What a great book. What a fun book. What a wonderful, interesting, informative and even transformative read.
I loved it, not because of the novelty of the subject, but because of the absolutely appropriate caution, charming naivety and utter lack of pretense with which the author Michael Pollan handles the subject.
I’m 50, I grew up in a university town, and my parents and our family fiends and acquaintances came of age in the swingin’ 1960’s.
So needless to say, far (far far far) too much of my youth was spent listening to baby boomers ballyhoo endlessly about psychedelics, leftist politics and new age spirituality.
I have quite a bit of personal experience with each of those endeavors, including many of the magic molecules that are the protagonists of this text.
But all of my youthful excursions occurred in the opaque cognitive and cultural shadow cast by said boomer evangelists, and consequently, many of the conclusions I came to regarding the meaning and value of these experiences were heavily influenced by that particular set and setting.
In contrast, Michael Pollan is 60 something, but he’s kind of a square, and as it were, he’s one of those guys who never did acid, not even in college. So he takes to the psychedelic venture rather late in life, with a fully developed critical facility, coupled with a beginners mind refreshingly free from the aforementioned hippy hyperbole.
In other words, he trips with the sober, curmudgeonly skepticism of a smart, responsible ‘saving for retirement’ type ‘dad guy’, mixed with the curios, open and friendly here n’ now enthusiasm of a good natured golden retriever.
Pollan somehow manages to render the quintessentially ineffable psychedelic experience into something rather sensible and perhaps even effable (Harris, 2018).
It’s a very different, more grounded, more responsible, less contrived, more skeptical, more broadly considered take on the subject than what we’ve come to expect from the likes of Huxley, Alpert, Leary and Kesey.
My previously mentioned personal experiences were a wonder to be sure. Absolutely enriching without a doubt. But I have labored as an adult to put their lasting value into precise language.
My sense was that these were immensely valuable and formative introductions to the expanded mind, but beyond that, the experiences remain rather implicit, as opposed to explicitly understood and usefully integrated.
In yet another autobiographical example of youth wasted on the young, I was more enamored with the splashy perceptual effects of the drugs than the subtle lessons they can facilitate regarding self transcendence.
But my interest in introspection was sparked, and this ultimately led me to meditation.
Like many of my boomer predecessors, I began my serious meditation practice working in a Hindu tradition, with the psychedelic experience as my most proximal frame of reference.
Analogously, I spent too much time and energy in this stage chasing cathartic spiritual ‘fireworks’ rather than digging in and drilling down to their source.
The catharsis was valuable, but again, not explicitly or clearly useful in any practical sense.
My later life meditation practice occurred in the Buddhist context, and this is when all of the introspective practice really took hold and provided traction in life.
Bringing concentration, clarity and equanimity to absolutely ‘butt normal’ experiences enabled real life progress, reduced suffering and facilitated a more flexible, less binding sense of self.
I entered the field of psychotherapy in order to share this fantastically liberating way of being with anyone who cared.
The problem is, it’s really hard to do, and almost nobody cares.
Most people don’t want subtle. Most people desperately want those cathartic epiphany and release experiences, and look at you like you’re a total dick if you challenge that even a little.
And maybe that’s just the way it is. Maybe people just need a little thunder and lighting in order for the rain to come and soften the ground for new growth.
This book helped me realize how helpful those early psychedelic experiences were. They captured my youthful imagination, and slaked my thirst for the numinous, while concurrently providing the foundation for more subtle work later on.
Plus they we just plain giggly wiggly fun.
I’m still WAY more interested in what good therapy combined with really good meditation instruction and practice can do for a person.
But after reading this book, I’m slightly more open to how (precisely) a psychedelic experience, occurring within a therapeutic context, can jump start, or even rocket boost a process of personal exploration, radical acceptance and spiritual growth in a reasonably stable and sufficiently mature individual.
I’m not interested in groovy acid orgy deadheaded pestilence, or teeth gnashing, amphetamine fueled dance party revelry, or burning man dehydration festivals, or shamanic shitlock crystal pleasures, or anything of the sort.
I have WAY been there and TOTALLY done that.
It’s really fun, but it’s kids stuff, and when the party is over, it’s not so cute.
At this stage of life, my fundamental concerns are: freedom, connection, health, well-being, and meaningful accomplishment.
Ultimately, it’s my assumption that you have to be pretty dang sober to get all of those things in a durable and lasting way.
But I’m a grumpy old man who has the benefit of some truly adventurous, borderline degenerate youthful life experiences to draw from.
My current relative rigidity was something I developed, rather late in life, out of sheer necessity.
Sobriety, sober community and structure are my magic at this particular juncture of my ‘one wild life’.
But if someone is languishing in a state of icy, turgid, spiritual paralysis (many many good examples come to mind), than I can absolutely see how a little molecular magic, in the proper set and setting, could defrost and ignite the engine of enlightenment.
This book really helped me warm up to this exciting frontier of therapy. Thank you Michael Pollan :-)