Only Half of Timothy Leary

“Trust me,” Jacques-O said to everyone in the living room,” It’s pure Leary, the Maestro only sells me the best.”

The Timothy Leary blotter acid he scored was among the absolute best. Sixteen of Tim’s smiling faces, printed in pale blue ink on each one-by-one-inch piece of tissue-thin perforated blotter paper smiled back at you, inviting you to turn on, tune in, and drop out as a charter member of the League for Spiritual Discovery.

Since they were already tuned in and dropped out it was time to turn on.

There was one big secret. Everyone but F. Red had tripped at least once.

“How do you know how much is on each piece?” he asked. He read somewhere that the maximum dose was 20-30 micrograms which was about the size of one-tenth the mass of a grain of sand.

“Because they’re very careful when they make this shit” added Donny. “Besides a little more or less won’t matter. Let’s do it.”

Outside the sun was shining and the garden was in full throttle with rows of plants organically reaching towards the Maine sun. The perennials surrounded the front of the house, stretching all the way to the woods and path that dropped downhill to the cove. They were at their summer peak – pink cosmos, yellow black-eyed Susan’s, yarrow and the naturally-growing cardinal flowers, boneset, summersweet, and goldenrod. And there was a clump of Lupine standing tall and proud near the boulder that had been deposited thousands of years ago in the center of the yard. Just tall enough to climb upon and dangle your legs in the air. It was a pure and perfect moment for a day trip.

As F. Red watched Jacques-O carefully tear off five small squares the size of a stamp. His stomach began to tighten. Michelle took hers and placed it upon her tongue, followed by Donny and Big Jim who quickly took their dose to start their trips. That left Jacque-O and F.Red.

“I read someplace that one person should stay straight to act as the control in case anything happens” F. Red said quietly to Jacques-O.

Jacques-O scrunched up his face as if to say what are worried about and said “It’s just an acid trip, it will wear off by the time the day ends. You’ll be fine.” he added and gave F. Red his smiling face of Tim, then placed the last piece on his tongue.

“I’m going down to the cove” Jacques-O announced.

Michelle had already gone outside and was lying on the lawn next to Donny. Big Jim in his usual solitary way quickly and quietly wandered off into the woods to be alone.

F. Red just sat at the long table in the dining area and held onto his piece of the blotter. The debate in his head was raging. To trip or not to trip that was the question. On the plus side, it was just an acid trip and he had happily smoked enough dope without a problem. On the negative side, it was an acid trip and he had heard enough about bad trips to avoid it until this moment. And there he was, a smiling Tim waiting on his sweaty palm.

Maybe he thought if I just take a small piece off it would only be a short trip. And that was the decision except tearing a small piece of blotter paper was not the same a cutting a valium in half. F. Red tried to carefully pull Tim’s face into two equal parts. The result was not even close. The smaller half was smiling back at him.

“Oh crap,” he said aloud to himself. “What happens now?”

He looked more closely at the smaller piece and thought maybe most of the drop had ended up on that side. Then again it could all be on the bigger piece. Time was running out. He had to make a choice. Either throw them both away and hide for several hours while everyone spoke to their angels or demons or drop Tim’s eyes or mouth and take his chances.

He decided to take the smaller piece with Tim’s smiling mouth and toss Tim’s eyes into the embers of last night's fire, praying that most of the LSD would go up in a small flash of flame.

Time slid past. Nothing happened. He sat on the window seat by the picture window and just looked out. “I think I got lucky,” he thought.

He wondered if he should have taken the whole thing. Then the goosebumps started on his arms. Not a bad feeling just strange as if his body knew something momentous was about to happen. Then his heart began to thump more loudly in his ears. He was suddenly tired and yawning the widest yawn ever. As he tipped his head forward he was slightly drooling.

“That’s weird.” he thought “I never drool.

As he watched the dribble of spit slowly roll off his arm and take forever to descend to the wooden floor, he started laughing at the idea that he had become an old man. He abruptly stopped.

“Aha!.” he whispered to himself, “I’m tripping.”

There was no going back now. He closed his eyes and saw the smiling piece of blotter he had dropped laughing at him. It was Tim’s voice saying, “Welcome to the club Bub.” He quickly opened his eyes. The living room for the moment hadn’t changed. He made a decision. Since there was no turning he would just make the best of it. After all, it wasn’t forever.

It had been a lazy afternoon, no one wore a watch anymore, and it now it felt as if time was slowing even more. He was tripping. The room was the same place he started in only somehow it was a different room. He saw things more clearly and noticed details like the soft edges of the collected shells on the table and the vibrant colors of the dried flowers in a variety of vases and glass holders.

He looked out the large picture window where Michelle had a moment ago been perched and saw the four-armed black-as-night naked Kali sitting on the rock. She was sticking out her bright red tongue and moving her arms in different directions. Around her neck was a garland of marigolds like the ones that surrounded the garden defending the tomatoes. He knew she was the Mother of the Universe. Never to be feared. Always to be loved with great devotion.

“I’m losing my mind,” He thought watching her arm moves and wave. He thought that losing his mind would be an excellent idea. Harvard had instilled in him the value and importance of analyzing and determining. F. Red always envied the hippies who seemed free from constantly thinking and worse overthinking. He wanted to be one. Perhaps now he could be reborn on this trip and his intellectual mind could just take a hike and get lost.

He heard his voice somewhere in his head saying, “You’ll be back later kiddo.” He looked and Kali was still there her bright red tongue flickering.

F. Red’s mind was flooded with Hindu thoughts. Kali Ma was the kindest, most loving of all the Hindu goddesses. She was the great protector. Was he seeing Michelle in her true form?

He looked down. “When did I do that?” he wondered. There was a small cut on his thumb. It was bleeding the brightest red blood redder than any red he ever imagined. He looked more closely and was amazed to see the cells dancing around the cut. He could feel his thumb healing, blood slowing, new skin starting to form. At any other time, he would have simply wiped it off, wrapped it in a bandage, and moved on.

Now it was mesmerizing. The body was healing itself, fixing the cut, closing the wound, making new skin. He had this sense that he had been just sleepwalking through this miracle for 24 years, just taking it for granted.

“Crap,” he said to himself “I am so stoned. I am so stoned and boned.” The idea made absolutely no sense and it made him laugh out loud. He had arrived. He was reborn, a hippie, living on a hippie commune, tripping on hippie acid.

He looked up again to see Kali, but she disappeared off her rocky perch. F. Red smiled and wandered outside. The greens were greener, and the flowers were glowing. He had always loved flowers but had never noticed how the colors emanated from them. Their colors were beacons. Taken together they were a magnificent light show more amazing than any of the light shows he had seen at the psychedelic concerts he attended.

The lawn beyond the garden seemed to extend an invitation to come and sit awhile. After what felt like forever, he slowly, in amazingly slow motion, lay down on his back. He closed his eyes as was delighted by the flashing light show of black and white lines on the inside of his eyelids. He opened his eyes and looked up at the empty pale blue sky. “The black universe goes on forever right above the blue sky.” He mused, ”It’s all outer space. I’m riding around on this little hard blue pebble of a planet. I am an astronaut.”

Thinking about the planet spinning rapidly through space made him start to sweat and feel sick to his stomach. He closed his eyes continued to observe the flashing light show.

With his palms pressed into the grass, his eyes closed, he suddenly had an idea. When he was running Cambridge Ecology Action, he had gotten into the habit of thinking of the planet Earth as Gaia. It meant the Earth was a living being, everything was interconnected and interdependent upon everything else.

As his hands moved slowly through the grass he felt every beautiful blade. Slowly he felt his hands being pulled deeper into the grass, being drawn closely to the ground. The pull became so strong he could no longer lift his hands. For a moment, he was scared and wondered if LSD could cause paralysis. Then a wonderful peace flowed through him, he took the deepest breath he had ever breathed and realized he was feeling the pull of Gaia.

Without any conscious thought, he just understood that all life on this planet really was connected. Gaia, the Planet Earth, the place he called his home, was alive. All of it is alive.

Eventually, he sat up and looked at the lawn and the meadow and forest beyond. It’s all connected he realized. It all depends on each part working together. Working on its own, then working together at the same time.

He saw Jacques-O sitting cross-legged on the edge of the lawn watching the bees fly in and out of the flowers. F. Red walked over with a huge smile on his face and sat next to his friend.

“Look at the bees,” said Jacques-O.

F. Red watched for a very long time as the bees moved from one flower to the next, the sound of their wings filling his ears. It was all so alive, and one part perfectly fit together, the bees and the flowers and the grass and all the rest. It was all one big beautifully connected web. F. Red laughed out loud at the thought.

Jacques-O looked at him questioningly and gently asked “What’s funny?”

“It’s the soap,” said F. Red “Dr. Bonners. The label. He always knew. He always knew. He knows it’s all one.”. Then they both started smiling and then laughing for what felt like a very long time. Then Jacques-O turned to him and looked directly at him.

“The Diné believe that all living things are inseparable.” He said. “They try and find ways to find a balance, find a kind of harmony between people and the natural world. They have this belief that all living things are relatives, and each has its own spirit.”

Even stoned Jacques-O could always deliver a serious piece of information about the Navajo.

F. Red just smiled and nodded at the words. So, he thought, the bees and flowers and all things are family. He liked the idea and sat with his old best friend just watching the ever-buzzing dance in silence.

His trip suddenly ended as quickly as it began. The flowers looked like flowers, and the noise of the bees began to annoy him. He was coming back to himself, his old self. He was a hippie in name only. But he knew that this small moment, thanks to the smiling face of Tim on the smaller half of the blotter, had changed him profoundly.

Many years ago, after reading Huxley’s The Door of Perception about a mescaline trip, he was intrigued by the ability of drugs to change the ways we perceive the world. Now, after his trip, he realized something Huxley failed to say. When you pass through The Doors of Perception and look back, all you see is a NO EXIT sign in bright glowing red neon.

“I’m really hungry,” he said to no one in particular. And headed for the kitchen to see if there was anything to eat.