The Power to Go Out of Control

by newyork  May 9, 2014

Murilo Maciel **photo credit: Murilo Maciel

The temptation of touching the involuntary in myself and in another is unlike any temptation I have ever come across.

I used to use drugs and alcohol to access this. I'm not a "real" alcoholic although I love AA and 12-step in general and I've worked the steps. But when I drank, given a sufficient reason i could stop. And when I used, LSD was my favorite because it took us all into that place where you don't know what you're going to say next and you don't quite know what's happening and your mind definitely can't fully comprehend anything. And something is unfolding and it feels infinitely important and urgent while simultaneously time seems to pause for an eternity of smooth open space where every movement is the length of the lifetime of a star. That's what I craved: falling into a place where my feelings and my intuition and my body were let loose and my mind came to a concentrated point of service to my senses. I didn't want oblivion, as I have heard so many alcoholics say in their vulnerable speeches about their addiction; i craved total immersion in something bigger than me and possession. I wanted to be taken and owned without question, without a shred of doubt. To belong fully.

Drugs got me there for awhile, for years in fact. I went on a wildly fulfilling peak with them, and with the people I did them with. For about two years we were on a genuinely mystical journey with each other, learning about the unseen, the behind-the-curtain scenes that God creates for us to wake up. And we were waking up and we were learning how to operate outside the bounds of the scripts we had been given, and we were plugging into something bigger than us and deeper than what we had been told was available and it was beautiful. We were creating a world within the world and opening it up wider and wider and inviting more and more people in to play. And we were fucked up and ugly too, desperate and scared, and we had day jobs that sucked our souls out, and we had families that didn't understand, and we had destructive dynamics between us that tore us apart sometimes but we were getting free and were fighting the good fight.

After two years we peaked with the most beautiful LSD I have ever experienced. We called it Champagne and it was a golden-sunrise of sensation like being held delicately and kissed by God from start to sweet, smooth finish. We had a vial of it for a month or so and it was like ambrosia. Every gathering where we took it out felt blessed and fluid, laughter rolling like soft green hills in a timeless dream, voices penetrating and stroking our souls, creating art and embracing and loving past every barrier we had ever nestled up against for a moment of false comfort. It was like being in the Garden of Eden, naked and innocent and raw, trembling with the electricity of being alive and being connected to God.

And then the peak was over.

Our descent was epic. Darkness befell Eden as our appetites for drugs increased and we couldn't get enough. I got addicted to opiates for two months, snorting them every day before work and after work, too. Everything felt in a haze of smoke. Our personalities morphed like viruses that acclimate to antibiotics. Our explorations took on darker and darker tones of jealousy, anger, resentment, and blame. We were irresponsible, driving while intoxicated and letting our arrogance at having touched God-consciousness make us uncaring for the pains and awkwardnesses of others. We stopped taking care of that one guy at the party who couldn't stand and couldn't remember what he had taken. We stopped opening up our circle for the people who needed a friend and we started isolating more at parties in the back room or bedroom, creating in/out scenarios and blocking people with our harsh laughter. Our relationships began to fall apart and our old ideals began to feel like memories of something we pretended to be but didn't practice anymore in everyday life. My trips became ominous and challenging; I couldn't speak during half of them for fear of saying something wrong and being laughed at. Paranoia crept in and built webs of fear in my mind. My world began to shrink.

Somewhere in all of this, I had found OM and OneTaste. My OMing was slowly opening me at a subtle level...where my festivals had been cracking apart my identity, OM was softly, ever-so-delicately stroking me open. Where drugs and alcohol had become a foggy, scratchy ride almost every night, OM would heal me from my self-abuse with a love that permeated every cell of my body. My orgasm whispered to me gently to let go of my grip on satisfaction, my grip on my desperation to find that place of possession again, that place of belonging. It whispered that I was home, that I had found it, it had been inside me all along and all I had to do was say yes and have it.

With the help of 12-step, I began to relinquish my death-grip and open my eyes to a practice of surrender. Little bits at a time I let life have more of me, let it take me off-course and steer me where it wanted me to go. I committed and recommitted to replacing drugs with orgasm and God. Years passed; sobriety became a much wilder ride than anything else I had ever tried. I don't know how I got everything so twisted, how my search for God and involuntary had become the thing that blocked me from it the most. How what I most desperately wanted was all around me, that i had been swallowed by everything I craved, wholly possessed by it, but was blind to it for a time. I don't know how my pursuit of the purest touch of consciousness had become a harsh, relentless battering ram against the tender walls of who I am.

Perhaps it was so that I could again experience a renaissance of the soul, again have all of my ideas and efforts turned on their head so that something far greater than my imaginings could be revealed. Perhaps it was so that God could again stroke the spot in the back of my soul and unveil the infinite to me in a new way. Perhaps it was so that i could see the darkest parts of me in the stark light of day and cringe and squirm and weep over them, finally discovering that no matter what spilled from my guts, I was loved. Loved like agolden-sunrise of sensation, like being held delicately and kissed by God.