Trip Report 4, IFAS 113
December 2, 1961
I feel a need to rewrite my report of the LSD session which took place on the second of November; it has taken several weeks to assimilate and understand the experience.
During an interview with Myron he had suggested, "Just be yourself." I was at once frightened – lost – searching – Who was "me?"
At 8:55 A.M., 200 Gamma of LSD was given in liquid form. Dr. S. suggested I lie down and listen to "The Sermon on the Mount." Myron adjusted the headphones, placed the "mike" around my neck, fastened the cord around my waist, and placed the cloth over my face. A Belafonte recording was played - M. sat quietly holding my hand - suddenly I was unable to breath - I pulled the cloth from my face and complained about the cold. Became more restless, anxious, and very cold. Leg muscles seemed to spasm. M. replaced the cloth told me to leave it on. I seemed to suffocate - became angry over the cloth and felt I was being ordered around. Triangular flat stained, glass-like forms, moved in on me - moved away, up, down, and in again. Everything was out of focus and fast hemming me in - I was caught in the movement - I couldn't get free - Oh God! I couldn't breathe! Wanted my mother (who had recently died) and started to cry for her. Irene came to my side. Felt real comfort from her. Reassured myself of her presence by constantly touching her. Nothing made sense. I couldn't get free - suddenly beautiful colors - for a moment I am free - I can rise above the movement and dance on the colors - wonderful fun, but short lived - Irene has gone - I am alone, caught again in the trap - pushing, controlling, demanding movement - I was very cold and very angry. I want my mother, she's lost, where did she go? Searching - climbing - looking - alright! I'll go it alone - I don't need anyone! Cold - cold - cold. Hated M. with a passion. He had me all tied up - no wonder I couldn't get free, couldn't find me! Some part of me was praying for help. M. ask me to look at his face. I do so and see the devil - then his face changes into many faces, none of them particularly pleasant. I know this is nonsense too. The constriction has now become unbearable, deep, deep, anger - I must be free. I threw the mike to the floor, then pulled the cord from my waist and threw it to the floor. From the periphery of my eye I saw M. jump to catch the mike - this gave me much pleasure - at least I had annoyed him. I discovered the hated cloth and threw it in conscious defiance of M. Felt greatly relieved. The struggle ceased - now I am quietly climbing - am flooded with a beautiful white light and filled with happiness - I know I am in God's presence - am so thankful the struggle is over.
Was pulled out of this lovely stare of consciousness by voices singing "Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory of the Lord." Sat up on the couch, my eyes riveted to the mural. I am in church, the choir
is singing, the preacher is talking - I am furious. To be snached from the reality of God to this pretense was too much to bear. I well knew M. was not above such a corny trick but was quite bewildered by Irene's betrayal. I closed my eyes, I shut my ears, I buried my head and the noise went on. (Deep rebellion here at early church training, at being told the preacher should not be questioned, and the connotation of the bad, bad girl who couldn't go along without questioning.) I argued about the noise for an eternity while M. urged me to face what ever it was and work through to the answer. I developed a bad taste in my mouth and was so furious all insight was blocked. Mumbled to the group about hypocrisy. (Am struck by the somatic reaction here).
M. asks me to look into the rose. I refuse until I have felt it and been convinced it is not artificial. (Never could tolerate artificial flowers or choral voices.) The rose closes in and I know there is more I do not want to see. I do allow M. to replace the "mike." What is real? - there must be no pretense - God help me sort it out.
Now I travel back in time becoming a little girl again - at last I have my mother - what fun - we play, I am secure and warm - but not for long. Soon this very little girl is sorting - searching - sorting - asking - Which is the "what cha ma call its" and which is the "thing a ma babs!" No real time to sort either because so many people are pulling this little kid so many different directions she doesn't know the top from the bottom.
M. shows me the Dali Christ picture - it isn't real either - eyes are closed and the face is so sad. M. asks me to look into the mirror - what a shock - an old old lady stares back. Also reflected in the mirror is a small crucifix - again I am angered - it isn't real, it isn't true and I cannot see my own face for the crucifix. Am shown picture of husband. Expected anger but felt none - only deep sorrow - was enabled to see through to his many problems. Picture of grandchildren was sheer pleasure (this is always true with or without LSD). Realized I had hung many things around my son's neck that didn't belong to him.
Dr. S. came in with Methedrine, I told him I had been trying to sort out the sham - my sham. Begin to see life as just a game and let this be known to the group. M. asks who is winning the game. I tell him it makes no differences - am watching M. closely however and as I look I know it does make a great deal of difference. (I caught a glimpse of my red blouse which glowed with an ethereal radience.) My eyes are struck with the beauty of the Buddha - I know this is one of the ways but it is not my way.
Life is just a game so how do you know what is real - how can you tell who is "you?" I ask again how you sort it all out. Am beginning to see the game for what it is. I am willing now to finally take a look at the mural - it plagues me - it follows me -
I can't move on - "those bald headed choir singers" - I ask Irene - "How do you sweat through the "crud" to reality?" Become nauseated from all the pretense and all the roles I've played. Trying very hard to work through to the answer. Cry over inability to see clearly.
Look at picture of self taken when I was playing the role of the "wronged wife." I want to vomit. Such pretense - how glad I really was to have him gone - saw my own blame - saw his blame too. Arrived at the deepconviction there isn't any real blame - all of us, just a bunch of mixed up people. M. asks me to again look in the mirror and see the good person who is there. I reply that he is seeing out of focus too if he sees me as good. Feel my own unworthiness but look deeply because M. asks me to. And again shown the Christ picture. His eyes are still closed but not so much sadness. M.: "What does He say about forgiveness?" --- and I know self forgiveness must somehow be experienced. Forgiveness and self-acceptance.
The movement starts again but this time I have some control. Joyously I dance on gold - sprinkled clouds - then I hide - then I dance - alternating thusly for maybe years until finally I am freed and I no longer need to hide.
"The Seven Last Words of Christ" was played - I became peaceful - and relaxed, watching the Christ picture closely. His eyes opened, slightly, his lips quivered, his face became radiant with joy. Tears of relief and happiness rolled down my cheeks, I seek Myron's face - he must know - I have found me and in finding me I have found God. Glorious wonders - we are one. Joy fills my being - I shout to Irene. "We don't have to be anything, all we need to do is just be."
Am again asked to look into the mirror. Reflection is many years younger. Guardian angle picture very meaningful. That poor little lonely kid and look what she had with her all the time. Realized self-forgiveness was generated through my compassion eons ago, when I saw that little kid who was pulled so many ways she didn't know the top from the bottom. Informed the group "You can't call a spade a spade unless God deals the hand" - saw clearly that reality cannot be faced without God. Knew for a certainty that God Is and all I need do is just Be! and let Him use me in anyway He chooses. Life is joy and fun. God will come through anyway He can, as much as He can, and no church, or creed, or belief will stop Him. He'll take us anyway He can and He won't let go. He'll pull us right up through the mire until we truly know who we are. For time unlimited I floated as one with God - no words can describe it - it just Is! And I knew this was true for all humanity - each one is a part of the whole and no part can be lost.
Felt God's amusement. He gives us everything - and what a mess we make of it. Chuckle over this.
At six p.m. I returned home with Irene. Insight now was crystal clear. Knew role playing was acceptable as long as you knew it for what it was - pretense might have its place too - but don't confuse it with reality - yes, even churches have their place - but lets don't replace God with the church.
Saw that my parents, who were direct opposites, each tried to fit me into their own pattern - and neither pattern was "me" - I loved them so much, I tried so hard to please - then my husband took up where they left off - pushing me, none too gently into his many schizophrenic patterns - I knew no other way to get along so I played all the roles - losing self-identification in the process.
Several days following the session the world of nature was radiantly beautiful - a month later it still has unusual beauty.
Vitality has reached a new-time high; - am completely rested in the morning. Each day is filled with joyous anticipation. Routine matters have taken on a special kind of meaning. New concepts emerge with out asking. Love can be given to my patients, not by doing all for them - but by permitting them to do all they can for themselves. I know that one can better be protected by His Love rather than one's own weak defenses. The new role of being one's self is exciting - I saw the crucifix in anger for I was seeing my own denial of self in His name - our destiny instead is to live in His name - I know, empirically, that only negation itself can take us out of the Kingdom of Heaven.
I am indeed following a new path and it brings new challenges - LSD has widened the horizons, given me new tools but I have to do the work.
Irene later told me Dr. Hubbard had said of me, "She had a hard time getting born. Control has suffocated her. She equates the struggle with "I can't." This is all very true. I was an "instrument baby" and the struggle for control of temper tantrums began early in life. I felt deep quiet and punished myself accordingly. I never let "I can't" stop me but it was always necessary to surmount the barrier it erected.
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