true hallucinations.htm - Shroomery

true hallucinations.htm
in on harmine present in local Banisteriopsis lianas and through them to key on the collective DNA network. I supposed that if a few of these
species resonated, then other shrilling species could tune themselves to the molecular signal—
thus amplifying it and sustaining it through the forest for some hours of every day. Acoustically driven chemical reactions are well known; I
felt sure that some of the life processes of the Insecta must be acoustically regulated by a few species in this way.
These unlikely and bizarre ideas unfolded themselves over those long, hot days, while Dennis lay confined to his hammock and I squatted on
the earth nearby. By the third or fourth day following the experiment, I had learned enough of the new and peculiarly symbolic language that
he was speaking that I was increasingly convinced that through it I could observe him achieving a gradual but progressive integration. Often,
then, long silences would fall between the raves, and we would each drift off into a world of private reveries. Several times on such occasions
I looked down and noticed with a weird thrill that my unconscious fingers had been engaged in gathering small twigs and arranging them in
patterns as though they were to be miniature fires. This unconscious laying of small fires by my busy fingers seemed to me most extraordinary
— I interpreted it then as a literal overflowing of the organizing energies that were being poured into me from some unknown source, the
same source that was supplying me with energy so that I could matter of factly go without sleep.
Occasionally Dennis would interrupt me to ask that I or Ev smoke a cigarette for him. Questioning uncovered his belief that in hyperspace the
topology of all human bodies is continuous and so he could effortlessly absorb what he needed directly out of our bodies. For five days life
went on in that mode, a waking dream of overkill by palindrome and pun. We sent amazingly few waves of interaction out into the "real
world" around us. No one stopped to stare at us or our camp; we seemed to have become invisible. The morning of the tenth of March
changed that.
I had hardly been away from the hut and the short stretch of trail that separated it from the edge of the pasture for five days; so after breakfast
on that particularly flawless morning I chatted with Dennis and found him calmer and more lucid than he had been at any time since the
experiment. So composed and relaxed did he
seem that I made the inevitable mistake of taking the situation for granted. I slipped away with Ev and the butterfly net for a relaxed stroll
down the trail and deeper into the jungle.
The trail was of washed, white sand, inches deep in places and soft and inviting. We had walked hardly a quarter of a mile when lust overtook
our interest in lepidoptera. Adding to our thrill was the risk of discovery by Witoto trail users. We tossed caution to the winds and were soon
lost in each other. Pleasant it was in that verdant setting to part and defile the shaggy, slippery riches of Ev's sex. I thought of it as "Doing it
for Vladimir." Verdant lust and butterflies were always entwined in Nabokov's enviable mind.
We were gone scarcely forty minutes, but returned to the hut and clearing to find it humming with a deserted, heart-sinking air of emptiness. I
was no longer afraid that Dennis would wander into the forest and become lost. I was convinced that whatever his state of mind it did not
include that sort of thing. What I did fear was that he might focus others' attention on us and the borderline area that we were investigating.
Leaving Ev at the camp in case Dennis should turn up, I ran to the pasture and across it to the mission on the far side. As I ran I was busy
telling myself that he had probably just gone down to see Dave and Vanessa and that I would find him there. I was too preoccupied to notice
that the bells of the mission, silent normally except on Sundays, had been pealing for some time. As I came over the rise that gave me a clear
view of the river house and the lake below the chorro, I saw Vanessa leading Dennis toward the river house. I could sense as I arrived that the
situation was more difficult than I had hoped.
Vanessa was angry and had seized the situation to drive home her point. It seemed that Dennis must have bolted from his hammock the
moment Ev and I had passed out of sight. He had gone straight to the mission, located the bell rope of the bell used to call the people to Mass,
and had rung it furiously until the priest found Vanessa and Dave and they had none too gently persuaded Dennis to desist from his hijinks.
Nevertheless, the already circulating rumor that one member of our expedition had gone a bit off the deep end was not eroded by this sudden
and totally public outrage. The delicate political balance I had established allowing me to
have my way in the matter of how to treat Dennis was now destroyed. Vanessa's idea that he should be moved to the river house was brought
forth and endorsed by the priests and, I was told, by the police. Riding on the inner assurance that worry would be preposterous and
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