My first experiences with hallucinogens were probably my best. Approaching these powerful substances with the proper mixture of curiosity and respect, in a spiritual frame of mind, is the only way in which such a dangerous journey should be undertaken. Powerful hallucinogens should only be taken as a religious sacrament. I found that taking strong hallucinogens for kicks or for social purposes can easily lead to a bad trip. It should be explained that I distinguish between powerful manmade hallucinogens or organic hallucinogens, and the cheap, dirty drugs which are virtually all that is available nowadays. Modern drugs will take you nowhere, but only pollute your body and mind in exchange for a cheap thrill.
I first took manmade hallucinogens in the late spring or early summer of 1972, while I was in the eighth grade. The gripping power of these drugs humbled and even frightened me. The intensification of colors and feelings, the distortion of vision and thought, and the provocation of visions and visionary experiences was beyond any attempt at explanation. Many--myself included--have tried to describe the experience; none have succeeded. The closest thing to a description of an hallucinogenic trip is James Joyce’s Finnigan’s Wake, or the visionary poems of William Blake. But an hallucinogenic trip (particularly on manmade hallucinogens) is mostly lacking of strict symbolism and meaning--it is chaotic in nature. I could reminisce about some of my old acid trips or enumerate some examples of the things which I saw while under the power of these drugs, but it is not my intention here to revel on drug experiences. These substances, which ought to be considered as sacred and treated with respect, have been abused by our society and by myself. I learned much from my drug experiences but, because I abused them, I must now leave them alone and go on to other things.
After a summer spent
swimming and hiking in the woods, the ninth grade school year began
auspiciously for me. In the first week of school, I took some
purple haze acid and had an extraordinarily beautiful trip. It was
so different from any other acid trip I have ever experienced, that
I believe this time the acid acted to stimulate and revive innate visionary
abilities, which then took over. I found myself in an atmosphere
of love and tranquillity, which tinted my sight as well as my emotions.
Cartoonesque flowering vines curled up around the periphery of my vision
as soft and mellowly transcendent strains of music floated to my ears.
Everything shone with its own light, warm and vital. Then the roof
of the school--and the very sky--opened up and through it descended a shining,
penetrating luminosity, which was the physical expression of love and oneness.
This light illuminated everything and imbued it with power. I felt
this light drawn into me and radiating from my body like a beacon.
And this was how the whole day passed, from class to class and after school
as well. I beamed with love for everyone, and those who understood
smiled and returned my blessings. thus did I become a flower child,
bestowing love and freedom upon all I met; the cherished symbol with which
I blessed everyone: a peace sign.
But, as a teenager,
I was also a mischievous imp. In junior high, cigarette smoking was
an
excellent form of rebellion. In lavatories, on the edge of school
property, in every nook and cranny where it could be managed, cigarettes
(and sometimes joints) were hastily smoked. During lunch, when at
the beginning of the year we had been able to cross the sports’ track in
front of the school and sneak down the hill which separated school property
from the neighboring church, we were herded closer and closer to the school
until we were forbidden to leave the front porch. Nothing stopped
us; we merely sought out ways to circumvent each and every ban. Confined
to the porch, we learned to hide our cigarettes in empty milk cartons,
which worked quite well until someone was caught exhaling smoke after taking
a drink of milk. We were forbidden to take milk cartons out of the
lunchroom, but that did not stop us from smoking. When all else failed,
we turned to open defiance, blowing smoke in their faces until they knocked
the cigarettes out of our hands and escorted us to the office. Our
message was quite plain: if someone wants to do something, it
is futile to impede them--in fact, it is downright stupid. By
resisting the school authorities, we were denying their power over us and,
in that sense, we were fighting for our freedom.
During lunch we would
hold spontaneous sit-ins, for no reason other than to create havoc.
Anywhere from twenty-five to one hundred freaks would fill up a hall
where classes were still in session. Then when classes let out, the
other students’ efforts to reach their lockers and hurry off to another
class would result in a chaos of tumbling bodies. The teachers and
school officials played right along with us, never denying us a confrontation--which
would have been the surest way of defusing us.
Our rebellion was also expressed in vandalism. To cite just one instance: a friend and I found that my locker key would open the toilet paper dispensers in one of the bathrooms. So we took the paper from one of the dispensers, tossed it into a toilet bowl, flushed, and left without waiting to see the results. Apparently the toilets were rigged so that, if clogged, they would not flood after one flushing. Returning the next day, and seeing that the toilet bowl was still clogged with paper, we found it necessary to climb over the toilet and dance on the handle until it was broken and the water continued to flow. Another favorite prank, when there were no teachers around to see, was to pull the safety pin from a fire extinguisher and squirt it down the hall, so that everyone in a hurry was reduced to slipping and sliding.
Our champion prank took place one night while the jocks were holding an athletic awards banquet in the auditorium. The jocks and their families, the gym teachers, the principal and vice-principal were all there honoring the privileged youth of the school. Some friends and I found that the school doors were all open and snuck inside to see what sort of mischief we could stir up. We settled upon a fire alarm. It was an old fashioned type fire alarm in the middle of which was a metal bolt that must be unscrewed and removed in order for the alarm to go off. We loosened the bolt until there was only the tip of a finger holding it in place. All of us, but the one who stayed at the alarm, went to hold open the doors. When all was ready, the boy let off the alarm and raced out of the building, followed close behind by the rest of us. We hid under some bushes across the street and watched the resulting panic and confusion.
Bomb threats, both in junior high and high school, were a good way to shorten the school day. Such threatening phone calls could not be ignored, nor could anyone be blamed for refusing to return to class once the school was supposedly searched. Who knows how many of these bomb threats were made from the pay phones in the high school, just down the corridor from the office. Bomb threats were, for the most part, brought to a halt when the police announced that they would prosecute anyone caught making such a threat.
On a balmy spring day after classes began, the school doors--all but those directly in front of the offices--were secured with chains and padlocks. One of my classmates happened to be the son of the fire marshal. A quick phone call brought his father to the school with orders that either all doors would be unlocked or the school would be closed and those responsible would face legal action.
My favorite school
prank began the day I realized there was no flag on the flagpole in front
of the school. This was quickly remedied by drawing a peace sign
on a sheet of paper and running it up the flagpole. Each day a new
flag was devised and flown; a picture of a marijuana leaf, a picture of
a joint, a drawing of Mr. Natural, and a fist with middle finger extended.
Our final flag consisted of underwear, stolen from a seventh grader while
he was dressing out for gym. This flag was not much to my liking,
I was not into humiliation or bullying; if I had thought of flying underwear,
I would have supplied it myself. The chain became entangled while
the underwear was flying up at the top of the flagpole, and we could not
bring it back down. I felt sorry for the poor seventh grader, and
I was tired of listening to him cry, so I started climbing up the flagpole
to retrieve his underwear. When I was a little more than half way
up the pole, my friends gathered around the base and began shaking it back
and forth, until I was swinging in the wind. A teacher came over
and stopped them from shaking the pole. To me, he said, “Daniel,
what are you doing up there?” “This kid...” I tried to explain as
I edged farther up the pole, “his shorts....” “Get down.” I
did as I was ordered, the chains were untangled, and the seventh grader
was given back his underwear. The next day, the US flag was flying
at the top of the pole, as it was every day thereafter.