[Contents]
[Chapter 1][Chapter
3]
The seventies and early eighties was a period when I was
energetic and productive, enthusiastically involving myself in
one successful project after another, first a guidebook called
Alternative London and then a series of 'alternative' businesses
which I had started in Neal's Yard, a courtyard in central
London. Yet by 1988 I felt disappointed because most of the
original ideas I had pioneered had been discarded. That year I
did start a new business, but more out of desperation to prove
myself than enthusiasm, and it was not a success.
I was in that strained frame of mind when a friend called Claudia
offered to take me on an Ecstasy trip. She is an extrovert
actress who I've known for years and, as rather an introvert
myself, I wanted to keep my distance to avoid being overpowered
by her. We swallowed the capsules in her flat and then headed off
for Kew Gardens, a place I loved and where I thought I would feel
safe. On the way to the station I felt symptoms familiar from
taking LSD in the sixties - I would see something happening out
of the corner of my eye but it would return to normal when I
turned my head. As we got on the train Claudia took my hand. . .
What a surprise! It felt wonderful to be touched, and there was
nothing threatening about her, she was clearly warm and caring.
Even the worn train seat felt good, and I rubbed the back of my
head on it like a cow does on a gate. I felt Claudia's delight at
seeing me opening up and asked: "I could really get into
this, would you stop me if I go too far?" Claudia laughed
and told me to enjoy myself while she looked after me. I got into
catlike stretching and slid under the table to enjoy the space,
laughing at how shy old me could behave like that. When I sat up
I found that I could 'ride' the train like a horse, responding to
its bumpy movement. I looked out of the window and saw everything
afresh; not only beauty but ugliness was accentuated, too.
When we got off the train I took deep breaths and the air felt
wonderful. It was good to be alive. But the intellectual part of
myself asked "What is different to normal? Why isn't life
always like this?" I deduced that I was simply allowing
myself to enjoy what had always been there. I realised that I had
got into the habit of restraining myself. It was not this
drug-induced state that was distorted - it was what I had come to
accept as my normal state that was perverse. I then realised that
over the past few years I had been mildly depressed. And, what's
more, I could see why: some years before I had felt cheated in a
business deal, and had carried a resentment like a burden ever
since: instead of hurting the person involved, I had been grimly
taking it out on myself. This realisation and the experience of a
few hours 'freedom' was just the tonic I needed; I let go of the
resentment and started afresh with new enthusiasm.
Since then I have taken the drug three or four times a year. Only
twice has the experience been less than delightful, but on both
occasions it nevertheless provided insights. Once was when I took
Ecstasy in a flat in Holland with Anne and Afga, two woman
friends who I had known since the sixties, I became acutely aware
of how the years had changed them. I could see that Afga had
suffered a great deal as a result of the men she had been
involved with, yet it seemed to me that the pain had matured her
into a strong and serene woman. I felt that Anne, by contrast,
hadn't allowed life to hurt her and was still playing the 'flower
child' which simply didn't fit the middle-aged woman she had
become. As the trip proceeded, I found it difficult to
communicate with them. Afga became absorbed in her own thoughts
and ignored me, while I restrained myself from telling Anne how I
saw her. As a result I got a headache. The other occasion was
with a tense friend who suffered from crippling stomach cramps.
When the drug took effect her face opened up and she felt truly
relaxed for the first time in years, allowing her to slither
around the floor like a snake - until it wore off and her cramps
returned with a vengeance. Altogether it was a painful
experience, but it did provide her with a valuable insight into
the cause of her cramps: the memory of being raped as an
adolescent.
On one occasion I was on a walking holiday in the Himalayas. I
was trekking in Nepal with a Danish couple who I had met on the
trail. Our trek took us over a 17,000 foot high pass, an extreme
effort and achievement for all of us, and next day we took some E
as we sat in the cold sunshine overlooking Tibet with a glacier
ice-fall behind us and the peak of Annapurna gleaming across a
wide valley. As we watched, clouds formed on the peak, then they
drifted across the valley changing shape into fishes, dragons and
horses. At one point an eagle swooped down over our heads, and we
felt as though we were carried with it across the valley below.
Afterwards the reserved French geologists at our hotel responded
to our warm mood by bringing out brandy and chocolates which they
had reserved for a special occasion. There were no insights, it
was simply a wonderful day where the surrounding magnificence was
enhanced, but the shared experience formed a bond between us and
we travelled on together like old friends.
Another time was spent in the countryside with a lover whose Sufi
master warned that drugs damage the psyche and would undo
hard-earned spiritual achievements. As the drug came on her face
lit up and she cried, "What fools they are."
Spirituality was right there for her, and she still regards that
event as a valid mystical experience. We found ourselves utterly
fascinated by a moorhen that was building its nest, as though the
bird had acknowledged our presence and was letting us observe its
skills.
After all these experiences on E, I had still not been to a rave.
It was not that I didn't want to, but simply that, as a
middle-aged man, I thought I would feel conspicuously out of
place. Then the opportunity came: a rave where several of my
friends would be, one actually older than myself. I quite enjoyed
myself thanks to the E putting me in a positive mood, but I could
not get into it. The dancers appeared to be lost in their
individual trips, facing the speakers without relating to one
another. I was simply amazed by the discomfort of the venue, with
its rough concrete floor and steel walls wet with condensed
sweat; the unrelenting, aggressive music and pulsing lights to
match. It was not until I had spent several more similar nights
out that I was able to enjoy the true experience.
I was given a phone number by a friend to ring for tickets and
was directed to a dilapidated block with a sign saying 'Offices
to Let for #50 a week. Move in today.' It looked bare as though
they had done just that. A girl sold me the tickets and when I
asked where the party was to be held she scrawled the address on
a scrap of paper. Half expecting I'd been conned, I turned up at
midnight just as the E I'd taken was coming on.
The venue was spacious and well-ventilated. The music was the
usual Techno House, although not as harsh as some, and I tried to
follow a friend's advice of moving with the bass and ignoring the
rest. I got into dancing in my usual rather self-conscious way,
keeping an eye on what other people were doing and well aware
that I was much older than everybody else. Then, imperceptibly, I
gradually relaxed, melted into it, and knew I was part of it all.
There was no need to be self conscious; I had no doubt I was
accepted; there was nothing I might do that would jar because
everyone else was simply being themselves, as though they were
celebrating their freedom from the constraints and neuroses of
society. Although everyone was separately celebrating in their
own space, when I looked around I would easily make eye contact -
no-one was hiding behind a mask. There was virtually no
conversation or body contact except for the occasional short hug,
but I experienced a feeling of belonging to the group, a kind of
uplifting religious experience of unity that I have felt only
once before, when I was part of a community (Christiania) that
was threatened with closure. It was as though we belonged to an
exclusive tribe bonded by some shared understanding, yet full
'membership' was mine for the #10 ticket and #15 tablet. Not
everyone was included; a few looked awkward, trying to fit in or
dancing with style but without spontaneity. I assumed that they
had not taken Ecstasy.
That experience was a revelation. I felt as though I completely
understood what raves are all about - including the music, which
had always grated on me. Harmony that I had found lacking was
irrelevant: the music constantly provided energy to lift one up
without ever letting one down; it built up more and more without
ever reaching a climax. I found myself not only dancing to the
heavy beat, but breathing to it too, sometimes letting out sounds
along with the music. There was subtlety hidden in the change of
beat, a kind of tease that made me smile each time. And it felt
so very healthy, as though I was moving in a way that was a true
expression of myself, with every part of the body feeling free
and flexible. I felt much younger, almost reborn.
I danced continuously until 6 am without any effort, even though
I would normally be exhausted after an hour of such vigorous
exercise. As the E wore off, at about 4 am, I started to feel
some tension in my stomach, but the trance remained until the
end. On the way home in a car with friends the music carried on
so clearly that we had to check that the stereo was off before
believing the sound was coming from inside our own heads! I slept
most of the next day and also right through the following night,
without any further effects apart from stiffness in the legs.
In 1992 I became interested in exploring Ecstasy's potential
for solving personal problems, and took MDMA with an old friend,
Jill, with the specific intention of resolving problems and
examining relationships in our lives. We each wrote down a list
of subjects that we wanted to explore beforehand, and spent the
first hour after the drug came on concentrating on one issue at a
time.
I had snapped at an ex-neighbour a few days before. I was a bit
shocked at myself as I couldn't see why I had done it. But on
Ecstasy it seemed clear: I felt threatened by the people who had
moved into his flat and he had 'caused' this problem by having
moved out! Next I focused my attention on one particular friend
who I had always admired for what he had achieved in the face of
enormous difficulties. My image of him was shattered and instead
I saw him as a Chinese juggler spinning plates on bamboo sticks,
desperately rushing from one to the other to forestall a
catastrophe. It didn't seem like a revelation, more as though I
had known it all the time, and only afterwards did I realise that
this was a viewpoint that I had not seen before.
On later reflection, I assessed these insights on MDMA as valid
but not the complete picture. It was as though MDMA had provided
me with a different viewpoint, such as might be seen by a friend.
There was one occasion when the drug had virtually no effect on
me, and that was when I was in love. It was later that I realised
the significance: being on E is quite similar.(132)
[Contents]
[Chapter 1][Chapter
3]
E for Ecstasy by Nicholas Saunders
HTMLized by Lamont Granquist (lamontg@u.washington.edu)