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b. 1958
farmer, hunter, carpenter, electrician, plumber, avid chess player
resides in South Kona, Big Island of Hawaii
born and raised in Philadelphia


How do I die if I’m not here?

I’ve separated from my body a number of times on various substances. My body usually goes limp and just lies on the ground, while my mind goes off to amazing places. But on a few occasions, my body behaved in strikingly bizarre ways, according to my companions who saw.

One such instance occurred while I was on 5-MeO DMT. The people administering it had a stopwatch and a notebook, using me as a guinea pig for a sort of experiment. I got two good hits off of a pipe. After the second, I told them that it felt very much like garden-variety DMT, but right after I said that, the back of my head exploded visually. I got sucked out through the hole into an amazing trip. The weirdest thing about it was what my body did. I knew what was happening outside my body, but had to rely later on the test administators’ accounts of what the body itself was doing.

According to them, right after the explosion I looked straight up in the air with a stupid look on my face, fell back, then sat up again and started looking around in a panic. Then they panicked themselves for some twenty minutes, because “Kenny” was gone, leaving only his nervous, bewildered body behind. “Kenny” had never left like that before. When I first heard “him” leave, I wondered, “Is ‘Kenny’ coming back? Oh, my God! Am I dead if he doesn’t?” My body tried to run, but it had no equilibrium and couldn’t even stand up. I was almost crying. How do I die if “Kenny” isn’t here?

Then I had an out of body experience very much like the time I had on ketamine, when I felt as though I’d been thrown into a boiling vat of murky white liquid where I wasn’t sure I had a physical body. As the bubbles in the liquid passed by my skin, they grazed my consciousness with emotions and memories. I was able to have eight or ten memories at once, depending on how many bubbles were touching me. After that, it was like an interstellar ride, a satellite buzzing through the cosmos.

 When I was back in my body I was sitting on my sofa, asking the test administrators, “How do I know if I’ve smoked this? Have I smoked enough to get high?” They wrote that down and asked, “How did you get on the sofa?” I’d smoked it on the floor. I stopped and thought about it for a second, and right then, everything I did outside the body came rushing in.


* * *


I once got hold of four hits of Salvinorin alpha – the ultra-powerful extract of Salvia divinorum -- each of which was about the size of a grain of sand. The portions were so small, we thought our supplier had messed up. There were five of us sitting in a circle in my yard here in South Kona, so we drew straws to determine who’d partake.

The first of the four of us who drew the longest straws smoked one of the alpha grains, but he put it on some marijuana and, not being a pot smoker, evidently coughed it up or otherwise missed it. The next in line tried smoking his hit through the bong, but coughed some of it out and didn’t get off. We decided to join the last two hits together, but the only one of us left who was still game to do ‘em up was me.

We put the two granules in aluminum foil with a little straw, and they both lit up. There was only a faint dry taste. About twenty seconds later, I started seeing little balloons float in the air, turn into dots, explode out a couple inches, and then shrink back down again. There were six or eight of them blinking off and on. As they opened up, I could see scenes like animated cartoons inside, a different vignette in each balloon.

When I’m on acid by myself and focus on the left side of things, I tap into a greater understanding or concentration of power. I focused leftward as the bubbles became increasingly prolific, until my visual screen literally stopped and I found myself in a three-foot wide hallway with a black wall. As I looked down the hallway, I noticed that my visual screen was like a sheet of celluloid, and that there were millions of sheets lined up in this black hall, as far down as I could see. I stepped back before the first sheet and saw that it was comprised of common things I was used to seeing, while the action changed speeds in the sheets behind it. That was fun, but I get bored quickly with mere toys of this nature.

So I went back into the hallway again to see if I could slide between a couple of frames. It worked. I could walk as far as I wanted to in the space between the frames, but I didn’t go far, because I wanted to stay in the area where everything seemed to be happening. The next frame seemed only a slight temporal distance away from the first one. The action in the second one hadn’t happened yet, so it was like a glimpse into the immediate future.

I noticed a myriad black circles of various shades on the wall. Being nosy, I stuck my head through one of the holes and was totally blown away. There was a completely different reality on the other side.  As my head popped out the other side, I saw a room that was hospital antiseptic, though not just white but gold and silver, a sort of Heavenly Operating Room. I looked across the room and saw two tall and thin, blue-hued humanoid women coming toward me. The energy they were putting out was powerful but intentionally very calming.

I noticed they were walking on the ceiling, but then saw that they actually weren’t. Everything on the inside of the hole was upside down, so I was looking up, which was disorienting. I pulled my head out, saw the same black hallway, and stuck my head back through again. The blue women were still there waiting. They rushed over to me and one cradled my head, conveying a warm welcoming feeling like they were glad I was there. “What took you so long?” they communicated telepathically. “It’s going to be okay.” They were extremely loving, emanating a selfless attitude like “Don’t worry about how we feel. Come on, it’s alright.”

They started tugging on my head and shoulders, trying to pull me through the hole. “Wow, this is like a birthing thing,” I thought. “Cool!” I start trying to help them, but I hadn’t yet seen that there was a membrane that hampered my access. I had one hand part way in, my right arm and shoulder all the way in, and half my chest in. I looked back and saw other black holes in the wall, through which I saw the other four folks with whom I’d convened to do up the Salvinorin, sitting on my lawn and looking at me.

I deduced that if I could get through these holes, my friends could. The heavenly women said, “It’s okay. They’re coming too.” I squeezed out of the hole back into the hallway and returned to the celluloid frames. I found myself sitting on the lawn in a circle with my friends, trying to explain to them how to get to this wall. They told me afterwards that all that came out of my mouth was pure blather with no recognizable words.

I got agitated with their incomprehension. I was waving my hands all over, trying to convince them to join me in the hallway of black holes. Suddenly I was caught by what I saw. I looked down at my right hand and could no longer speak. Around my wrist was a tight, black shiny wristband. Beyond the band my hand was liquid glass, with gracefully moveable pointed fingers and prismed light shimmering through. I saw that my arm had transformed into a marvelous work of engineering made up of millions of itty-bitty diamonds, all perfectly smoothed in and glistening light.  My whole body was a wet suit with zippers up and down my arms and legs. The jeweled right arm – the one that had gotten through the hole into the Heavenly Delivery Room -- had slipped out of the wet suit and was waving around, gesticulating, while the flesh-and-blood left arm lay limp and wetsuited on my lap.

I tried to relate this impressive development to my friends, but could feel their confusion and wonderment on my right arm, which had become uncannily receptive to emotions. As the breeze blew across the arm, rather than feel the moisture and temperature of the air, I felt my friends’ perplexity and their sense of wanting to be there with me. Once I realized that I couldn’t get them to understand what I was saying -- I had no idea I wasn’t speaking English -- I thought, “Okay, the heck with this. I’m going to go back to the hallway and through the hole into the birthing room.”

So I headed back out the side of the celluloid strips, but by now, because of time passing, I was way down the hallway. I popped out of the celluloid strips and realized I was way down the hallway and headed back toward the area I’d originally been in. Evidently the hyperspace of the celluloid corridor had not stayed on the same axis as the standard dimension my friends were in, so they saw me getting up to walk around, then all of sudden crawling on my hands and knees, slamming my head into the ground, trying to reach the wall. I could see it, but couldn’t get close to it. It had moved, merging with the plane of the ground.

I came to as my friends grabbed me by the arms and tried to soothe me, saying, “it’s okay, it’s okay.” I was crawling around with tears in my eyes, slamming my head into the ground, trying to get back into this hole. Fortunately, it was a grassy lawn, so I wasn’t injuring myself.

My feeling is that I’d stumbled upon this birthing room prematurely, before I was expected. As for what I’d be born into and the notion of a realm beyond this one, I believe that there’s something out there, but that the explanations of existing religions have defined it too rigidly. Perhaps there are fifty million races in the universe. We may be only a mold for another race altogether, or maybe we’re all inside one embryo, the child of a deity race waiting to be born.


* * *


The second time I took Salvinorin alpha was the most religious trip I’ve ever had. I was sitting out on my lawn in South Kona with a couple of friends. This time it began like the first, with the appearance of the balloons, but then, before I could focus left, there was suddenly a clean-cut church boy about eight years old behind me yelling and tapping me on the shoulder: “Come on! Let’s go! Hurry up! It’s time!” I’d only caught a glimpse of him, but he was right off the cover of The Watchtower, the broadsheet of the Jehovah’s Witnesses.

I tried to turn around and pull backwards, but my physical body stayed in place. It was as if there was no air hole to let me out of my body, so I was being sucked back into it. I pulled against the suction, but it seemed that the only way I could gotten out is to have stabbed a hole in my leg to let the air in. Every time I looked behind me, the boy ran to the other side, yelling, “Come on, come on! Let’s go, let’s go!” I spent about ten minutes trying to pull myself out, then rested for a minute and felt myself being sucked back in, tight inside my skin.

A couple minutes later, the boy ran behind a tree, yelling, “Come on, it’s going to be too late. We’ve got to go! We’ve got to go!” Just then three feral turkeys on my property flew overhead, but the Salvinorin translated this piece of sensory information into a vision of the boy sprouting wings and taking off with a bunch of other people who’d been waiting around the tree he’d run behind. He’d wanted me to catch up to this group with him so we could all fly off together to wherever they were in such a hurry to go. When they flew off, I jumped up and went looking around the corner and couldn’t find them. My friends said I was running around the yard, flapping my arms as though they were wings.

I liken this little boy to an angel, and I interpret the vision as an invitation -- like the Heavenly Delivery Room -- to a higher realm, not the Heaven of Christianity but a higher goal-oriented plane.


* * *

When I was twenty and enlisted in one of the branches of the armed forces, I used to get together once or twice a week and trip with some military buddies. We’d sit around and do things like “Let’s see if we can get that marble to roll… Let’s see if we can get the clock to stop for a couple of seconds.” We played like this for several years, to the point that we could understand what each other was thinking.

One time, four buddies and our respective wives or girlfriends went up in the Sequoia Forest in California for a three-day weekend. We had a bonfire going the whole time. On the second day, the five of us guys were sitting around the fire in a circle, nude and quite high on acid. We had a way of not talking for hours, but still understanding each other. We usually tripped to try to figure things out, not just to joke and have fun, though we did that at times also.

This time we posed the question, “Just how in charge are we of our bodies?” Through the group mind we created a higher being that the five of us could talk to together. The higher being told us, “You’re covered. You are in charge.” We asked, “What do you mean ‘in charge?’” We thought about it for a minute, and the idea that popped up was, “Let’s see if we can control pain.” The group said, “Okay, that’s a good one.” We threw that at the voice, which said, “It’s done. You’ve done it.” We said, “That’s too easy. How do we know?” to which the voice said, “That’s up to you.”

 “Someone stick a hand in the fire,” the group decided, so one of us thrust his hand right into the flame, holding it in there for nearly a minute, and then pulled it out. It was all blistery, but there was no pain. We thought about this for a while, and concluded, “Okay, that’s good.” We went back to the voice and said, “That’s fine, but then again we’ve all stubbed our toe and ignored it.” The voice laughed and said, “It’s your game.” So we decided to go further. Another guy stuck his hand in, this time for a couple of minutes, and when he pulled it out, it was all puffy and black with stuff dripping off it, but there was still no problem with pain. No, this isn’t good enough,” we challenged the voice. “It has to go a little further.”

Then, I, being the one who was picked, stood up and jumped straight in the air and landed totally naked on my back in the bonfire. I just stretched out there, laughing. Apparently, without knowing it, I’d let out a blood-curdling scream as I leapt in the air that was heard two and a half miles away by the forest ranger, who called an ambulance at three in the morning. My buddies looked at me lying there in the fire and talked to me. I was cackling with laughter, saying, “It feels like someone’s pouring ice water all over me.” All the women, who’d been sleeping in the tents, were awakened by the scream, and came over to the bonfire. They immediately freaked out and moved quickly to drag me off the flames.

I’d been a nondrinker for several years, and my mates thought quickly and reasoned that I had to furnish a reason for “falling” into the fire at three in the morning, so they got me drunk. So being on the wagon for so long, I quickly got very drunk on the shot after shot the women plied me with. The ambulance arrived and we told them I’d drunkenly stumbled into the fire and off I went to the emergency room at the nearest hospital, where I spent the next eight days.

I ended up burning some sixty percent of my body, third degree in some parts. The hands were burned the worst. I was scrubbed like hell with stiff-bristle brushes twice a day, which was extremely painful. While in the hospital, I couldn’t contend with the pain, so I had friends bring me Quaaludes every second day.

The guys all believed that I wouldn’t have sustained any burn injuries if the women hadn’t pulled me out of the fire. The theory was that once we were sufficiently convinced that the group mind could conquer pain, I would have gotten out and just resumed our chatter around the campfire. They blamed the fact that I got scars and was slow to heal on the fact that I’d been polluted with drink and thus lost my link to the group mind. I too believe I would have been untouched if the girls hadn’t interceded. When I was lying in the fire, I was totally conscious, undistracted by the heat.

I’m a firm believer of the body regenerating itself. I’ve experienced it and I’ve helped other people to experience it. I think it’s possible for the mind to transcend the limits of the body with group reinforcement -- especially when the group is tight and knows each other well as well as the five of us did. We believe that after all our years of tripping together, my jumping bare-assed on our communal fire would have been covered if the group mind we’d fused together with acid and friendship hadn’t been undone by liquor and hyper-rationalism in the excitement of the moment.


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