|
|
psychedelicadventures.com
Stephen Emanations
from the untouched altar cloth
We walked around the ancient city walls, over the gate which had been
bombarded during the English Civil War, where many so long ago had stood just
there fighting for their lives. Intense rushes of tingling awareness spread
slowly through my body -- the emotions of the souls engaged in the ancient
conflict as well as a profound sense of my own place in the continuum of
history. I could have stayed there all day, soaking up the emanations of history
as I was vibrating with morphic resonance, but there was more exploring to be
done.
We cruised into McDonald’s for a “Ronald on acid” moment. It was
incredible. The place was a theme park. The Hamburgler winked from the wall and
when we opened the styrofoam pods, the burgers themselves appeared like steaming
plastic -- just like the backlit illustrations on the wall menu. I looked at the
people happily consuming, seeing into their lives for a few moments. We were in
the ancient historical city of York, but we could have been anywhere in the
world at all, McDonald’s is a bit like the Internet -‑ you can access
the same Big Macs in any major city on the planet.
When we left, it felt as if we’d been there for hours, though it had
only been about thirty minutes. Returning to the open air and bright sunshine
was like waking up from a sterile dream. We strolled up Stonegate, a merchant
street since Roman times, and into a pub. The eight of us were packed in tightly
around a table stacked with pints of ale. I was claustrophobic in the crowded
public place, but felt comfort from the others, with whom I didn’t have to use
a full sentence, but just look in their eyes and utter a knowing "Ahh"
to register understanding.
It started raining as we continued up Stonegate towards the Minster,
walking against the tide of shoppers who were hurrying along, heads down against
the rain. For a second I too flinched against the pelting precipitation, and
then I just relaxed. Why scurry? You get just as wet and it feels quite nice
anyway.
We reached the Minster, a huge medieval cathedral with stained-glass
windows and a vaulted roof of intricately-carved stone. Mirror-topped tables are
provided so that visitors can see the ceiling without straining their necks.
Looking into them was like gazing into a deep pool from which the stained glass
was glowing warmly. I was moved by the sheer beauty of the place, the soaring
ceilings that sheltered so much history, the tombs and memorials of the powerful
throughout the centuries of English history.
We decided to troop up to the top of the tower. It was a long climb up a
spiral staircase and we were all hallucinating strongly. You have to walk along
a pathway on the roof to get to the tower. There's a two-hundred-foot drop to
the ground, which I kept uppermost in my mind as we walked. From the top we
could see across the Vale of York and the whole city laid out before us. It was
a magical scene. Rainbows shimmered in every direction. Our guide started
chatting about the ancient city walls I'd seen earlier. I was keeping up my end
of the conversation, but he looked like a Picasso painting. I saw fluid pulsing
through his veins and his face morph slowly into other people’s. It was rather
distracting.
I returned to the floor of the Minster and walked through the rood
screen, an ornate wooden panel on which the organ stands, and then into the
chapel. Although the Minster was crowded, I was the only person in the chapel
itself. I was so connected to the place that my perception of time had become
fine tuned. A mere second was now a significant period of time. I could see
shards of polychromatic light as if they were sliding through a rainbow, shining
out from the jeweled altar cloth. I walked toward the altar and these rays of
light gracefully emerged at the rate of a foot per second.
I felt an amazing presence and power focused upon the altar and radiating
from it, which gave me a rush or warmth and knowledge. "Oh wow," I
gasped and groaned about five times, unable to think of anything else to say. A
warm power buoyed the center of my chest, an all-encompassing life force
which made a sweeping, breath-taking assurance that life was sweet and
beautiful. Was this a manifestation of the Christian God? I don't know, but at
that moment, there was no doubt that a powerful force was present.
The closer I got to the altar, the more I took heed of two thoughts that
finally stopped me in my tracks before I reached it.
The first impulse was "You shouldn't put your hand on the altar
cloth, because it’s not supposed to be done.” Social functioning had kicked
in. The other idea was the knowledge that I was hallucinating, that the
revelation of the higher power was drug-induced.
But that did not neutralize my appreciation of this encounter or taint
its spiritual and intellectual fruit. It was a very invigorating and liberating
experience. The force that surged through my chest was love. |
|
|