Xn3cTs

June 19th, 2009

Drugs and alcohol can open up a spiritual experience. But, as Bhagavan Das pointed out, it’s a dark (tamasic) path and the danger is in being eaten up or swallowed by the substance, instead of the other way around.

I haven’t taken hallucinogens. (I’d like to, someday, with reformed drug addict Rudy as a “guide.” To make sure I don’t harm myself or another…)

I think my first experience of “psychedelia” was Sesame Street. (“1,2,3,4,5…6,7,8,9,10…11,12… doodoodoodoo…,” among others…) My parents were not hippies. They listened to Bread, middle-of-the-road stuff…

But I had a cool uncle and aunt. My Uncle Boyet brought me to an open-field rock concert when I was maybe 6… where I think I first heard Pepe Smith. This uncle would show me his psychedelic paintings and taught me my first cool words: “Hayuup!” “Haneeeep!”

Dreams and sickness can also become pathways to alternate realities. I was in my high school seminary when during siesta, I’d have this half-lucid sonic dream of a really wild rock music with a fantastic bassline. (Never mind that our prefect of discipline lectured on rock as the music of the devil.) Everytime I woke up to find out where the music was coming from (It was siesta!), it’d disappear. As soon as I fell back to sleeping, it would play. And then I realized it was playing in my head!

One time (still in the minor seminary), I awoke early in the morning (around 3 or 4 a.m.) after a pretty nasty fever had subsided. I no longer felt cold, my skin was no longer hot, I felt okay. But something was wrong. I wasn’t sure whether I was Michael Ian Lomongo. I fought the temptation to wake up my classmate whose bed was right beside mine and ask him whether I was indeed Ian. I knew it was ridiculous and he might punch me instead, fever or no fever. I walked along the pasillo of the dormitory and looked at my reflection in the common mirror outside the lavatories. The doubt unresolved, I decided to just sleep if off, hoping that I’d regain self-possession when I woke up the next day.

I never did. (hahaha… joke… joke… joke.)

I did have a heightened experience of feeling one with the universe one time I was drunk. (Friends Susette and Rissa thus know what “being one with the universe” means to me.)

September 2002. Penguin Cafe. I was drunk. Broken-hearted. Guilt-ridden. I’ve cried a river. Bawled like a child was probably more like it.

In a text message, she told me to get some sleep. We’d talk the next day.

I fell asleep on the ride home. I woke up to find myself in a wet market. Pasig. I should have gotten off at Crossing (Edsa-Shaw). But I thought it would be a lot of hassle if I went back to Crossing. It’d be better to find a jeepney that’s headed for Angono. I got off the jeepney and looked around.

It was so god-damned beautiful.

I wish I had a videocam with me then. The street was jam-packed with vehicles, tricycles, jeepneys, mini-vans, loading off goods, passengers… The people, vendors, buyers, helpers, were all busy going about their business. There was even a drunken policeman… or at least, he looked drunk to me. We eyed each other with a look of recognition, and I’d say, compassion. I asked him where the jeepneys bound for Angono are. He pointed me the direction.

Everything was bathed in an orange light.

The world was an orange.

It was just right.

Ripe. Luscious. Perfect.

Everything was alright.

Everything, bathed in that orange light, was simply beautiful.

Heart-breakingly beautiful.

On the jeepney bound for Cainta, I silently wished my co-passengers happiness. “Take care, my brothers and sisters.”

I wished everyone happiness.

Arriving home, I wished our dog Stoop (short for “Stupid”) happiness.

I wished myself happiness.

I wished the world happiness.

I had tears in my eyes, but everything was alright.

The world, after all, was an orange.

Tags: Alcohol, Drugs, Drunkenness, Lucid Dreaming, Music, Pasig Market, Penguin Cafe, Pepe Smith, Psychedelia, Rock, Sobriety, spirituality
Posted in Filipinos, Life, Love, Music, spirituality | 2 Comments »