PSYCHOACTIVE PSYCHOLOGY: IF YOU FORBID IT, THEY WILL COME

Hey, Whistleblowing Senators, You're Only Adding to the Hype

It seems as if the older I get, the more I want to do things that Sen.
George Therriault, R-North Pole, says are bad for me.

Take the psychoactive plant salvia divornum, for instance. Or as it's
sometimes known by its ridiculous street name, "Sally D."

"Sally D" sounds like the name of one of those ghost-ladies, the ones
with cougar eyes and big billowy purses that hang out on the edge of
the bar.

Salvia divornum, a member of the sage family, is found in Oaxaca,
Mexico, and used by shamans to invoke mystical trances. A powder-like,
fortified-leaf form is sold in Juneau, and the kit-like box promises
"a wonderfully helpful tool for anyone searching for a deeper
understanding of one's self."

Louisiana, Missouri, Delaware and Tennessee have banned salvia
divornum, classifying it as a controlled substance.

Therriault's Senate Bill 313 would follow suit. It cites the plant's
"unpredictable physiological and psychological effects."

Any time legislators argue about a mystical trance-inducing gatekeeper
extract that may or may not have the power to unlock secrets, consider
me interested.

Most people I know who have read about SB 313 have wanted to smoke the
hell out of salvia.

I bought a half-gram after I read the "Salvia divinorum user's guide,"
www.sagewisdom.org. These kind of sites are always a little too
obsessive, like the kids in eighth grade with the long haircuts and
the narrow faces and 100 more Rush bootlegs than anyone should have.

But if you're going into the jungle, this is the machete. The advice:
smoke salvia in a dimly lit room while sitting or lying down, with few
stimuli and no open flames.

My first mistake was not having a "sitter" to keep an eye on
things.

I took one drag and sank into the couch. I hoped to ride out the
storm, if there was one. Frankly, I was skeptical of a fine black
powder packed in a purple box with the words "Turn Your Brain On!"

But four seconds later I was on the floor, crawling
towards...

Well, I have no idea where I was going. Left, right, into a
half-cartwheel. I was trying to get indoors, and I already was indoors.

Suddenly, I was convinced that there were four people in the kitchen,
huddled around the stove and talking about me in low, disgusted tones.
I bolted for the hallway, and I saw light: white with a yellow fringe.

I tried to remind myself that I was hallucinating, but I wondered,
with fright, whether I had irreparably damaged myself.

People were following me. I felt water on my head. I was making too
much noise. My roommate would wake up and see me stuffed like a pig
with an apple in its mouth, my brain on fire. It would be awkward the
next morning.

Then, thankfully, I was on my bed.

I still thought north was south, but that first rogue wave had lasted
just a few minutes. The next 15 were spent staring at the light and
wondering if it was butter.

Sort of like my first 15 minutes every day at work. There's no law
against that. Still, if it weren't for Therriault's bill, I would have
never heard of the stuff.