How a prehistoric man watched the stars

Last weekend my host Francisco, three of his friends from Guadalajara and I made a pretty interesting camping trip to Real de Catorce, a tiny former mining town well-isolated from civilization and Tanque Dolores, an even more remote ranch in the middle of the desert. The main objective of that trip was the ingestion of peyote, a small, spineless and, most important of all, hallucinogenic cactus found mainly in desert land in the north of Mexico. It has been used for thousand of years by several indigenous people in Mexico such as the Huichol and the Tarahumara for ceremonial, religious and even healing uses. The effects can be roughly compared to psychoactive mushrooms and LSD, providing rich visual and auditory effects along with deep introspection, spiritual enlightenment and metaphysical experiences. To put it simply, it makes you trip as hell. But in a different way than mushrooms or laboratory-based chemicals. The spiritual aspect gives the trip a different aura. Depending on the amount taken, a trip can last up to 12 hours. It is also said the cactus confronts you with your inner fears and challenges you to overcome them. Now, enough smart-talk and over to the in-depth investigation of this wonderful plant.

For a long time now I've felt attracted to everything which alters your state of mind, more than just your state of body such as uppers. Mostly through several of my friends who're quite experienced at it. I always asked them what they felt, what the drug did with them, how hard it was, etc. On top of that I engaged in reading books and articles on that matter such as Aldous Huxley's 'The Doors Of Perception' and Tom Wolfe's 'The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test'. Whatever mind-altering substance I was to ingest, I was more than prepared to handle its effects through extensive tips given by friends and the literature written about it. One thing that has always refrained me from embarking on such experience was the fear going bad, having a 'bad trip', collapsing. Well, after that weekend I learned one has to face those fears and overcome them. I must say I succeeded more or less in doing so. But before I focus on that matter, I'll talk a little about the camping trip in general.

Friday well at night Francisco, his three friends and I drove off to the first stop Real de Catorce. His friends were Rodrigo, a student in medicine and affectionate lover of the herb, Marta, a silent but overly sympathetic student in economics and Geronimo, a geek-like computer wizard, victim of torturing migraine. All three splendid persons. I've been told good company is important on whatever psychoactive trip. I was assured. Upon arriving in the tiny miner town it was already after 22:00. No soul around and everything closed. Our main objective then was to find a nice place to camp out. Francisco had the illuminate idea of climbing up a small mountain, or high hill, to set out at the top in order to be closer to the stars and have an amazing view over land. Why not? So with everything we had, stacked upon shoulders, head and back the five of us started climbing up the mountain in pitch-dark. Luckily we carried flashlights, but it didn't take away the thrill executing such dangerous operation at nighttime. From the foot it appeared an easy stroll towards the summit. That turned out to be very deceiving. Every time we thought "we're nearly there!", a new and more difficultly accessible upward hill appeared from behind a small inclination. Of course we didn't give up and continued all the way until finally the steep and slippery rise flattened to a more or less horizontal surface. The rock- and pebble-filled ground wasn't ideal to lie on, but we had blankets to even it out. The view to the star-filled sky was over-rewarding. Not only did the celestial bodies shine brighter than one of those energy-saving lightbulbs, they were very close to the eye. Never had I been so close to them. I had the feeling I could almost grab them and tuck then neatly away in m y pocket. Over the dark mountains small factions of lanterns ornated the black contours with small orange dots pointing human activity. The next main concern was warming up because the cold out there was unbearable. Even I, seasoned Belgian, suffered from the bone-chilling cold to which once I was accustomed to. So we had to gather lumber. No trees around, but we did find dried cactus plants that burned as intensely as wood. In a short period of time we had made a huge fire measuring up to 1m50 in its climax. I burned my legs several times standing too close to it, but what a nice burnt feeling it was. In total, it was a wonderful night. Warm fire, music pounding out from my travel-size speakers, weed, Czech absinthe and neighboring stars. At one point we distanced from the fireplace to meditate towards the sky. Geronimo had trouble silencing for he found it odd. But when he noticed that no-one reacted to what he said, he got the point. That night not one, but three shooting stars passed my eyesight, a nature's phenomenon which I had never witnessed. So amazed, I forgot to make a wish. Suddenly it was already five in the morning, so in other words bedtime. The next day was an important day. Everyone crammed into the tents we'd set up, but I, overconfident as I am, decided to sleep by the fire. That went okay until it was slowly dimming and coldness kept me awake. Still, I had about two hours of essential sleep and at least now I can boast that I slept under the stars. How many people can say that?

The next morning we headed back downwards and found out there was a laid path starting from a huge, blue-coloured Jebus cross all the way down to the village. Following that route was considerably faster and safer than the live-risking ascent we performed the night before. Before heading off to Tanque Dolores where the peyote session was to take place, we visited Real de Catorce briefly. Absolutely worth it. The village is exactly how people basing themselves on movies would imagine Mexico to be. Of course, it thrived on tourism and at least twice in every street we were addressed by street-vendors and men all offering the same tour on horseback. Quite annoying, honestly. But it's their source of income. They're not completely useless, though. It's an excellent opportunity to train my ignoring skills which are essential when I'm walking through bustling markets or past infinite food stands. Really, you have to ignore all them because else you'll spend your day saying "no, thanks", "maybe another time" or "I'm just looking around, thank you". I know, it's rude, but, fuck it. My host in Monterrey taught me that.

In the ranch Francisco knew a family who owned a small country house right in the middle of the desert. Nothing but mountains, cacti, distant houses and infinite arid land surrounded the shack. Just imagine sunrise and sunset. It's magic. One of the four sons of the family, Guillermo, more or less owned the house. Apparently some guy from I can't remember where had bought it and now Guillermo was keeping an eye on it. In fact, in all the years of its existence the house had served as a base camp for people in search of peyote. An average of three times a month groups and individuals show up interested in finding and consuming the cactus. First, we drove to the family's own house where a friendly old man, the father and dubbed 'el Don', showed us the way to the place. Once we got there we hesitated no second and started our quest for the peyote. Something you ought to know is that the cactus is extremely difficult to find. It is said that peyote finds you and not the other way around. I strongly believe in that. After more than an hour searching the cheeky piece of flora in the burning desert sun we return homewards, disillusioned. We decided to go back to el Don to ask for his help. Actually, it is his son Guillermo who knows the spots, but he is also well aware. Upon asking, he willingly stepped in the car and guided us to the peyote. On a random point he told us to halt. So we stopped, got out and started our quest anew. Almost instantly el Don found the first one. We all gathered to see how it hides and were amazed by its camouflage. The cactus barely pops out of the ground, covered by dust and stone making it almost invisible. Another thing said about it, is that once you find the first one, the rest follows easily. That too was the case with us. After el Don, Francisco found his and so did the rest. Rejoicing filled our hearts, but I still felt disappointed that I hadn't found one of my own, almost with childish jealousy. But then suddenly, I found my first one. I felt as happy as a kid, like a pirate finding his treasure or as the U.S. army 'capturing' Saddam Hussein in a dug-out hole in the ground. To my surprise, I found all in all six peyotes simultaneously. Then I knew, time and place were right to ingest a hallucinogenic. Nature had called. In total, el Don and us found no less than 55 (!!!) peyotes. Considering that a person needs two to three to start tripping, that is a fairly high amount. Happy as hippos we returned, thanked the man and started with cleansing process.

At 18:30, once pealed and washed, we started ingesting the peyotes. I had heard from several people it bears a horrible taste. Supposedly, the most awful taste known to mankind. And yes, it was the most disgusting, repulsive, nauseating thing my tongue has ever had to bear. Really, nothing compares to it. Not even Brussels's Sprouts. Not even cocaine. I'm sure not even decayed salmon tops the incredibly bitter taste peyote has. Now, some things that don't taste too good are still edible, passible. But this was different. Like a little kid refusing to swallow whatever vegetable out of capriciousness, we suffered the same reluctance cramming the plant into our body. And to proof my apparent exaggeration, the stomach was so nauseated by this unknown taste that it pushed it right back from where it came from. Indeed, vomiting was inevitable, even with little food in our system. A small price to pay for a mind-blowing trip. Francisco, who had eaten it before, told us to eat it with root and all. I barely ate the second one completely, leaving the root for what it was. Right after I distanced myself from the group in order to undergo the same unescapable fate everyone underwent. Not much came out really, just the two peyotes and a little bit of stomach fluid. Once that unappetizing moment was over, the first strange feeling of the mescaline kicked in.

I started feeling slightly euphoric, comparable to light drunkenness. I had minor trouble walking straight and for some reason the fire we had started earlier glowed more intensely than before. Roberto, the 'doctor' as I called him, named up the different initial effects caused by the substance. I was feeling happy, to put it simply. Francisco and Rodrigo were starting to laugh like hyenas and didn't stop doing so throughout the entire trip. That was incredibly funny, especially because it made me laugh more about it. Geronimo, who was actually mentally unprepared for what he was about to feel I found out later, tried to rationalize what was happening to him. And Marta, she had trouble undergoing the inevitable nausea, fighting against herself until she too went to the pukeatorium. For the rest of the night, she lay inside the tent set up inside the house tripping in herself. Her journey was definitely very inwardly spiritual. Before Marta regurgitated the content of her stomach, I tried to calm her down because I felt she was going bad. The others didn't pay much attention to her, at least in the beginning. They had all individually set off into their own worlds. While I was holding her shoulder, giving her reassuring, I looked up to the sky. A fourth shooting star rocketed over the sky. When I tried to say: "Hey! A shooting star! It's my fourth already!", I paused halfway as a result of what was beyond that flying star. Suddenly, everything made sense. Everything I had didn't understand about the constellations before then came clear to me. It started with Orion, the largest star constellation, shooting fiercely the arrow from his bow like a great warrior. That marked the beginning of my unforgettable trip.

Every single star was connected and formed pinpoints of prehistoric figures all moving about, just like the ones you find in caves. Entire scenes with the little figures as actors were taking place in the darkened sky. Everything was moving, everything was intertwined. The stripes connecting the celestial bodies coloured red and green. I'm not sure wether those figures were genuine constellations, but they sure made sense to me. "Marta", I told her, "if you can, look up to the sky. It's marvelous. Now I understand." But she was too deep into her struggle. I asked Geronimo the same, but he waved away my request for he was already too busy fighting against his rational self. Around the same time, Guillermo had showed up with his herd of sheep and two filthy dogs. For a long time he accompanied us, saying very little, only mentioning how cold it was. All he did was sit by the fire, occasionally adding lumber to it. But most of all he listened. He listened to the noises we made, what we said. And often, he would just laugh, for good reason. Francisco and Roberto were two hilarious characters, bustling around, laughing like madmen and - for unknown reasons - stepping into the the car to turn on the lights and windshields. That cracked them up, alright. And me too. This Guillermo guy would in fact only talk when we asked him something. Roberto tried several times asking him what we was ahead of us, but in vain. The man would jokingly reply: "Yo no sé mucho, yo no sé nada." (I don't know much, I know nothing.) He damn well knew everything. He told us that he didn't do peyote anymore because it keeps him wake for three days. He was just there to observe. However, he did help us to make tea out the peyote. That's namely an easier way to inject the mescaline into the blood arteries, reducing its foul taste.

Meanwhile, I was starting to feel very well the psychoactive effects of the mescaline. It started with the sky, and now the fire was my main point of attraction. I heard, saw and felt several things at the same time. I heard the wind blow and the objects flying in its current, the crackling of burning lumber, the sizzling of the boiling water, the rubbing of my leather jacket. I saw more than my eyes could process, shades probably of my fellow trippers caused by the playing fire flashed by both extremes of my eyesight. I felt the shivering cold and the warmth of the fire at the same time. Reasons enough to become paranoid. But, as I discovered, I waved them away with a subtle laugh. Constantly there was a smile printed onto my face. I knew that positive predisposition would help me stay focused, out of the dark corners of hallucination.

For some reason, I felt extremely attracted to Guillermo's persona. Not in a sexual way, but in a way that I wanted to be like him. I considered him as our safe-keeper, our stability, our shaman. I felt, as long as he is with us, we fly safe. And I adopted his stance. Calmly, I remained close to the fire, observing the rest and reassuring Geronimo, who was growing more and more paranoid by the minute. Relaxed, laughing, gazing at the stars, helping the others, keeping the fire burning: I was in contact with my ancient, prehistoric past, the very beginning of my blood line. I had turned into a prehistoric man. And the cold was my fieriest enemy. Oh, how I hated him. The low temperature was the pathway towards darkness and negativeness. It led to the bad trip. So my self-imposed mission was not only to stay close to the warming light, but also to safeguard it. Make sure our eyes could see and our bones could warm up.

The others were starting to move like ghosts. Whenever they walked, first went their soul and then followed its flesh. I could see through them, and even through my own fingers. The bones within lit up like röntgen photos. By that time, the visual and auditory effects were very intense. The stones of the walls melted like chocolate-vanilla ice cream. The sky was stirring even more. Interestingly, the small one-person tent we had set up earlier on in sober condition near the fireplace was alive. So alive, that the small ventilation gaps as his eyes were winking at me, while the opening as his mouth was laughing. He was like a fat, unmovable Jabba The Hut character. Several times I tried to say: "Quit it man! It's enough already." But he would continue nonetheless and as a result made me laugh my guts out. I was afraid he would eat the others whenever they went in to sit down, but instead he kept them safely on his tongue. Man, was he comical character! The fire was coming alive by the minute. I saw the playing, sizzling flames as animals, as my dogs. They were constantly hungry, asking me to feed then with more lumber. But what they didn't know was that I was cannibalizing them. The sticks I threw in were the very same dogs that were asking me for more. I didn't question it. Silently I obeyed them. And whenever they would cry or bark I would hush them. "Ssssht, sssssht, it's alright. Don't worry, here's some more." And they would calm down. They were my dogs, alright. Sometimes I would just gaze into the glowing, bright orange-coloured hearth wherein the little pieces of lumber crawled about like little insects eternally burning. On top of the stones surrounding the flames we had laid for no particular reason a big piece of wood that after a while transformed into a skinned dog, his members stripped, ready to be eaten like adorable ducks in those Chinese restaurants. It wailed like it was suffering pain, while actually it was the watery liquid inside boiling up. That didn't scare me, though. Rather, it fascinated me. It got a hold of my eyes. An example of how such a trip can be extremely hilarious is the moment we had the bright idea of stacking an even bigger piece of wood on top of the other piece that resembled a eat-ready dog, over the fire. After an undetermined lapse of time when we all were quizzed by why it didn't burn at all Geronimo, the futile rationalist, shone his bright light onto the fire and screamed: "That's why it's not fucking burning! Look how we stacked the lumber!!", followed by uncontrollable laughter. Just imagine four idiots, tripping out of their minds, looking confused to two pieces of wood thinking what's wrong, why it doesn't burn. I think that's cracking.

My alter ego as caveman was accessorized with one particular stick whose both ends had the faces of dogs. Everything was dogs. I adopted it as my scepter, my ceremonial staff that crowned me ruler of the light. I took the plastic crate Guillermo had sat on, placed myself by the fire and uphold my scepter. By then the man had left us for we were all well ahead on our individual journey. Maybe there was too much insanity in the air for sober person. I wouldn't be surprised. When he left, Geronimo, Francisco and I lined up and said: "He took good care of us." Now that he had left, what I considered my source of stability was gone. So, it was my turn to adopt his safekeeping duty. That went swell, until my greatest foe, my nemesis, the Cold, was dragging me into his wake of negativeness.

At one point, the fire couldn't keep me focused anymore. The Cold was getting stronger and I didn't feel I was a point of stability anymore. Not even with my scepter. So I bequeathed the task of maintaining the fire to Geronimo in order to go the Marta, who had been lying in the tent the whole time and who offered me to lie with her to calm down a bit earlier. That was my only hope. So walk inside and ask permission to lie by her side. From that moment on, I drifted away in indescribable inner madness. The cold ground pierced my back, while the absence of a cushion or anything to rest my head on made me feel like I was drifting away into an abyss of the underground. Every minute or two I raised my hand to feel the space I was in because I would keep forgetting I was in a tent. The warm, woolen blanket on me didn't serve. I asked Marta to hold her arm, but even that didn't work. The feeling of me holding her disappeared riddlingly. What helped only momentarily was the headlamp I had around my neck that shone brightly, almost blindingly. What I saw is very difficult to describe. I would think of one thing, a thought, an object, whatever and that would be dissected into a thousand more things. I couldn't focus on one thing. Only thing I recognized was an '+'-shaped cactus from which more incomprehensible derivations would flow. And the sounds in my head were fragments of songs, also dissected into parts playing in extreme slow-motion. That was fucking scary. The calmness I hoped to found inside, by Marta, was unexisting. It escalated to that point that I wanted it to stop. I wanted no longer be out of control of my thoughts. And that's bad. Even in the darkest moments you shouldn't wish its ending. That just made it worse because you can't stop it. It's a one-way ride without breaks. Once embarked, you're in it till the very end. I concluded inside was a not a good place to be. It was Cold's hideout place. So I got up, manned up and walked right back to the very beginning of my trip where I had felt good: the fireplace. Suddenly, I was at ease again. The warm light soothed my inner fear imposed by my enemy. That asshole. After that brief moment of despair I decided not to be scared by Him anymore.

Outside, the three guys were silently sitting by the fire. I went into the one-person tent and lied on Jabba The Hut's tongue. With the others around, the light, and the sky I was well. For the rest of the night I stayed there, waiting until I the effects dimmed. I was starting to feel this thing was landing. And then suddenly, like a bubblegum pop, I stepped out of my alter ego and was myself again. I could feel my body again. I recognized my hands, my belly, my legs, my face, things I had trouble distinguishing before. I had landed, although in the sky the prehistoric scenes were still taking place. It was ending, and good too. I laid awake until the ultra-caffeine effect of the peyote - because that's one of its features, it keeps you awake - died out. Francisco kept drinking the tea all night long. He had a strong mind. Tucked underneath a sleeping bag and warm blanket I closed Jabba The Hut's mouth and finally closed my eyes. Goodnight, father of the prehistoric past. It was nice adopting your persona. Surely next time I will fulfill my duty as safekeeper better.

...what a ride...