ayahuasca

A GLASS OF AYAHUASCAby Allen Ginsberg in my hotel room overlooking Desamparados' Clanging Clock,with the french balcony doors closed, and luminescent fixture out"my room took on a near eastern aspect" that is I was reminded of Burroughswith heart beating—and the blue wall of Polynesian Whorehouse, andmirror framed in black as if in Black Bamboo-and wooden slated floorand I in my bed, waiting, and slowly drifting awaybut still thinking in my body till my body turned to passive woodand my soul rocked back & forth preparing to slide out on eternal journeybackwards from my head in the darkAn hour, realizing the possible change in consciousnessthat the Soul is independent of the body and its deathand that the Soul is not Me, it is the wholly other "whisper of consciousness" from Above, Beyond, Afuera—till I realize it existed in all its splendor in the Ideal or ImaginaryToward which the me will travel when the body goes to the sands of ChancayAnd at last, lying in bed covered my body with a splendid robe of indian manycolors wool,I gazed up at the grey gate of Heaven with a foreign eyeand yelled in my mind "Open up, for I am the Prince of eternitycome back to myself after a long journey in chaos,open the Door of Heaven, My Soul, for I have come back to claim my Ancient HouseLet the Servants come forth to Welcome me and let Silent Harp make musicand bring my apparel of Rainbow and Star show me my shoes of Light and my Pants of the UniverseSpread forth my meal of myriad lives, My Soul, and Show up thy Face of WelcomeFor I am the one who has dwelled in the secret Temple before, and I have been man too longAnd now I want to Hear Music of Joy beyond Death,and now I am be who has waited to Welcome myself back HomeThe great stranger is Home in his House of Joy."or words or thoughts or sensations & images to that effect.Thus for an instant the Sensation of this Eternal House passed thru my hairtho I couldn't liberate my body from the bed to float away—tho did glimpse the foot of the thought of the gate of Heaven—Then opened my eyes and Saw the blast of light of the real universewhen I opened the window and looked at the clock on the R R Stationwith its halfnaked man & woman with clubs, creators of time and chaos,and down on the street where pastry venders sold their poor sugarsymbolic of Eternity, to Passerby-and great fat clanking beast of Trolleywith its dumb animal look and croaking screech on the tracksPowered by electric life,, turned a corner of the Presidential Palacewhere Bolivar 200 years ago in time planted a secret everlasting Fig-treeand a fog from another life crept thru its own dimensionPast the cornice of the hotel and travelled downward in the streetTo seek the river-had a bridge with little humans crossing, faraway—and up in the hills the silver gleam of sunlight on the horizon thru thick fog—and the Cerro San Christobal—with a cross atop and Casbah of poor consciousness ratted on its hip—and overall the vast blue flash & blast of open spacethe Sky of Time, empty as a big blue dreamand as everlasting as the many eyes that lived to see itTime is the God, is the Face of the God,As in the monstrous image of the Ramondi Chavin Sculptured Stone MonumentA cat head many eyed sharp toothed god face long as Time,with different eyes some upside down and 16 sets of facesall have fangs—the structure of one consciousnessthat waits upstairs to Devour man and all his universes—turn the picture upside down—the top eyes see more than the human bottom rowsIndifferent, dopey, smiling, horrible, with Snakes & fangs—The huge gentle creature of the Cosmic jokethat takes whatever form it can to Signify that it is the one that hascome to its Homewhere all are invited to Enter in Secret eternallyAfter they have been killed by the illusion of Impossible Death.Lima, PeruMay 1960THE TREE ABOVE—THE TREE BELOW