By Dr. David Luke & Dr. Stanley Kripner

With the aid of mescaline Aldous Huxley came face to face with such a mystical experience, even though the Oxford Theologian R.C. Zaehner (1957) denigrated his experience of “nature mysticism” as somehow inferior to the “genuine” theistic mystical experience. Yet the irony remains that the very split from Nature that some Christian theologians claim occurred in the Garden of Eden may lie at the heart of many people’s current sense of separateness from their ecology. Whereas, under specificircumstances of substance, set, and setting, psychedelics are capable of augmenting such a reunion. Despite Zaehner’s derisions, Huxley (1954) reportedly witnessed this reunion through his experimental uses of mescaline: “I was seeing what Adam had seen on the morning of creation – the miracle, moment by moment of naked existent.”

Is it this naked existence that reconnects the natural environment to the mental capacities of those psychedelically-inspired experients? This type of experience forges a way of thought that is filled with ethical, ecological implications, and which is reflected in the work of shamas, alchemists, and other practitioners who respected nature. The patriarch of psychedelia, Albert Hofmann, demonstrated this by reporting that a mystical
experience he had had when he was young prefigured his discovery of LSD. He stated that “…my mystical nature experience of nature as a child…was absolutely lik an LSD-experience…. I believe I was in some fashion born to that.”

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Species Connectedness

For The Love of Goddess

Some men serve their mothers.

Some men serve their wives.

Some men serve themselves alone,

And curse their lonely lives.

Some men worship money.

Some men worship sex.

Some men worship TV,

And wind up nervous wrecks.

Some folk find their solace

In gluttony and booze.

Some folk feed on hate and fear

Enslaved to the latest news.

Myself I serve a single love,

though her names cannot be numbered

She breathes life between my lips each dawn

And nightly guards my slumbers.

Some say her name is Brighde,

Still others call her Mariah.

To the first she’s a virgin, pure and demure,

To the last a painted liar.

To me she’s an endless enigma,

A marvellous Misstery.

For to serve her with never a care for myself

Is my key to self-mastery.

As pristine as a cloudless sky

At the dawn of a perfect day,

She overflows with plenitude

And she’s always willing to play.

I worship her with passion.

I worship her with prayer.

I worship her with penitence,

And die in her scarlet snare.

And every death is perfect,

And every death is pure,

And every death is a single breath

As I knock upon heaven’s door.

From the first night we met, I knew myself blessed

As my heart flew to her like a swift to its nest.

At once I was lost, a lover star-crossed,

My senses a ship on a tempest tossed.

Endlessly she teased me,

Till I crumbled with coiled desire.

Then She bound me and released me

To dance in her Devi-lish fire.

She’s crazy and cruel but I’m a poetic fool

And I’m blind to her murderous madness,

For her love is my drug, it’s a virulent bug

That banishes sleep, sloth, and sadness.