Zen in the Art of Permaculture Design, by Stefan Geyer, is really a book about a way of living and interacting with our environment which struggles to fit into linear descriptions in our commodified, corporatised culture, which seems to demand such binary descriptions. The neat device used by the author to better help understand permaculture, which is his passion and his way of life, is to introduce a second hard-to-define philosophy, Zen, as a way of explaining the first. It might seem counter-intuitive, but it works very well in using each ti reflect the other, and it allows a broader perspective of both philosophies.
Ask nine different people working in permaculture to define what permaculture is, and you will nine different definitions, which can be infuriating to those who rely on rational, easy to understand ideas that can be quickly implemented. Working with nature, not wasting what you have, learning to plant and grow seeds by harmonising seemingly separate forces, are some of the basic ideas, but often the message comes from experiential, hands-on learning and a deeper listening to nature, which is not common currency in urban culture; a certain way of observing and listening to the messages coming in from our surroundings, is unique to each individual. This can be confusing to those who want a catch-all description, one that reads like an instruction manual.
This is a short book in terms of words and chapters, and there are basic descriptions about what permaculture is for the beginner. It is written in simple and poetic language, standing on its own as an inspiring read, especially when poetry and stories from the Zen tradition are brought in to give deeper explanations of how to trust our intuition. But the themes and ideas go deeper than the shortness of the book would suggest, so much so that in an agitated state as I was towards the end of last year, with so much going on for me on an emotional level, I found it very difficult to settle into reading the book and taking in the message of slowing down to listen more to what messages are coming from inside us as a response to our immediate surroundings. Yet, each time I sat down to read, I felt the resonance of the words and how this could serve as a set of core principles to those who wish to pursue a way of life not tied into the increasingly fraught, technology driven and financially dependent and disposable culture we have become so used to.
Stefan Geyer has been involved in Permaculture Design for many years. He lives in the heart of London where he works in hotel management and combines this by organising an annual gathering of Permaculture practitioners and thinkers in a festival held in central London every July, The London Permaculture Festival. His idea of finding the wisdom and poetry of the Zen and Taoist philosophies as a reflection of the “Way of Permaculture”, is itself poetic. It understands that permaculture is about more than just growing edible vegetables and herbs and collecting water. It is a philosophy about slowing down from the technological chatter in order to tune into the natural rhythms of nature so that we can move from that more centred and authentic space. This is a book to read if you grow food, or have some kind of garden you tend to, or if you have any interest in living a life closer to nature and in creating resilient communities. But it is also one to ponder for those wishing to embark on a lifestyle change, for those wanting to learn how to manage the many conflicting inputs and to find a grounded method for living life.
Planetman’s latest album Love Rebel, a collection of nine songs delivered in a warm, upbeat roots reggae style, with some gypsy and ska influences, is the embodiment of the life and work of a musician who lives by the messages in his songs. Planet – as he likes to be known – was born Adir Tov in Israel, of Yemeni Jewish ancestry, with strong connections to pre-Israel Palestine. He refused to serve with the Israeli army and was sent to jail several times for his principles, but moved to Europe, where via Amsterdam and club/festival culture, he soaked up many different musical influences, before finding his niche, in the positive one love philosophy that he expresses in his music in venues such as Passing Clouds, where his parties and gatherings were legendary in their time for bringing many different musical and cultural influences together.
In my time in London, during the Peace Not War years between 2003-2009, mixing in and out of the various anti-war collectives and with different activists, I was introduced to Passing Clouds, the music and arts venue just off Dalston Road, organised by Eleanor Wilson, who had a deep understanding of how political activism and music combine, who was central to bringing such an eclectic mix of musicians and artists from the streets rather than from an agency. The venue has featured musical styles from around the world with a strong African and Caribbean influence, mixed with urban dubsters, grizzly and sparky socialist and anarchist punks and gypsy folk in acoustic and electric combinations. With nights of films and discussion from a variety of alternative political frameworks, including Permaculture and Transition events, to young trendies looking for an eclectic night out, there was always something for every one here, as long as you are open-minded and willing to share.
Passing Clouds had politics and a rootsy culture at the heart of its community project and it was evident in how they embraced whoever was local and wanted to play music and get involved that they were living their ideals in a very grounded and practical way. Sadly, the venue was taken over by a new landlord and the Passing Clouds crew are currently seeking out a new venue, unless the old venue becomes available again. Central to the music gatherings over the years as been Planetman and his band, the Internationalz. This album gives a flavour of some of those special Passing Clouds nights.
The album deals with themes of love as a spiritual and unifying force and the true rebelliousness of refusing to submit to a system that crushes humanity in its coldness and selfishness. The tone is uplifting and embracing and the style will be familiar to anyone who likes the music, words and singing of Bob Marley. Planet’s voice and inflections are very similar to the world famous artist. To my ears there’s a smoother tone to Planet’s singing, but the message is an extension of that same philosophy, a recognition of what we are needing to move from the many crises we face into a new human and societal connection. The album starts and ends with Love Rebel as the title, but whereas the opening track is a traditional reggae sound, the final track, Love Rebel, Fly, has a more psychedelic flavour, a spacey way to end the album, as if the album itself is akin to the artist releasing a dove of peace and hope into the search for an island in the sun.
This is an album to be embraced and sustained by, an inspiration to those who may be dropping their heads at the seeming hopelessness of the political landscape, a collection of songs that conveys the spirit of the Passing Clouds community, the spirit of the rebel artists, musicians and poets as well as expressions of the indigenous voices that have shared and continue to share their stories and their visions of a brighter world where courage in the face of oppression can be both radical and loving. In short, this is the life that Planetman lives and shares and one which I feel is needed more than ever in these interesting times. I would recommend this music to anyone with a beating heart!
It was a beautiful experience in itself to attend the Psychedelic Science 2017 conference held in Oakland, California, organised by the Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies (MAPS) in conjunction with the UK’s version, the Beckley Foundation. Over 2,500 attendees of all ages attended, numerous scientific talks were presented on the latest research into a range of psychotropic substances, which all happened in an impressive venue; various stalls and psychedelic or “visionary” art, music and psychotropic superfoods were offered for our enjoyment; workshops, films and discussions on the possibilities of ending the brutal drug war that has claimed so many lives and incarcerated so many otherwise law-abiding people were presented in further rooms across the Marriot Hotel complex were a constant source of education and discussion and inspiration.
But if one is willing to notice it (and one must), the demographic of such events may be cause for concern. Yes, there are people from different ethnic groups, but not many, the vast majority seeming to come from the usual white, middle class, affluent groupings you see also in new age and personal development fields, as well as the sober, suited middle-aged white men you might see in any medical practice or perhaps pharmaceutical company board room. The price of a three-day festival running into several hundred dollars makes the accessibility for those from a lower economic status a difficult prospect, and perhaps there are other reasons too. There was talk towards the end about the possibility of extending scholarship funding to allow greater access, but a deeper and more frank discussion has to be developed about this exclusivity and what it means politically in the research and the future strategy for an effective social campaign against prohibition and the devastating effect it has on society.
MAPS makes no secret of the fact that in the 1980s their policy committee specifically distanced the organisation from the countercultural element of the psychedelic hippy culture of the 1960s and 70s, the likes of Timothy Leary and Terence McKenna. In one sense this made perfect sense and has no doubt been of help in gaining respectability among the very policy makers and medical professionals they need to convince. Of course, these bastions of the psychedelic underground still draw a sizeable portion of the largely affluent young, white crowd, who ride on the back of that intellectual and spiritual rebelliousness.
But visionary art selling for $28,000 a pop may leave some wondering whether this is all just an elitist exercise in pseudo-radical posturing. That MAPS is looking for at least $25 million in funding for the third phase of their FDA-approved MDMA research, may leave one wondering just what deals need to be made either consciously or unconsciously with corporate finance in order for medically approved prescription psychedelics to become part of the psychiatrist’s choice toolbox. Psychedelic remedies to treat the damage that our present neoliberal system inflicts on individuals, and by extension our society and planet, will hardly be lessened much less eradicated were approval to be gained.
But there is cause for optimism, which I found in the midst of this a festival mainly centred in white male privilege and reductionist scientific cheerleading. One of the talks I attended was with a panel of speakers all involved in some way with marginalised communities of colour and indigenous groups, who raised concerns about diversity and representation at these groups, as well as key issues regarding cultural appropriation of the increasingly faddish trend among westerners in using Ayahuasca, Peyote and San Pedro among other sacred plants, either in authentic, semi authentic or increasingly westernised pseudo ceremonies. Additionally, scientists are also researching the neurological effects of these plants, and are increasingly isolating the active chemicals in these substances for further study. The variety of research is phenomenal and many would agree it is needed, but is the right respect being shown to the cultural heritage around these concoctions or indeed of the communities whose habitat is being destroyed in ever-greater ways by our corporate western culture?
What are we moving towards? Is this just a space for the new elite? How can the rest of us bring our contribution and show due respect to other cultures while keeping our own authenticity? How can we look at the drug war, which disproportionately affects people of colour and those of lower socioeconomic status, in a light that allows for prohibition to be seen in the context of draconian laws, which disproportionately affects people outside the hippy demographic? What are the festival-goers and Burners and the like actually doing to agitate for constructive change? Are we stuck in psychedelic spiritual bypassing, thinking our psychedelic experiences, our visionary art, our funky moulded leather “tribal” wear selling at $250 a belt or $700 a calf-skin jacket, is going to create a “psychedelic tribe” that will bring in a new world of enlightened beings who will bring about utopia?
And what of conventional psychiatry, which is built on a discrete scientific and medical model, which sees the individual as separate in space and time from their surroundings. Mental anxiety and anguish is often treated on a case-by-case basis, rather than recognised as the product of collective anxiety emerging from a set of human and environmental relationships existing within a fundamentally dysfunctional society. How do we recognise that governmental prohibition of certain drugs is rooted in that same dysfunction and how do we move to a new perspective? That will be explored in part two.
Scientific materialism is the driving force of corporate capitalism and neocolonialism. Psychedelic political and spiritual culture stands opposed to this and by its nature is a challenge to this destructive ideology
Scientific materialism is the dominant philosophy of the modern age, and has been for over a century. The combination of science and technology as a tool, and capitalism and colonialism as the ideology driving its progress, has led to a widespread transformation of habitat and global indigenous communities. Alongside this essentially atheistic materialism, liberal secularism, originally a religiously motivated ideology that came out of the European Enlightenment, attempted to mitigate the destructive aspects of this transformation, but time and again has been cast aside, as corporate profit and nationalism remain a brutal mental and emotional driving force that has been effective in redirecting popular dissent at confrontation and crisis points, preserving the authority of establishment elites and institutions.
In the midst of these dominant ideologies, much progress has been made on a surface level, in saving and prolonging life, engineering fuel and communication pathways, journeying to other planets, a deeper understanding of the composition of the natural world, and deeper still into the very substance of matter.
Liberal secularism has also broken ties with church and state and allowed human autonomy in specific areas of life. But as ecological and social breakdown rises, and the limits of corporate capitalism are exposed, racism, sexism and bigotry have intensified. Psychological anxieties seem also to be on the increase, and extreme militant religious fundamentalism has become the focal resistance to corporate capitalism and materialism in its willingness to use violence as a reaction to the violence inherent in the system. The fundamental nature of being remains elusive for the materialists and the venom with which they attack competing ideological worldviews, particularly those of a religious or spiritual nature, is very likely to be psychologically connected to this frustration at the limits of physicalism to understand the nature of consciousness and a denial of the connection between reductionism and globalisation.
The development of psychedelics over the past 50 years offered a bridge between the physical and idealistic perception of reality, between science and religion itself, and it seemed for a time that ideas and philosophies were converging, and a political revolution was somehow linked to this, nowhere more evident than in the late-1960s and again in the late-1980s where alternative communities challenged the dominant modes of thought. But the political establishment, a mixture of traditional religious and atheistic worldviews, joined forces each time against a set of ideas that demonstrated nonconformist even revolutionary attitudes, threatening those who sought to retain control of the narrative, of the ultimate power to define reality. So laws were tightened, rebellious individuals and groups were militantly policed and imprisoned, and idealistic political resistance was attacked by all means deemed necessary.
But a new development began to take shape in the 1990s, as scientists consciously distanced themselves from the political elements connected to psychedelics and began to focus on neurochemistry and developing brain-imaging technology, which demonstrated the positive benefits of certain psychedelic substances to treat a variety of physical and psychological conditions causing distress in individuals. While alternative and more psychospiritual treatments continued, the dominant worldview found it much easier to accept this less political, more physicalist model, and the scientists focusing on this aspect seem to have become the spokespeople for the resurgence of psychedelics in the mainstream media with calls for medical licensing rather than an outright end to prohibition. Now it seems that the very notions of spirituality, religion, shamanism, even spiritual political views once intimately bound with psychedelic use, are being marginalised in favour of this sanitised, corporate friendly model of psychedelic health.
The risks with taking the reductionist, scientific approach is that at the very moment when a libertarian culture, with its open-hearted view of spirituality, sexuality and multiculturalism, is being attacked in quite vicious ways by the ascendancy of post-fascist ideology, psychedelic science is playing handmaiden to these forces by remaining apolitical and hoping these repressive forces will grant some licensing to allow the doctors to prescribe psychedelics as medical treatment, while researching the effects of these substances on brain chemistry. The possibility that these substances could provide the revolutionary perspective that might challenge the evidently repressive forces, perhaps even offer insight that might aid activists and campaigners in looking for alternative methods of challenging these tyrannical structures, is being pushed aside for a different kind of political expediency, one that is compliant to the forces of repression.
Can psychedelic, political and spiritual activists who want a complete end to prohibition find common ground with scientists and politicians? Can an integrated worldview to face the ecological and social challenges of the 21st century be created? Or is it time to recognise that legalisation of psychedelic substances will never be granted in this present system and to recognise the nature of the challenge and to find common cause with activists rather than government-approved scientists? The cognitive freedom to explore consciousness and create spontaneous recreational spaces, including non-materialist, non-rational, even post-factual perspectives, must be fearlessly expressed, not only in the face of the political establishment, but also the scientific establishment, and the reductionist ideology which has become prominent in the field of psychedelic research must be challenged. The transformation of the social and political order, which is visibly sinking into totalitarianism as it destroys the planet and any semblance of civilisation and humanity, no longer allows for politeness in these matters.
I was up all night trying to find a way to explain what I’m feeling, to try to find a way to salve my conscience, to make sense of the images that keep flashing before me on the radiating screen so many of us have become so accustomed to feeding on, images of death and destruction, of fear and frustration, of warring factions and intractable discussions that seem to lead nowhere. But my sense of self-preservation is trying just as hard to prevent me from speaking these words, which seem to form deep in the back of my brain, screaming for their moment in the limelight, for just one chance to set the record straight and call this foolishness out. Because I don’t want to be the one to face the fire. I don’t want to be the one to take the blame. I’d rather some hack who gets paid to work this shit out could take up the slack, to break the chain of conformity that keeps us held back in this blind game we all play. Yet I can’t hold back forever. I can’t let these emotions stagnate and fester within me. I’ve got to get some peace of mind, so I’m spilling the words out onto the page, just to get it out there so that maybe someone else might be able to relate.
It gets stranger by the second, with every link to every news story, from any kind of website, whether respected or not, it almost doesn’t matter anymore what’s really true, as more and more it seems what’s true is what you believe to be true, facts and sources seem to no longer matter to the multitude, if they ever really did. We used to trust experts, at least they had earned that right. But many experts betrayed that trust, so now many ignore them, and place their faith on people with no schooling, who would betray us just as readily, but don’t even have the skills to check their sources. I never reckoned on it getting this confusing, and I’m further than ever from a solution. Thoughts and connections arise inside of me, but from the spark in my brain to the tip of the tongue, something seems to get lost in that gap between inspiration and realisation. And I’m at a loss what to do next. I need to find a way to get through this sense of doubt. I need to find a resolution, to the endless recording playing out inside of me, to tell a story that makes sense to me.
But the more information that gets thrown at me, the more I willingly digest this diet of unchecked facts vomiting out of social media every day, the less the world makes sense to me. In this state of confusion, with the knowledge that terrible things go on in the world, that the modern world’s wealth was made at the expense of many other civilisations, this terrible knowledge breeds like weeds strangling my identity, smothering my sense of self. Webs of deceit wrap around me, and I feel false in saying anything with any certainty. Who am I to hold a point of view? What do I know? So I hold my tongue for fear of shame, too afraid to speak, lest I make a statement or give an opinion which ends up proving itself wrong at some future date, which could be near or far but would hang around me like a noose. I thought I had it clear, how it all works, but I can’t see the pattern anymore. It all seems random with no discernable design. I feel like a pawn in someone else’s game, sacrificed for someone else’s greater good. But sacrificed by whom and for what purpose?
This cave I live in is the only concrete thing that I’ve got right now. It’s where I hide from the world outside to get some peace of mind. Is it cowardice to remain so stuck in this protective shell? Maybe it’s a blessing to be in this position, but it’s also a drag in some way, to feel so isolated for most of the day from the throng of activity, while I ponder these thoughts about the state of the world. I’d rather express positive thoughts, but the words that want to come out are like the distant cries of a lost soul, and quickly provoked they can sound like incoherent rage. So I shut them inside and these thoughts begin to take their toll on me. It feels like I’m suppressing my rage for the common good, that the world will go on any way whether I speak or not. It seems pointless taking sides when all sides seem the same viewed from different angles. Is it cynical? I never thought I’d be this down on humanity. I still experience the beauty and the joy. But it gets harder to reach with every bit of bullshit news. It’s the bullshit that’s the problem, and how it makes me feel.
But there is real news, I don’t doubt that the world’s on the brink of some societal calamity unless we get our collective shit together. Our habitat is in a state of imminent collapse because of our actions and inactions and the brutal wars are incessant. The fears are not doom-laden prophecies, they’re demonstrable facts. But I still don’t know how I’m supposed to react to the information presented to me. So I often ponder in silence, in doubt, in hesitation, and I seem to slink further and further away from the edge of normality and risk alienation with each passing day in my comfortable cave. I don’t want that to be the all of me, so I am bound to resist and the only way I know how right now is to speak words, however broken and bruised and twisted they seem. I may be deemed a waste of space by those numbed enough not to feel affected by the violence and terror out there. But in spite of the opinion of others, as sure as I can be, all I can do with certainty is to voice what feels true to me, and try to express what I’m feeling, so that maybe others who feel the same way can find connection, to voice their own truth in any way they know how. This is how resistance to mind-numbing conformity gains strength and meaning.
Every time I get the chance, no matter how unschooled and uncouth I might sound, I must speak; every time I almost succumb to the trance of being fed information without connection, I must speak; every day I witness a violation of what we profess to hold sacred, I must speak; every day I experience another ideal scarred and punctured, I must speak. I must speak. I must speak. The very act of voicing the emotions that are stirring inside me, is not to establish anything other than the right to express how I am feeling right now, which helps to remind me that I am real, that in expressing I can begin the process of reconnection even from the cave. Because connection does not only happen in real time, ironically it can also happen with words read by someone in another space. Emotions are the avenue to meaning and connection, they cannot be allowed to rest inside a shell.
The dream of peace we once nurtured together lies shattered, with no how, no why, just endless repeating of disconnected signals on the wifi. We have to take up the slack, find the thread, make the connections, fight back. Horrific missives so insistent they become numbing to receive, cannot force us to become zoned out as we feed on the daily propaganda news and believe what we are told to believe. I thought I understood, but I must not be afraid to say that I’m at a dead end right now and I need a leap of faith. I really need to find the courage somewhere inside, but I need first to get the festering thoughts out and to boldly share them with the world for my own peace of mind. I’m older now and I’m supposed to have a better idea of the story, but the story I knew no longer makes sense to me, so it seems I need to first clear out the dusty pages in the back of my mind.
I do not want to become hardened and rigid to the changing times. It saddens me this tribalism of left and right that seems to be growing incessant with each passing day. This extremity of thought, with people itching to take sides and to hate the other and to feel justified in doing so. These bubbles we live in just to make us feel righteous are prisons of illusion, doesn’t anyone see? They are not representative of reality. Back scratching only gets you so far. We need more than this to move us through hard times. We might not want to feel the pain of the other side, but unless we learn to see beyond the comforting lies we tell each other, we’ll be left unable to rise to meet the tide as it washes away what’s left of what we used to hold dear. There are hard words to say, which might make the difference when push comes to shove. Revolutions do not come to pass without resistance, but it’s evolution, a paradigm shift that is desperately needed and must arise from all of this repetition. Maybe these words that I speak can find meaning, jolt me out of this cave and into connection, and a way to break this spell of illusion. Some clarity at least, to find some common truth along the way, and to hope I might inspire others trapped in their own mind prisons to find their own way of expressing what is real inside of them.
Andy Roberts already has a definitive place in the recent resurgence of interest and research into psychedelic substances, having penned a well-received historical account of LSD in his 2012 book Albion Dreaming. Subtitled, A Popular History of LSD in Britain, it recounts the history of LSD from its synthesis in the laboratory of Albert Hoffman, to the British intelligence experimentations as a tool of the military, early research and use by psychiatrists on their patients, right through to the banning of the substance and the subsequent explosion of interest in the 1960s that led to the “hippie” counterculture. It is more or less a chronological account, and it is never more interesting than when recounting the continuing development of the psychedelic scene in the 1970s. It is here where Roberts’s own experiences give the historical analysis a personal confirmation. This is necessary because the propaganda and policing of this most wondrous of substances has distorted the accounts of the names and the places, so correcting many misconceptions and false accusations concocted by media, police and politicians becomes essential. In Albion Dreaming, Roberts mentions familiar names and places to anyone with a passing interest in the history of LSD. Operation Julie, the police operation that broke the huge production of LSD in the UK in the 1970s is detailed, as is the UK visit of the acclaimed Beat poet Allen Ginsberg in 1967, where he wrote his epic LSD poem, Wales Visitation.
In Acid Drops, many of the historical characters and episodes contained in Albion Dreaming are naturally present. But what Andy does in Acid Drops feels like the metaphorical mirror of an acid trip itself. The linear, sober analysis of Albion Dreaming is replaced by a looser and deeper, more malleable account of the history and the effect of Hoffman’s so-called “problem child”. Dr Ben Sessa, one of the pioneers of the modern resurgence of interest in LSD, gives a foreward and he speaks of the unexpected benefit of the enforced break that prohibition and policing created in the 80s and 90s, from the heady and wacked out days of the 60s and 70s, with its sprawling and defiant trip literature, UFO sightings, free festivals and all, to the modern incarnation, which is to investigate the effects of these drugs from a scientific perspective. There is the natural reticence of the scientist to go too far into the crazy detail of the subjective psychedelic experience, or of what less skilled minds might uncover within. But Andy, being someone who was steeped in that earlier history, has no fear to tread or re-tread there, and it is a testament to his own level-headedness and willingness to question what he finds without completely relinquishing the weirdness, which gains both the respect of Sessa and simultaneously keeps hold of the thread of the counterculture and the very strangeness of the experience, giving it a relevance to the present popularity of psychedelic research within academia and in the general public. And how apt that the book is given an afterward by the occultist, chaos magician and well-respected psychedelic explorer Julian Vayne, who also reminds us of the importance of anchoring the transcendent experience into the everyday reality, to ground some of the luminosity, inspiration and all-out weirdness into a constructive use and as an approach to one’s everyday life.
There are many highlights in this book and the names and places read like a glossary of UK psychedelia, which will either be familiar or instructive to anyone who wishes to understand the history of the UK psychedelic scene of the time. For me the in-depth account of the creation of Allen Ginsberg’s poem, Wales Visitation, from his ingestion of LSD, to the initial sketches while tripping and finally into the completion of the poem itself, gives a unique account of the creative process, not only of one of the greatest poets of the 20th century, but also as an example of someone who was able to artfully and confidently bridge the stream-of-consciousness and mystical states of the psychedelic experience with the conventional world and its often resistant and jaundiced view of the acid head. Never is this more obvious than when Ginsberg reads out the poem on the Conservative American polemicist William F Buckley’s TV talk show, which is available for all to see on YouTube. Buckley finds he cannot overtly mock its poetic brilliance and so ends with the faint praise “I kinda liked that”.
But it’s not all sweetness and light. The infamous acid casualties are not as rare as some aficionados would like to believe and drop outs, people who could not let go of the dreams and visions and were stranded in the psychedelic liminal space, of illusions and delusions, can also be used, and have been used, as an excuse to condemn not only the individuals and the drug, but also the necessity of the irrational non-ordinary states to our creativity. Roberts himself is no stranger to the dark side of the psychedelic experience. He begins the book with an account of his first LSD trip, which became a terrifying ordeal and it is this perhaps which gives the book and his subsequent experiences such grounding. Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger they say. I would say those who are damaged by the negative experiences can become dead to the world in some way, whereas to survive such experiences with rational mind intact with an ability to communicate the experience gives one an insight and empathy that can come in handy not only in negotiating other psychedelic experiences, but also in relating with others who have confusing, outright delusional and frightening experiences. It is Andy’s sober, unsentimental compassion that shines through the book and it is his own ability to communicate these experiences in a way that does not get lost in the strangeness that has made him such a popular feature of the biennial academic and scientific conference, Breaking Convention.
His own psychedelic synchronicities are amusing and telling. Few who have any full-on psychedelic trip can escape those subjective feelings of fatedness or synchronicities that often seem to occur. Some get freaked out, some ignore them and cast them off as “mere” coincidence. Andy recounts his experiences with both a sense of reverence and objectivity, which is a fine balancing act. Embarking on various trips through the 70s with set intentions and discovering along the way some seeming result of the intention, is a feature of at least three experiences he recalls, such as when he recounts discovering rubber ducks on a beach after reading about a ship sinking with a cargo of rubber ducks in the Pacific, finding a Pink Floyd scrawled in pink on a piece of wood in the middle of a detour on a country road after listening to a Pink Floyd album, and witnessing the aftermath of a car crash after drawing the card of Death in a tarot reading, all after taking LSD.
Could these seemingly connected occurrences, so often intensified during the psychedelic experience (and in deep meditation and visualisation techniques) point to some kind of link between the fabric of reality and consciousness, or are they merely simultaneous arisings, the so-called synchronicity of Jungian psychology, rather than any evidence of cause and effect? Perhaps they are really nothing more than an erroneous sense of agency we feel, brushing up against the philosophical actuality of material determinism, which noted neuroscientists and philosophers such as Sam Harris and Daniel Dennett are so fond of discussing. There are no conclusive answers, but these are subjects we should not shy away from, and neither should scientists. It cannot be left to the naive, to the credulous or to the paranoid and Andy is brave enough to risk divulging. Healthy and light-hearted scepticism rather than cynicism is needed and a holistic understanding is preferable to conventional linear approaches, with a compassion for our natural curiosity, for our fragility as human beings, our vulnerability and our earnest desire to understand. All should be taken into account in these investigations, all should be understood in context of present knowledge and in the context of what is anecdotally suggested.
Another highlight for me (and there are many more names and events that I do not have the time and space to go into, but which make the book such an important anthology and testament to psychedelic history and the psychedelic experience), is the interview that Andy gives with the psychedelic author Liz Elliott and her account of her time in Algeria in the autumn of 1970 with Timothy Leary, who had fled the US authorities to seek sanctuary with Black Panther Eldridge Cleaver. This is a fascinating, illuminating documentary of the time and of these characters with their charisma and imperfections laid bare, weaving the psychedelic and the political turbulence of the time into an adventure story that is the stuff of legend, giving insight into the gritty, drug-fuelled outlaw nature of those who stood up to the tyranny of authoritarianism. Another such account is with the former LSD chemist and psychedelic advocate Casey Hardison, whose account of his experiences having been arrested and sentenced to 20 years imprisonment for producing vast quantities of LSD to turn on minds and spread consciousness, and who catalogued a meticulous ideological defence, is also a vital part of the modern story of drug prohibition and the mindset of authoritarian western governments and law enforcement.
In posting his own creative prose and poetry, Andy Roberts is also bolder here in his second book on LSD. These creative interludes are important because of their familiarity. Their literary similarity to so much noted psychedelic literature published over the years is evident. Straight society might scoff at such surreal meanderings, but there is a syntax and imagery that, while it may jar with the more rational and ordered literary critic, will nevertheless be familiar to anyone who has taken psychedelics and may have sought to express the experiences creatively, rather than give a solely objective account. But even here Andy is sparse and succinct, one piece a short account of a particularly inspiring early LSD trip, the other a Kerouac-like travelogue, which still retains the dry wit and unique rhythms of contemporary English language mixed in with acid-tinged imagery. And finally, while musing on so many historical figures, Andy takes the opportunity to deconstruct a more recent myth, that of the co-discoverer of DNA, Francis Crick, taking LSD and discovering the double helix through visualising it in a trip. He does not dismiss the story entirely, but he meticulously investigates the journalist’s background and possible motives, the historical account from contemporaries of Crick, and he concludes that, though nothing can be stated as definitive, it is highly unlikely Crick would have taken LSD at the time he made the discovery. This is journalistic work of the highest standard, which is why Andy is held in such high regard, both by scientists and mystics.
Acid Drops is needed at this time. It is important that the resurgence of interest and research into psychedelics does not become defined solely by a reductionist, materialist, scientific approach, as important as that approach is to ground the experience in the language and understanding of the rational. The history and the cultural value of the experience is beyond that, in many ways it is beyond an ordered definition. It is by its nature resistant to order, the weirdness and radical nature of the characters and their experiences cannot be allowed to be categorised as separate and distant from our daily existence. It cannot be isolated from our present experience. Investigations into the nature of this substance and the messy, often discordant nature of humanity struggling against the strictures of an authoritarian society are often at odds with societal evolution. Disorder is as intrinsic to the creative human experience as order and we can only get a handle on the healthy societal use of these substances when we are able to bring the darkness of our unconscious mind to light and recognise also our shadows.
Much can be learned from Acid Drops and from Andy Robert’s approach, his meticulousness, clarity and courage in cataloguing all aspects of the psychedelic experience, both historical and anecdotal, including his own; his affection for the times, the places and the people involved, both the celebrated and the often nameless and derided, and his willingness to both accept the mythology as a necessary part of the journey, without getting too lost in the absoluteness that others have often claimed for such experiences. This is a vital addition to the growing body of psychedelic literature and stands as an anthropological and sociological testament to the resilience and genius of this compound and its effect on humanity. I would recommend it to anyone who wishes to educate themselves in the history, experience and use of this most fascinating of substances, and who may wish to join in the campaign to end the blight of prohibition, which has destroyed so many lives and which has only temporarily halted the inevitability of human progress and the understanding gained from its use.