Between a time-tripping re-reading of Moorcock's Elric of Melibone and a long-awaited first reading of Abram's The Spell of the Sensuous, I find myself switching with alarming ease between states of consciousness. Perhaps it's the cold weather - tomorrow we'll have frost on the ground.
I'm keeping in mind, however, something Terence Mckenna said, almost in passing, during his workshop on Ethnobotany and Shamanism (and I'm paraphrasing): "It's one thing" he said "To change your life to become kinder to your neighbours. It's entirely another thing to change your life to become incomprehensible to ninety percent of humans."
Well, I don't quite see myself going there. While I approve of plant entheogens in general, I strongly disapprove of their usage in my particular case - being who I am, this time around. But it's as if I hardly need them. Psychedelic art only touches the boundaries of what my reconnected soul is starting now to envisage.
Perhaps its not so much a case of becoming incomprehensible to most humans, but rather of becoming far clearer to the rest of the phenomenological world.
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