January 2005


jan notes

jan notesIt’s now a bright, steely white-blue January in London – 3 months distant from the tropical colours and hummingbird intensity of Bahia – but the effects of the Ayahuasca I took out in the jungle are definitely still here. In the flow of weeks and months that have happened since coming home, so many little things have shifted, little insights fallen into place, things become clear. It’s hard to pin-point any one big transformation. Gradually, as the new becomes old, then you forget what the old was like. I can barely remember my pre-Ayahuasca state.

But there’s no doubt in my mind that I have changed. And that those changes are quite marked. Perhaps I should list a few:

1) Less fear. One of the strongest lessons of that extraordinary second trip on Ayahuasca was that fear was an optional extra. For years I’d lived with a faint miasma of fear and insecurity which hovered over and sometimes swamped my brain. Somehow the Plant dislodged it. Not permanently. There are definitely situations in a human life where fear happens – but it came to me very strongly that fear is neither necessary nor permanent. You can survive – indeed you can flourish – as a fully functioning human without it.

Since I’ve come back I’ve had episodes of fear and insecurity and patches of self-disgust – but I’ve been quite clear in my head that this is temporary stuff, clouds in an othewise clear sky. My day-to-day living has been much less clouded, more stable and fearless. This has been most evident in my relations with other people. Whereas before I was shy and often very reserved and superior, now I find myself able to talk to just about anyone with a very relaxed and friendly openness. This alone is a fabulous gift.

2) Re-evaluation of Buddhism: For 5 years, Buddhism was the guiding framework around my spiritual life. I visited Buddhist monasteries, learnt how to meditate, did several hard-core meditation retreats, really beefed up my mental control. But even before I went to Brazil, I was getting strong signals that this path was becoming too severe. Instead of liberating me it was simply usurping one set of mental constraints with another more subtle set. Watching all my beliefs swept away that night in Bahia was terrifying. I was aghast at seeing my beloved and beneficial Buddhism blown out of the water. But as the Zen and Tibetan Buddhists know – real Buddhism is indestructable. Whatever gets swept out of the water is just flotsam – the ocean remains untouched and expansive.

A friend bought me a book by the renegade Tibetan lama Chögyam Trungpa. I’d always been a bit suspicious of his crazy wisdom. It offended my rather doctrinaire and purist tastes. But post-jungle, Trungpa is a revelation.

He has had much to say about one of big points of contention between my experience on Ayahuasca and my Buddhist beliefs: the beauty of experience. All my life,, I’d always instinctively looked for a philosphy which approved of the beauty of being alive, of smelling figs, of seeing birds in flight, thinking about things, feeling happiness, listening to Mahler. There is a strong vein of Buddhism which looks at all these things as dangerous diversions from the peace of nibbana. Ayahuasca, however, seemed to insist on the paramount importance of connecting to that vast and dizzying profusion of life energy eveywhere, inside and outside my experience. Trungpa’s writings offers an understanding of Buddhism that also connects. He is very iconoclastic of traditional Buddhisms. And ayahuasca is a vivid iconoclast too.

3) Intuition: This is an area where its extremely difficult to be very empirical about what’s changed since intuition and the heart are hard to measure. But one of the most pervasive effects of Ayahuasca has been a re-ignition of my intuitive and creative brain. To put it more bluntly, it gave a massive thumbs up to my instincts.

As a child I was always creating little fantasy worlds, illusionary works of art, following my butterfly interests. Years of “education”, socialization and self-censoring led me to check and edit, doubt and discredit my thoughts, my aesthetic choices, my sense of play. After ayahuasca I came back to the giddy liberation of saying “yes” to what I was feeling. Realising that what my heart felt was 100% valid. If I read a poem and it stuck it was a good poem. If I followed a flock of pigeons flying with my eyes and my heart dilated it was good. If I said the first thing that came into my heart when consoling a broken-hearted friend then it was the right thing to say. Some days it feels like I’m walking round with my eyes in my heart not my head. Seeing things first on an emotional, instinctual level and a mental one later… The world is absolutely the same but my perception has changed considerably.

4) My Sex Life: a hefty chunk of my Ayahuasca experience had to do with sex. For a lot of people back in the UK the more ecstatic, “cosmic” episodes of the trips are quite off-putting. When you’re sitting at home in London, just back from work, someone else ‘s breathless account of their union with the cosmos just sounds like dippy-hippy horse-shit. Someone else’s sexual bliss is even more off-putting. Nonetheless, the sexual element was essential. So I’m afraid I’m going to have to go there.

Growing up as a gay man in the world, I think you ingest a lot of invisible self hatred which conditions your sexual self-worth. Which probably explains why many gay men are so promiscuous or fearful of intimacy. Although I was always “out” I was clearly not very comfortable with the nuts and bolts of gay sexuality. The vivid sexual revelation I had on Ayahuasca swept all that away. It was a full-on experience of sex without shame, guilt, difficulty. Just connection. Consequently my sexual energy is much simpler now. Much more playful, less ashamed of itself, more confident. And in these gloomy homogenous days, where an American President can get to White House by riding on the back of homophobic paranoia then being more confidently gay is wonderful. And necessary.

jan notes
jan notes


Came back a week ago from Brazil where I was filming a documentary about the native Indian plant medicine Ayahuasca . It was the most astonishing thing I’ve ever done in my life.


Gary and I flew into Sao Paulo and, groggy from the 11 hour flight, made our way across that Moloch of a city and caught a flight up to Ilheus (the Cocoa Capital of Brazil), in the province of Bahia. We then drove further 40 minutes up the Atlantic seabord to a little eco-resort where the retreat was taking place.

Here’s the deal: Ayahuasca is a tea made in a 48 hour long ceremony from two distinct Amazonian plants. The vine, Bannisteriopsis caapi, (the liana swung on by Tarzan) is beaten to a pulp and then brewed up with the leaves of the chakruna plant, latin name Psychotria viridis. Individually these two plants are chemically inert, but brewed over many hours into a tea, they combine to create an extraordinary pharmabotanical double-act. Not too much is known about the neurochemistry of this tea, but the main brain transmitter that fires up seems to be dimethyltriptamine – a substance already present in great abundance in the human brain. The combination of the two plants allows the DMT to be taken orally and not be instantly neutralised by the body – instead it floods and activates this chemical compound throughout the brain.

So that’s the chemistry. But why the hell am I sitting in a hut on the Brazilian coast, in the middle of the night with 19 other people about to drink the brew and enter a 8 hour hallucinogenic trip?

Well, for several reasons…

First, because my friend Gary asked me to present a documentary exploring the therapeutic uses of this ancient South American plant.

And secondly because on a fathom-deep level, I was needing a spiritual kick in the ass.

I’ve practised Buddhist meditation for five years now but recently I’ve felt that somehow, somewhere along the line things have gotten a little brittle and dusty. My practice needed a little irrigation. So, after a series of jobs fell through in the space of 2 days and a month-long lacuna mysteriously opened up in my diary, I rather impulsively agreed to Gary’s offer…. and packed my bags for the jungle.

But as soon as I committed, I was terrified.

I haven’t so much as drunk a cup of coffee for 5 years, let alone a powerful hallucinogenic. And more importantly, I’ve really come to cherish the mostly peaceful Mind meditation has given me. I didn’t really relish the idea of that hard-won lucidity being ripped apart by some feral drug.

But heigh-ho, sometimes it’s good for the soul to bungee jump into the Unknown.

And so here I am. In the dark, In the forest about to swig back a plastic cup full of vile, vile, vile tasting brown liquid. (Even imagining it as I type, makes me heave slightly).


The group is 20 strong from all different backgrounds. There were some hardened spiritual psychonauts, a girl with early onset Parkinsons, a neurosurgeon, an oncologist, a woman with breast cancer, a choreographer from Manhattan and me. And we’re all being looked after by the calm, egoless and witty Silvia Polivoy , a qualified psychologist from Buenos Aires who 10 years earlier ventured into the Peruvian Amazon to become initiated in the Ayahuasca ceremony by the native Shamans there. Since then her vocation has been to bring the therapeutic benefits out of the cloister of the forest into the broader sunshine of these internationally visited seminars. Her thinking is that the Ayahuasca trip is bumpy enough (there’s a fair amount of vomiting and quite a lot of psychic discomfort) without the dark, insectoid terrors of the deep jungle and the manipulative male-energy of the Shamans.

AYAHUASCABy the time we’re sitting down in the middle of the night to drink the brew, my expectations are running pretty high. People who’ve done it before all talk about the Plant’s weirdly healing powers. Healing in a psychic sense. The visions you get on the brew aren’t just the random oddness of mushrooms or LSD, they seem to articulate the key issues of your mind in electrifying detail. And most importantly for me, the power of the trip then continues working once you’ve woken up.

This idea of waking integration really turned me on. In fact, that was the single most important reason for coming. In the distant past I’d done a fair amount of recreational drugs. What had finally made me tire of them was the fact that their benefits were so limited. Once the drugs had leached out of your system, the joy, the love, the whatever was also gone. The transience of their happy effects actually left you feeling profoundly miserable. What made Ayahuasca seems so interesting was this idea that the insight you had during the big trip then translated into some permanent change in your “normal” life….

Still what happened if the permanent change was permanent psychosis…? an eternity of swatting imaginary flies or drooling into my straightjacket…?

But then, bosh!, I’ve past the point of no return… I’ve swallowed it, the lights are turned off, some intense tribal music is being played and my stomach is starting to churn.

AYAHUASCAMy first session with Ayahuasca (I did 4 in total) was a a pround disappointment.

I felt dreadfully nauseous and the limited visuals I saw (gaudy fractals of the kind you see in cheap techno clubs) left me feeling very short-changed. All this way for some crappy pixelated doodlings? After a fitful night and one massive barf into my bucket, I woke up engulfed by this overwhelming sense of sadness. I’ve never felt so cellularly sad and alone. It seemed I had never and would never really connect to other people. I started to cry. Big glugging tears. And I lay there sobbing for almost an hour.

It all seemed bitterly ironic since I’d specifically asked the Plant for connection and all I got was this devestating isolation.

As the day wore on, I didn’t have any glorious integration but bit by bit I did soret of make sense of my experience.

Walking down the beach that afternoon, still feeling very blue, I was joined by Bartolo the old Alsatian who lived on the site. Without a question he walked with me up the beach and gradually I felt a sense of companionship – if only from a dog. The silly simplicity of it made me laugh. As we got towards the end of the beach, a family with yapping dog stopped old Bartolo in his tracks. I was determined to get to the end but no matter how much I waved and whistled he wouldn’t budge. He just sat there looking at me walking off into the distance.

Suddenly I saw it: here was my connection. But I was about to ignore it because – because what? Because of some random intention – to get to the end of the beach? What was more important having company or doing what I wanted? Well, company of course. So I dropped my plan and turned back to the dog, who was tail-waggingly delighted as I approached. Weirdly, that Alsatian pointed out that you have to choose to be connected.

AYAHUASCAWell, that seemed like somekind of insight. A little hokey perhaps, but significant. But that was nothing compared to the proof of connection that came in my second session a day and half later…

By that stage I’d just got my head around the possibility of taking another dose of the nasty stuff and talking to other people about their experiences on the brew had also given me some pointers about navigating the experience. Part of the problem of my first session was that I’d been completely prone and passive. Others had been much more interactive: asking questions of the experience, imagining members of the group being there for company, generally being more playful and maintaining a sense of humour. So this time as I sat with the queasy brew in my stomach, I felt better prepared.

It began as before with a fractalized sequence where a wildly pixelated visual field flowed in and out of plantlike imagery: probing, tendrilly, vegetative. Instead of dismissing this as naff I rode with it, smiling and slightly more detached. After a while (perhaps 20 minutes) the fractals dissolved into a more and more clearly individuated landscape: a beautiful. slightly surreal beach flooded with syrupy sunlight and populated by exquisitely graceful plants, pieces of furniture as well as several members of the group. Suddenly able to turn my head and look around thisnew 360 degree reality, I was delighted to find it quite stable and quite human. I suppose I’d been expecting mythical, divine things but the more powerful thing about this whole session was the humanity of it. The people I spoke to and encountered were normal, funny, unpretentious. There was a female character who I supposed was the Plant who was quite sassy and sexy. And there was a male character who I recognised as my perfect lover, warm, handsome, sexy and funny.

I then moved into a long stretch (maybe 2 hours) where I felt all the fear, nausea and anxieties I had about the trip and indeed about life in general slide away. I experienced in a gloriously visceral way that, at root, life is bloody marvellous – easy, effortless, and satisfying. My legs and then later my whole body began shaking. The sort of shivers you get when you’re really happy or excited but multiplied by 100. It felt as if I was being tanked up by a sort of cosmic juice and – most importantly – it felt just right: this was exactly what we deserved — I had no guilt about experiencing such pleasure. And that included sexual pleasure. Long and repeated sessions of tantric sex with my handsome lover saw all my anxieties and hang-ups about gay sex evaporate. How gorgeous that was!

I found I was able to summon people up into the beach lanscape at will. And each friend and family member who arrived exploded a nuclear bomb of love and joy in my body. It was astonishing. I saw quite clearly that we’re all capable of astounding quantities of love. How we mostly work on tanks 10% full and just how glorious a full tank of love feels. Astonishingly it was just as easy to call up my dead grandparents (who I never knew) and feel their love as my living Mum and Dad or friends from London, Berlin and New York.

After 3 or 4 hours of this turbo-charged love-in, I thought surely it must end. But actually that was just the entree.

At that moment, (probably about 2 in the morning) everything went into overdrive: suddenly I was not just experiencing love with all my friends and family on a beach. Suddenly I was connected with everything and everyone on the Planet and then throughout the Universe. Clearly these sort of experiences reduce you to blandly cosmic blather, but there’s no other way to describe it. I felt more clearly than I’ve ever felt anything in my life, that I was experiencing the true quality of the Universe. My life, all human lives, my past lives, the populations of the Earth, birth, death, the microscopic realms and the cosmological expanses of the Universe. The sense of simple simultaneity was hilarious and awesome in equal measure. Any concept, any person, any idea, any event in the whole of history, in the whole expanse of the Universe was happening at the same moment, so everything was possible and perfect. Even the seemingly bad and evil things in life, in this perspective resolved instantly. This was beyond words, beyond religions, beyond everything. And it lasted for ages. I kept grinning to myself thinking: this much knowledge and perfection has to vanish, has to disappear. Surely, this can’t go on. But it did, for about 3 hours.

I was split from ear to ear in one big grinning happiness. Seeing all this and seeing that it was OK. That bedrock of the World was good and perfect was so immensely comforting. I kept laughing to myself: I never have to worry about work, about politics, about religion, about relationships, about sex. Everything is resolved. How amazing. How weird. How the hell am I going to be able to tell anyone about this!?

Eventually, as the dawn came up and the vision slowly decreased in intensity, I was lowered back into reality. And I woozily stood up and walked down the beach which was glowing and comically magnifient in the early sunshine.


AYAHUASCAA skinny dip and several grinning encounters later, I was still feeling almost uncomfortably blissful. Too much happiness! Perhaps I should go back to the old, disconnected sad Alistair. But there was no going back. This experience was definitely going to change something.

The challenge of integrating that sort of peak experience back into quotidien 9.5 was the substance of my last 2 sessions with the Plant. The 3rd time I did it – I went in with the question: how do I use that insight in my daily life. I took a smaller dose and stayed much closer to the ground. I didn’ t have the spectacular vertical-take off ot the 2nd session – but after a relatively uneventful night, as I walked back to my bungalow, I popped into see Fiona, the girl from NY with Parkinsons, to find that she was having a terrible panic attack, She asked me to lie with her and I found my self stretched out on the floor under a blanket holding her naked body and chatting happily away with her for almost 2 hours. Her panic subsided and I felt totally at ease. A week previously there’s no way that I would have been able to do that without at least feeling chronically self conscious. And although that sort of easy companionship comes on drugs like MDMA or Ecstasy, this felt substantially different.

There is no recorded toxicity from Ayahuasca according to a Lancet report. There is none of the chemical comedown that Ectasy users experience. No serotonin depletion. The sense of connection and love seems to come from a psychological shift rather than a pharmaceutical shot. As I lay with Fiona I was fully aware of why I wouldn’t have been easy lying with a naked woman a week ago, and I was increasingly clear why it was now OK.


On my 4th trip I saw more clearly how Ayahuasca works psychologically. In the intervening days I felt the intensity of that 2nd experience dim and retreat into (admittedly vivid) memory. I worried that it would prove as chimerical as my previous drug experiences and I noticed how I was starting to disconnect again. How the old mental habits of solitary, anxious Alistair were creeping back. So I asked the Plant quite specifically to show me the situations in which I disconnected, explain the mechanism and show me how I could intuit a way out of that habit.

And that’s exactly what she did all night long. The extraordinary thing about the Ayahuasca experience is that the drug allows the brain to run real experiential vision: hallucinations which actually access the emotional experience of a given situation. I could vividly feel what it was like to be picked up from my cot and held by my Mum circa 1972 (a time when I was 2 and she was grieving for her Mum). Not only that but it creates the space for you to simultaneously see the psychological pattern that experience sets up and – if necessary – how to defuse it.

For example in the middle of that 4th trip, Fiona who was lying some distance off started speaking to her friend Stanley. It was the middle of the night and I was very high, but I remember thinking: she’s having a seizure, I must crawl across and hold her, give her some support. In point of fact, she was fine but I entered a labyrinth of guilt and anxiety: was I truely compassionate, or was it just show? how rubbish that I couldn’t even move 3 feet in the dark and be there for her… Moments later she got up to go to the loo, and flash! I saw clearly how this was exactly the sort of negative disconnective move my mind habitually made: my guilt served no useful purpose, it created negativity to myself and it didn’t help Fiona. And seeing that I was able to let it go and relax.

That pattern of being shown something either in reality or in vision and then shown a way out repeated all night long. After about 4 hours, I was sneakily wishing I’d asked for more tantric sex, but although many of the insights came so quickly, I had the distinct impression that they were all being registered somewhere inside. But by the time the dawn came I was exhausted. Quite beyoned knackered. Not physically but as if I’d had 7 years of useful psychotherapy in one night.


AYAHUASCAIt’s been almost 3 weeks since those experiences in the Jungle and I’m now back in London immersed in life here. But I don’t feel in any sense separated from what I experienced in Brazil. My previously ubiquitous sense that any happiness I had was desperately fragile and any slight slip could send it shattering to the ground has gone. I feel very solid in my happiness. The comfort of having seen that life is OK is really radical. Anxiety and insecurity seem like abberations rather than the normality of life.

I’ve also begun to get used to that sense of connection.

There are a million questioned raised by my experiences. Would everyone have the same experience at some point? All the group in Bahia had wildly different experiences. Some did have blissful trips but others spent 4 nights vomiting and left disappointed. But I can’t imagine what I saw isn’t somehow universal. Does everyone on the Planet have to go to Brazil and take it? Would everyone benefit? How does the Plant work? Why is something so universally beneficial so obscurely buried in the South American jungle?

Will keep you posted as answers arrive!

As part of my January regime of staying in reading books, drinking tea, writing stuff and watching DVDs, I rented Lars von Trier’s latest movie “The Five Obstructions” from the video store.

I love LvT’s films. They’re so perverse, so irritating in the way that provokes pearls. And this one, like many, runs like a little wind-up mechanism, a set of rules that von Trier sets a-running at the beginning of the movie and sits watching, gleefully, as it purs its way to the end. In this instance, he set the venerable Danish film director Jorgen Leth the task of remaking his classic 1967 black-and-white movie “The Perfect Human” five times, each time with a different set of handicaps. The original “Perfect Human” is a hyper-stylised minimalist film lovingly recording the movements and banal details of 2 immaculate looking people against a pure white background. Van Trier clearly loved the movie as a teenager and clearly idolises Leth — but the increasingly lacerating conditions he imposes on Leth effectively dismantles the latter’s cool, disengaged style.

As with most of von Trier’s movies, it teeters on the brink of wanky pretence, but as with all of them he manages to conjure up something difficult but wonderful. There is a version of the film where Leth has to re-enact his hyper-cool movie in the midst of the squalor of Bombay’s red light district. You’d think this would be rather obscene – showing up the trivial nature of art-house films and scandalizing the poor Indians. In fact it does neither directly. Instead there’s a rather subtle play between Leth’s stoic embarassment and the Bombay prostitutes’ unjudging bemusement. Those sort of moral half shades are rarely if ever foregrounded in movies.

In the end von Trier pays tribute to his beloved Leth by forcing him to be the subject of the film, and thereby become the “Perfect Human” – but by this stage, 5 mutations in, he’s far from the cool, detached, hip Human of 1967. Instead he’s a stoic, exasperated, lost, depressed, charmed, vulnerable, heroic Human who von Trier has turned inside-out for the camera. His constant desire to make Leth’s beautiful film more “crap” is telling. He says the greatest gift an actor can give him is when he fucks up. it reminds me of my insight after listening to Leonard Cohen: there’s a crack in everything/ thats how the light gets in.

There’s an interesting exchange between the two directors when they’re discussing the horror they have of cartoons. Cartoons are the opposite of film because for them film is setting up a frame and allowing the random and uncontrollable to happen inside it. Cartoons have no space for the random or un-planned because every frame is pre-drawn. Von Trier’s film becomes a dizzying example of this freedom for things to happen within a certain frame work…

Just sitting with the iris open, the frame steady and looking at whatever comes past the lens, crap, cracked or crazy, whatever – the frame makes it perfect. That’s the little wonder of art. It doesn’t save prostitutes in Bombay – but in focusing our eye for just a moment, it allows us to see beauty in cracked things. Or perfect humans in manifestly imperfect ones.


Had an hour to kill in town and rather than continue the conspicuous consumption I’ve been indulging in recently, I thought I’d go sit in St. James Park.

The miraculous shuffle function on my iPod (am I the only one that’s notice that this seems to have weird psychic powers, pre-empting my desire to hear a song or making incredibly knowing conjucntions?) conjured up a Leonard Cohen song that I didn’t know I had and had never heard before.

I’ve like Leonard intermittently since I was 15, but always suspected that his excellent songs were recorded in a rough-cut waiting for someone who can really sing to cover them (pace Rufus Wainwright’s cover of “Hallelujah” which is quite breathtaking compared to the original.) Anyway this song, “Anthem”, seemed so perfectly perfect coming in to my ears in the damp, grey morning light.

Sitting on hard wooden bench with no particular state-of-mind in gear, watching the occasional mid-week walkers, the coots and moorhens, the dark grey water, the song was perfect in its espousal of non-perfection. Cohen is a profound Buddhist and sums it all up in the lyric. It made me cry.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There’s a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.


So I feel like I have to say something about “Jerry Springer- The Opera” which aired on BBC2 tonight despite more than 20,000 calls and letters of protest from Christian Groups to have it banned.

First of all, who is mobilizing 20,000 Christians to protest against a show that presumably they haven’t seen? (Or have they all been to the West End over the last 3 years while it’s been playing?) I’m all for public protest but what alarms me is the pre-emptive outrage that is obviously being orchestrated by someone. Perhaps it’s all the research I’ve been doing into the Christian Right in America, but it makes me edgy when I see Christian Lobby Groups pressurizing National Institutions.

I’m personally delighted that the BBC didn’t cave in (as it did with the Last Temptation of Christ back in 1991). We are adults and we do have the freedom to turn off our sets and not watch what we deem unsuitable. The show is a West End hit and many people wouldn’t be able to see it otherwise. It’s also fantastically provocative – and a little provocation never hurt anyone. No true Christian is going to be effected by the Grand Guignol comedy of Jerry Springer – the Opera.

In fact the show was surprisingly moralistic in a weird (and very entertaining) way. In his death throes, Jerry Springer – played fantastically by David Soul (who incidentally is a Christian) – , is dispatched to Hell to resolve the eon-long dispute between Satan and God – but only because his soul has been damned by the exploitative nature of his car-crash TV show. At the end of this infernal re-run he realises that all this theological squabbling is beside the point and that “energy is pure delight/ there’s no such thing as wrong or right”. What’s important. he and the Opera concludes, is to look after one another. A fairly innocuous conclusion, by any religions’ lights.

It’s also a fabulously performed show. The intricate, operatic singing is flawless, the choreography is hilarious and it well deserves it’s 6 Olivier Awards. David Bedella is outlandishly good as Warm-Up Guy/Satan. Generally, it’s exactly the sort of salty, corrosive, irritating, beautiful stuff I love. Not everyone will like it. There we moments where I tired of it but it’s high quality and it makes me proud that the National Theatre picked it up from its fringe beginnings. And it makes me proud that the BBC aired it tonight.

Heaven knows what’ll happen when it hits Broadway….

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