Eight weeks after my fifteenth birthday I swallowed a massive dose of LSD and went temporarily insane. I still sharply recall the feeling of sheer terror when I realized that I was losing my mind. The demons moved in to possess my soul and I was plunged into a sadistic hell; my mind on fire and my heart torn to pieces in my chest – and then weeks of utter emotional darkness. Nine years later, hard drugs and alcohol had almost extinguished what remained of the small, comforting light somewhere inside me, but at one point a motherly hand reached down deep into the vacuum that was my life, and pulled me lovingly up into the fresh air and sunshine. When I see photos of myself as a teenager, I’m surprised to see how young and vulnerable I looked. I had thought that I was grown up and master of my world. How very sad to be so completely lost in the midst of a civilization that is supposed to be advanced.
I come from a broken home – not in the sense of bombs exploding and loved ones killed by war or hunger, like some children; but an almost mundane, commonplace sort of broken home: one cracked by Drunkenness and Divorce. My parents are lovely people; sensitive and kind. But sensitivity has not been a virtue cherished in our society. Escape into intoxication has rendered most of us numb to the terrible norms of our lives – child abuse, mockery, violence and the like.
I’ve been clean for almost twenty-six years now. In this time, I’ve reached peaks of joy and clarity that I didn’t believe were available to normal human beings like myself. When you feel the presence of that person beside you on the bus, or you hurriedly brush past your child or spouse, ask yourself what they might be feeling. Could they be in a desperate state of inner need? And should they require your loving attention, would you have the capacity to quench their burning thirst? It’s up to each of us to attain the beautiful Unlimited in us and share it as unconditionally as possible. It’s time to find out just how amazing we really are.
His son, my grandfather the sea captain, was more evolved in this respect. He brought home his bride from Devon after WW1, Norwegian or no. Why, she wasn’t even a conformed Christian. Surviving witnesses in the old Vancouver neighbourhood may still recall the public argument she had one day across the picket fence with Mr. Bible-Thumper next door, insisting that reincarnation of human beings is a natural and inevitable process (“and-you-can-jolly-well-put-that-in-your-pipe-and-smoke-it!”). And that was well before the New Age Revolution began in the sixties. Um . . . Grandma’s reincarnation> Devon> Sea captain> Indians> the old Rev.> . . . ah, yes – the Internet: It’s obvious to me, after twenty-five years of daily personal subjective, and international objective experience in 
Suddenly, her hands emitted a soft, cool breeze, and her tense face broke into a lovely smile. She then felt the same cool wind coming out of the top of her head, indicating that this energy, 
experience – but it is regrettable to shatter one’s inner foundations through frivolous free will, thereby scarring the face of future possibilities.
Back in the early twentieth century, someone* came up with an absurd, twisted theory about sexual feelings between children and their parents (recently exposed as being unfounded) and certain followers of this concept, certain of their cause in making sex an open forum (in effect, watering down the potency of this special, intimate act) shouted from the roof tops that, because there are the nazi-like, or old-fashioned minded who try to repress us in our natural expression, we must run full speed in the other direction to avoid disaster. The individual and collective damage done in such a misguided venture is mostly subtle, but there appear obvious signs of weakness and decline which we tend to ignore. We, as a race, are very slow learners.
One sultry evening, a long, cool black man showed up introducing himself as John Lee Hooker’s brother – they were in town for an upcoming concert. He took out his guitar and played to the awestruck gathering. Unfortunately, I sat down nearby and pounded on my bongos. Despite the gentleman’s encouraging smiles in my direction, my wine-drenched mind just wouldn’t allow me to keep pace. (The following morning, an acutely annoyed banjo-playing hippy, who had also tried accompanying the star guest in the park, threw a beer bottle at me when I picked up my bongos to tap along.) This was my early introduction to a liberal, but not entirely liberating, life-style. I went in and out of hippy circles over the following decade, eventually cutting off my freak-flag (long hair) and escaping out of alcohol and drug abuse. (When my fourteen-year-old son recently put his hand on my shoulder and declared, ‘wouldn’t it be great if we could go back to the sixties!’ I couldn’t keep my lip and eyebrows from curling in honest resentment to the sentiment.)
Self-Help 