When Michael Pollan wrote in his highly acclaimed book The Botany of Desire (Random House, NY, 2001) that our having tamed the cannabis plant closer to what our bodies was deeply entwined with our human desire to be intoxicated, I think there was some lesson there deeply implied. It is that we humans already know what it is like to be intoxicated even without the whiff of cannabis. That is why we want to conjure it at will with the help of "herbs." In fact, he referred to these as the "gods within" meaning the gods are already there, fired up by all the things that make us humans feel alive. Remember the fire of falling in love, the searing pain from loss, the overwhelming sense of gratitude to life, of deep awe and wonder at Nature the very same things that are realized when you come across a thought that startles your mind or encounter an event that cuts deep into your soul. Besides, these substances can also work against our own humanity as Pollan cited history speculating that in the 11th century, a sect under Hassan ibn al Sabbah made his warriors called the Assassins, take cannabis so they could then kill and terrorize Persia without flinching or fearing for their own lives. Although cannabis did probably do this, recent history seems to tell us that sheer language can rouse us to war. A recent article in the New York Times focused on the language of war and how words can feed the spirit of war itself, even without the help of drugs. Even recent findings in neural experiments (Scientific American, December 2003) revealed that the same part in human brains light up when we experience physical pain as when we are socially rejected in the form of hurtful words. It seems we do "die" not only from sticks and stones.
I do not doubt that molecules from a whiff of some psychoactive substance can serve as switches to release some heady conversations with those gods within. That is simple chemistry. What I find truly disappointing is that as Carl Sagan said, these conversations have yet to stand daylight scrutiny, long after the whiff blends with normal, everyday things the breakfast to be prepared, the assignments that need to be done, childrens play, bills to be paid, doctors appointments, the servicing of the family car, the laundry, the dishes, the garden. The musty, vampire environments that breed the most interesting and caring mushrooms cannot scare away the wonderful necessities of day where we all have to fall in love with the world again with the clearest of minds and a stable memory of the past. And everyday things, including everyday air, are what we humans inspire and expire. Same air we take for granted when we fall in love, lose a loved one, or bow in awe at the night sky when we feel most alive! Everyday air is the first gasp we take in the world and the last we give off.
I think that the poppied bubbles of intoxication are only glimpses of your will as it takes on the world. To unconditionally cavort with biochemical heroes, trusting them to escort you to some transcendental café is to think you can draw the whole of human life and experience, by simply connecting all the molecular relatives from within you and out. Can you imagine yourself toward the end of your life thanking a hormone or a molecule for the one-time shot at being human and being alive? The world, in its everyday air, offers a larger stage for our will. Why settle for a glimpse? As the poet Derek Walcott penned his invitation: "Sit. Feast on your life." I think we should look at it straight in the eye, join the conversation of the gods and not be carried away.