut the cactus in two, passed one half over to me carefully, and handed me a knife. ‘Here, cut this up into slices,’ he said.
And so, together, we began to prepare the cactus. He’d warned me that the preparation would take a long time. We cut it up into slices, then into smaller pieces. Then he reached for the blender and put a few handfuls of the cactus pieces in with some water. After blending them he poured the mixture into the cooking pot and then repeated the blending of cactus pieces with water until all the cactus pieces had been used up and the pot was two thirds full of a frothy mixture. Then he put the pot on the gas stove and started heating it.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘now we have to be patient. This is going to be heating for at least another three hours.’
‘Are you serious?’
He nodded.
‘Do you think it’s safe? What if someone finds us?’
He shrugged and smiled.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘we’re already on the run anyway. Being caught for making cactus soup is hardly a big deal considering the circumstances.’
I laughed. He was right. I’d almost forgotten we were running away. And, strangely, now that he’d reminded me, it didn’t seem to bother me as much as it perhaps should have. I wasn’t overcome with anxiety. Besides, running away was hardly the right term for it anymore. No one was running.
‘And anyway,’ he said, looking around him at this beautiful secluded secret spot of ours, whilst he stirred the mixture, ‘we’re not going to get caught.’
*
So we had at least three hours to wait. During the first half hour or so Jack stirred the mixture regularly and checked its consistency. Later on it was left to mostly just simmer by itself.
Jack wanted to make sure it had boiled for long enough, so in the end he left it on the heat for over four hours. He ripped the t-shirt and placed it over the mixer, using it as a strain as he poured over the contents of the pot little by little. Gradually the liquid seeped through the t-shirt into the mixer, and a pulp was slowly left behind. He waited a good while until the pulp had cooled down enough, wrapped the t-shirt round the pulp completely and then squeezed any remaining liquid out.
‘Ta-dah!’ he said, pointing to the juice.
‘Is that it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Finally! And what… we just drink it?’
‘Yes. Once it’s cooled.’
He cut a lemon into quarters. He consulted his piece of paper one last time, and then finally poured the juice out into two cups.
‘Okay, here,’ he said, passing me a cup. Then, with a grin on his face, he placed a full bottle of water and the lemon quarters between us. ‘We’ll need these,’ he said. ‘It’s going to taste disgusting.’
How right he was. It was the most disgusting, slimy, bitter thing I had ever tried in my life. Though I’d imagined it would taste bad, I hadn’t expected it to be quite as horrible as it was. After just one tiny – barely a – sip, I retched. I rinsed my mouth with water. I sucked on a lemon piece as hard as I could, screwing my face up from the sourness. I glanced over at Jack. He was doing pretty much the same. Then, I counted to three, pinched my nose and gulped that small amount of cactus soup down as quickly as I could. Finally I sucked hard on another piece of lemon, as though I was doing a tequila shot – if only! I wanted to laugh at us both but I felt too nauseous. I got up and walked towards a tree. I leaned against it, doubled over. I was convinced I was about to throw up. But somehow I didn’t. I walked back to Jack who looked like he was concentrating on some deep breathing. I sat down next to him, took his hand in mine and smiled, not just at him, but at everything.
*
Green! An explosion of green! I see green, and blue and red and yellow! My god! Colour! Glorious colour! I am so moved, I want to cry.
Oh god! The trees! They’re bursting with life. Each insect, each drop of water, and each leaf in this living forest is seen in its raw form: astonishing, beautiful and improbable. A miracle. I am captivated.
Life is vibrating and pulsating all around and within. What is inner and what is outer? I no longer feel the separation between the two.
Direct vision. Immediate life. Total mind-shattering clarity.
All the things I ever learned are suddenly unlearned; all those words and concepts fall away to reveal life as it is, not as I had dreamt it was. All acquired knowledge is replaced by a direct, absolute and intense knowing. Knowing everything, knowing the mystery, without knowing how. No need to ask why.
In a puff of smoke Silvia’s story drops away and I stand in front of life. Raw naked life. Delicious and stunning.
I have no hallucinations. Instead I see everything as if for the very first time… and it is all extraordinary. Everything’s changed, but in a sense nothing’s changed at all. The ordinary has become extraordinary. What was here before is still here, except there is no longer a veil blocking me from seeing it. Actually seeing it. No longer a prism distorting my vision. I finally see the world.
And it is all so clear and simple that I can’t help but burst out laughing! It was always so obvious and yet I couldn’t see! How ridiculously wonderful, stupidly magnificent!
And everything is light. Beautiful resplendent light.
My mind is empty and I’m just so… relaxed.
*
It was getting dark when we began to pack things up. We hadn’t really spoken to each other much, but there was no need for talking. Words seemed unnecessary. We smiled and we knew. We just knew.
We walked back to the van and I relished every sensation, my feet pressing the earth, the plants brushing against my skin, the crunch of branches beneath my feet, the tink tink sound of the metal cup strapped to Jack’s backpack that shook with his every step. I couldn’t see colour anymore, that only lasted a moment, but I didn’t need to. Everything was perfect as it was.
We weren’t hungry and we couldn’t sleep, so we just lay there in the van for hours holding each other, until the morning sun rose again.
*
As a young child I saw the world for what it was. Every waking moment was filled with awe at the inexplicable magic trick of existence. It’s been here ever since, except the difference now is that I have grown used to it. I take it for granted and so I cannot see it. It is hidden behind a veil of normality. A veil of concepts, words, labels and ideas. A veil of perception. I think I know what a tree is, therefore I cannot see the tree.
What can I say of my mescaline experience except that it reminded me of something I’d sensed as a child, and that I’d come close to during my moments of flow whilst painting. What the eye sees when it truly sees… it takes your breath away.
I was still buzzing from the memory of the experience the next morning as I lay by Jack’s side waiting for him to wake up. The mescaline had now definitely worn off, and I felt like I wanted to talk again. He stirred and finally opened his eyes.
Jack was amazed to find out that I had seen colour during my trip. We discussed and compared our trips at length and we found ourselves finishing each other’s sentences because of the similarities. We laughed together in a way that we had never laughed before. The laughter of mad men – or perhaps those who have just been cured of their madness. And at other times we were silent. We’d just stare at each other with wide eyes and knowing smiles.
‘Jack,’ I said at one point, ‘remember at the beginning you were worried that the trip might be a disappointment? Well, was it?’
‘No, definitely not disappointing.’
‘But was it similar to what happened on the beach?’
Jack took a while to reply.
‘Similar perhaps, but not the same. In a sense they’re incomparable.’
‘In what ways?’
‘I guess on the beach it was completely unexpected. So the whole thing was more powerful and… absolute.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘I don’t know Silvia. They’re both just memories now though, it doesn’t matter what happened and what they were like. The details don’t matter. It’s this though, isn’t it?’ he said, his face once again alight with a smile, ‘It’s right here. It’s not about yesterday or Montauk. It’s this. Now.’
Then we both began to laugh again because really it was all so absurd and wonderful.
On that July day that I swallowed a bitter cup of San Pedro mescaline extraction, under a canopy of giant cedar and western hemlock, I saw the world with the clarity of a child’s eye. How good it felt to have seen the world in this way again. To be reminded. And how easy it would be to forget.