Emma’s comment > Likes and Comments

In 1974, my use of psychedelics brought me fear-on-verge-of-panic, that unreality would overtake my mind, and I would have zero control over it.
On Halloween night of that year, I went to see The Exorcist, so full of said substance that I could not make a cognitive distinction between the film and my own physical reality, of sitting in the theater.
The experience was one of peace I have unto this day.
Not to polarize myself from you, just sharing my perspective: the triumph of good over evil, portrayed, convinced me that I needed to quit substances forthwith, and it wouldn't hurt to get my lapsed-Catholic butt back into church.
If I have a point to offer, I suppose it would be this: being Catholic, lapsed or active, puts a whole new can of wallop to the movie or the book.

Mike Oldfield's album "Tubular Bells" still brings euphoric memories: the omens, then the trauma, then the bliss of lasting peace.