Yes. A drowning person in a panic will likely pull anyone or anything they grab down with them. Beware the cure.
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Akin perhaps to quantifying the not-self in the service of capitalism?
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There’s that, and I think, maybe, an implicit lack of awareness that these plants —in terms of what they offer and allow— are pharmakon. Some reciprocity and ambiguity is involved. There’s something about their massification and commoditisation that will never sit well with me.
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Yes. When the bite is removed, when the fight is foreclosed, habitus and mimesis will rule. There will be no difference, no life, no growth. Anxiety will be the last remnant of a long forgotten life. Strange, generalized, free-floating. One needs new ears to hear its music.
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There is a seeking, a questi[o]n[in]g, a necessary and integral fear and inner search and suffering that will get cancelled out —much to the detriment of the entire psychedelic enterprise— the minute this is ‘easy’ and prepackaged.
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Yes. So true. And at the same time and another level the apparent safety and foreclosure are a lie, are unreal. One can drown in a bathtub.
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The poor guy is, in a split off way, talking about his struggles with anxiety on Twitter at the same time he is peddling a cure. The daemons have him. He just doesn't know it yet. He may yet come to learn something of the art of drowning.
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This is a fine thread of exchanges to be reading on a Sunday evening. Thank you all.
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Thanks my friend. The initimable , the nightjar, her dark, keen eyes and her brave soul are the propitious ground. One needs a truthful atmosphere for wee bits of truth to emerge.
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For what it's worth, my own (limited) experiences with psychedelics have all straddled the boundary between terror and ecstacy.
I'm at a loss when I see people eager to commodify such experiences. It seems profane, for lack of a better word. Similar story with meditation.
Yes. Perfect. Meditation is an excellent example. So easily framed as pleasant relaxation. The danger lies in the fact that we may thereby make contact with ourselves. A frightful experience ensues.
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Indeed. I experienced my first brush with meditation-induced terror when I was, I believe, about 17.
My revulsion at seeing it presented as some sort of harmless (& therefore toothless) palliative is overwhelming.
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