The ongoing impact of quantum physics on 20th-Century thought are probably not fully apparent. Decades after its inception, this model of reality suggests to many people the possibility of closing the gap between science and spirituality. And there are real risks here. A difficult theory, wrapped in the mantle of scientific legitimacy, gives rise to all manner of abused New Age rhetoric. Wolf’s intuitive integration of soul-talk and quantumspeak falls just barely in the “acceptable” zone on my Crap-o-Meter. I say this to his credit. He does seem knowledgeable in the science he uses, unlike some adherants of ‘quantum spirituality’. His text is coherent and detailed, and draws nicely upon the wisdom of many spiritual traditions. My primary criticism, perhaps, is that it is written for an already-sympathetic audience, an audience which assumes a priori the existence of a soul. Far from being a ‘proof’ as the subtitle suggests, The Spiritual Universe merely shows one way in which physical and spiritual models of the world can be made compatible. [New York: Simon & Schuster]

This “Book of Dreams” presents itself at first as a fragmented collection of journal entries, visionary snippets stolen from sleep. But gradually it strikes the reader that there are recurring themes, a sort of organic narrative. Is Burroughs editing his accounts to suggest a story? Or are his dreams in fact an ongoing report from the Land of the Dead, intersecting the stories of his own life at odd angles? The effect is disconcerting, and in the hollow of unasked questions, potent images well up, whispering of mortality and intrigue, of addiction and “universal damage and loss.” The reader feels privy to some secret ritual of language, where the Word appears almost naked, close to its origins in the bedrock of the Imagination. [New York: Viking]

By all rights, this book should not exist. It goes against everything the shapers of U.S. drug policy have worked for and achieved. Its prequel, PIHKAL (Phenethylamines I Have Known And Loved), already got the authors in trouble with the DEA. Yet here is volume II, chock full of new information on the synthesis, phenomenology, and philosophy of mind-altering chemicals. What cynical criminal minds could lie behind such a mockery of American values?

The answer is not at all what you might expect. There are the Shulgins now, on the back cover: a couple in their 60’s, with loving eyes touched by joys and sadness. They don’t LOOK like “twisted drug predators” (Steve Forbes’ depiction of supporters of a Washington D.C. medical marijuana bill). Turns out Dr. Shulgin is a well-respected chemist, with a license from the DEA to handle and synthesize scheduled substances. In the succint and sincere essay, “Why I Do What I Do”, he lays down the reasons why he systematically creates and tests (on himself and others) substances which have a particular potential to affect human consciousness. One senses both a rigorous scientific spirit, combined with a sense of urgent humanism, and, above all, a deep love for his work. His research forms the second half, the ‘meat’, of the book, wherein are listed chemical recipes and structural information on various tryptamine compounds, as well as phenomenological reports. This is the part that raises flags in Washington — detailed instructions for synthesizing powerful psychoactive compounds.

The first part of the book consists of essays by Ann and ‘Sasha’, and here Ann takes her chance to shine as a writer, as an observer of human experience. Over half of the articles are hers, in which she shares personal accounts of adventures the two of them have had over the years. Though psychedelics are usually involved in some way, these are not tales for the chemist. She describes the investigation of their home in the wake of PIHKAL‘s publication, and other learning experiences. Most significant, perhaps, is her detailed description of her two years conducting psychotherapy with the aid of MDMA (‘Ecstasy’). This is challenging evidence for anyone who may be unaware of the amazing potential of psychoactives in a therapeutic context. Her recollection of detail throughout these accounts is impressive and realistic.

This is a mighty book. It feels warm with the research and hard work which gave it birth, and with the love and conviction which motivated it. [Berkeley: Transform Press]

It’s like reading a series of journal entries, or story fragments that emerged from journal entries. Yet as the end approaches, turning back to the beginning, I realize it all fits together with a haunting continuity. Phrases float awhile on the page, perhaps to resurface later glinting like minnows underwater. Burroughs seems able to watch the flow of his unconscious mind as it drifts by and PIN IT to the page just so lightly it won’t kill it not yet. Butterfly still flaps languidly on the page.

And there he is again walking around some day later across the street smiled round the corner so long ago the old grey corner blurred sadness in his eyes the corner shop I was walking behind him at the corner said something … one word … no dice flickered across his good bye his mouth a little open there looking for a name it is getting dark boy burglar spots the door open.

Click of distant heels … [New York: Penguin]

Artaud, electro-shock survivor, scrapes the shit-slimed bottom of his unconscious mind and sculpts poems from the gleanin’s. It’s a challenging read, often inscrutable, but the depths hinted at are within each of us.

And it was always drainage for angels, / and my drainage passed theirs, / the day when / forced to hoe in the syphilitic resins / of a filth organized from the very beginning, / I understood that the hoed one was me, — / and that what you have defecated defecates you / if you do not take / well in advance / the precaution to syphilize, / the penis abscess / IN THE SNOT-SUCKING MUZZLE OF THE WILL. [Panjandrum Books]

I returned to this college text with a renewed sense of confidence. Several years, and much reading and thinking, had passed since I last picked it up. As it turned out, my confidence was partially warranted. But I admit to not being able to stay on the train of thought consistently. Perhaps this is due to a lack of intellectual rigor and preparation, a testament to Descartes’ powerful mind. Or perhaps he himself was rambling and undisciplined. It’s certainly fashionable to dis Descartes in today’s cleverly counter-intuitive climate. I give him the benefit of the doubt, gentleman that I am.

This much is clear: he learned from a great teacher — the clear voice that arises in silence and solitude. And in that inner territory, with so few familiar landmarks, he cleared a trail of sorts. The problem of Cartesian rationalism is not with any flaw in Descartes’ thinking, but in the false assumption that it is the only possible path. Philosophy is intended to be public: let those who have ears, hear. Let those who have better ideas, speak.