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Über dieses Produkt
- Kurzbeschreibung"A book that should start a long-overdue national conversation." -Dave Barry
Despite their illegality, many Americans are already familiar with the effects of psychedelic drugs. Yet while LSD and MDMA (better known as Ecstasy) have proven extraordinarily effective in treating anxiety disorders such as PTSD, they remain off-limits to the millions who might benefit from them. Through the stories of three very different men, awardwinning journalist Tom Shroder covers the drugs' roller-coaster history from their initial reception in the 1950s to the negative stereotypes that persist today. At a moment when popular opinion is rethinking the potential benefits of some illegal drugs, Acid Test is a fascinating and informative must-read.
- AutorTom Shroder
- VerlagPenguin Putnam Inc
- Seiten464 Seiten
- Gewicht366 g
In 1975 I was a twenty-one-year-old college journalist, home on spring break in Sarasota, Florida, when I noticed a blurb in the local news- paper about a charismatic hippie with a pet wolf who was building himself a spectacular house in the woods near town. I decided to go out and see it for myself. I don't remember anything about the blurb. I doubt it mentioned anything about the inf luence of psychedelic drugs in this project. But I am guessing that I inferred it, because while I didn't much care about techniques of home building-nor would my college-student readers-I was extremely interested in the implications of the psychedelic experience.
I'm looking at a taped-together, Xeroxed copy of the story that resulted from that visit. Still no mention of drugs, but there it is between the lines. I wrote about the philosophy of the young builder, a guy named Rick Doblin, just a year older than me. It was about try- ing to live authentically, guided by an inner light rather than society's preconceived ideas; consciously working to discover and create his own destiny rather than trudging along the rutted tracks set before him.
These were the kinds of notions floating around a certain subculture in those days; it was evident in the woodland home itself, with its giant, rainbow-themed, spiritually suggestive stained-glass window. Maybe we discussed psychedelics, maybe we didn't. But they were in the air.
I myself was not entirely unfamiliar. Under the influence of the psilocybin mushrooms my friends and I had learned to pluck from cow dung in the rural fields not far from campus, then boil into tea and drink, I had seen the world-and myself-from a novel vantage point.
It was like being able, for a few precious hours, to climb above your life
and view it from on high, a perspective every bit as revealing as seeing a too-familiar landscape from the top of a mountain. Instead of indi vidual cornstalks or oak trees or buildings, you saw checkerboard pat terns of fields, serpentine forests following the course of a river, villages arrayed around ascending spires of churches. You saw, for once, how it all fit together.
One experience stands out in my memory, because it is something that I have carried with me, every day since, for four decades. As the drug took effect, instead of feeling the usual lift, I grew increasingly entangled by anxiety. I began to obsess about an ethical problem I was struggling with, which generalized to feelings of inadequacy in life overall and my inability to find solutions.
The more I struggled against these feelings, the weightier and more intractable they seemed. And then s uddenly I had a vision: I saw myself with my arms wrapped around a boulder
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