Awakening 2 - The Uni years, LSD and Breaking Open my World...

Before university, I went through the clearing process. In the UK, it’s a system that means if you don’t get into your chosen university course, you can trawl through the list of spaces in the whole of the UK and find another course.

I was planning to study Optometry and got an A in Math instead of Biology, and didn’t get in.

I wasn’t sad, though. The only reason I wanted study Optometry was to prove that you could heal your eyes since I’d worn glasses since I was 13, and it bugged me. I wanted to heal them, and I wanted to know how.

When I went around the universities before deciding, my stomach back flipped at the thought of living in a city, as despite being born in London, I’d lived in a tiny hamlet in Wales since I was 9 and was used to the peace of country living. The feeling was, however, I have to do something: I was middle-class and clever, and that’s what you do after school:

Attend university. Get a job. Get married, then get a mortgage.

Despite the early vision and my continuous questioning of life, I had no idea what to do or what that mission was, so I kept trying to fit in. I tried to please my parents and do the “right thing”.

Yet there was no heart or soul in my decisions. They were calculated to be “right”.

When I failed to get that A (despite getting an A throughout the course), I felt like I’d been let off the hook, like the universe interrupted my path, and I was elated. But I still needed to do something and found myself trawling through the pages in the Times or some other British broadsheet.

Hmm.

I gravitated towards universities in Manchester as it was the only city I’d visited myself, when I went to see my first boyfriend, who was studying there.

I found a course to do with maths, and knowing I had my A, figured it might be worth a shot.

I’m not sure how, but I found myself speaking with the tutor of those taking dual honours in math and philosophy, and we chatted away like old friends (at least that’s what it felt like to me!). As we said goodbye, he quipped, “You’ll be right at home with the philosophers,” and he let me join the course.

I’d heard the word philosophy and knew a little of what it referred to, but had never picked up a book in my life. I was too busy playing music in my school years to make space for another intense hobby.

But my rambling (and the A?) did the trick. I was in, and before I knew it, September came round, as did picking halls of residence, applying for loans and packing my belongings.

And then it was time. Off I went with a quarter of the best skunk (marijuana) I could find, my trusty CD player and all the black clothes you could shake a stick at. (Yes, I was going through a goth phase.) 

Luckily, it didn’t last, and after meeting techno heads, skaters and hippies, my wardrobe soon relaxed and included all the colours of the rainbow as I found new clubs and dance music that would be my haven....      

I’d found my tribe, and as my interest (and grades) in maths waned, my interest in philosophy rose.

I despised the musty books we were forced to read, but sensed there was something in me that was just like these ancient men: I questioned everything in life, including my self, my name, my gender (at times), and my path in life. Give me a subject and I’d philosophise it every which way.

I’ve watched my mum’s eyes glaze over enough in recent years to realise “normal” conversations don’t need or warrant such deep inspections of life, but in those years, I’d opened my third eye further than I knew, and was in wonder and awe of life.

My inner world was a cacophony of patterns and information, seeing connections between the ancient and modern world, behaviours, societies, tribes in society and more. During that first year, I smoked, I danced, I questioned reality with my philosopher buddies and felt like I was expanding into my true self.

I’d also weaved my hair into dreadlocks and found djembes and poi: my straight-cut musical school self was dissolving into a mind- and heart-altered hippy. I could see the feint disapproval in my parent’s eyes, but I didn’t quite clock how much they didn’t understand me or the journey I was on until the break in the second year…

Before that, though, was the summer break of the first year and another heady year…

Never before had I thought about taking acid (LSD), but it was the end of the year and we’d been to the ball for our halls. Late into the night, we talked and laughed and smoked, and then, there was acid. It didn’t occur to me to say no, there was a full body yes, and who knew what would happen afterwards…

We laughed some more and I made pancakes, (always my stomach calling me) and more laughter until we took a walk outside to watch the sunlight share its warm glow over the all but silent city…

As we returned to the halls, time stopped still again, and it was a flashback to the moment as a child. God was there, and I was filled with light, and surrounded by light.

And I remembered.

I remember the calling as a kid, I remember all those times when it was too much to look at history books because I could remember the feelings, the noises, the smell and felt homesick for times gone by. I remembered my faith and the feeling of a mission, but still, there was no further clarity.

Only, be love, be present, and remember God….

My friend pulled me back to the world and edged me back to the halls as people were looking, but I didn’t care. I felt the light again, and it was heavenly.

A few weeks later, I was off to Glastonbury festival and late one night had taken a handful of magic mushrooms (yes, raw, and yes, a big handful) and struggled as my stomach digested them, then tried to reject them…

Later, as my stomach relaxed, I enjoyed another intense moment of oneness. Looking out over the festival in the dusky sunrise towards the Tor, I cried my eyes out as my heart opened.

Life was so good, and there was so much more love, freedom and creativity than I’d ever hoped for growing up, and here I was. People playing drums together, sharing drinks and smokes, dancing naked around the stone circle, and we were in a place beyond time. We were tribal beings and music was our meditation and medication, and we’d been called to gather as we had for thousands of years…

I’d lost my friends from uni and was weaving my own path, something I’d come to do time and time again, as the path called me to seek further without and further within. I bought a didgeridoo and found myself playing it with no instruction: my soul knew what it was doing, and I felt at home again in the timeless place that all festivals hold, with no concrete jungle to hold you in place, and no one telling you what you can or can’t do.

Nature called us, and the music took us deeper into ourselves, whether we took drugs or not.

That trip (the mushrooms and the physical trip to Glastonbury) changed my life and soon after I found myself on a bus trip winding from the Malvern hills down to London across France and on our way to Morroco.

Psy-trance, hashish and the desert

We had the chance to stop in Portugal and another first for me: a psy-trance festival, that planted the seed of my connection (and many others) to these lands of light. I felt at home again with the free-living people, though there was an edge of fear, my shadows dancing inside with feelings I wouldn’t process until years later. I danced and smoked and looked at the colourful artwork of hippies and travellers with awe.

These people were free, and they spoke to my heart.

We danced and danced, then carried on our journey to Morocco, and Morocco had another magic unto itself.

Like the streets of Ankh-Morpork from those novels I’d read as a teenager, the cobbles led you deeper into the heart of the towns where no cars reached, only donkeys and chickens, scratching around in the dust for food. Shops would open whenever they liked and disappear as soon as you turned around. Every alley changing throughout the day, it was a marvel to behold, and once again I felt I was home in these lands.

This timeless place with heady scents of amber and hashish felt like it was calling us to stay forever in its embrace, and for 6 weeks, we travelled around all the tourist sites, marvelling at the mountains of Chefchaouen, the great plains and mountains before we reached a Kasbah and the Cascades d’Ouzoud. Then we neared the desert and journeyed yet further into the vast orange waves that were the Sahara desert and journeyed from Merzouga on camel into the night to stay in the desert…

Our senses were embraced, our nerves were frazzled, and we were stoned the whole time with hand-rolled hashish from high in the mountains. I was happy but alone in my journey, despite the people around me.

At times I joined in with the fun and banter of the group, but my favourite times were wandering the streets and meeting the locals, playing pottery drums and drinking sweet mint tea like I’d lived there all my life. My heart burst open in those moments with this world that felt more akin to my soul than the concrete jungle of the Western world.

I felt alive, and ever more connected to the deepest parts of my soul, who’d felt the call of other worlds and other lifetimes since I was small but had yet to experience it for real…

Another year of uni

Back in Uni, it was hard to adjust to the grey skies, constant traffic and rigid timetable. It felt like a straightjacket and I felt further and further away from the maths I’d signed up for. It felt pointless in the real world, with nothing useful for half the world who were suffering from starvation or trauma, and though I attended my lecture, my interests turned to the band I played in, the bar I started working in and the philosophy project that was part of my 2nd year.

“What is God?” I tried to answer.

No small feat, Caroline, way to go!

I’d never really written serious essays having studied sciences at A-level, so my attempt was all but futile, but the theme continued the feelings of devotion, faith, reverence and the reminder of my recent feelings of oneness, and I followed my enquiry through the books I read and my mind wanderings during the nights of dancing and music the year would offer.

By the time the second summer came, I was embroiled back in city life, flowing with the all-night parties, enjoying intimacy with many lovers and enjoying the music making with my band mates… I was living a dream I could never have imagined, but uni and family life slipped away from me as I unravelled from the layers of conditioning that had gone before.

And then, I was snapped out of that life with a jolt.

My Dad wanted to take my brother and I on holiday!

I’d barely seen him since he parted with my mother four years before, and this was our “getting to know you again” trip with his new partner.

On the morning they were due to pick me up, I kicked my lover James out of bed, and urged him to leave via the back door as my brother knocked on my downstairs bedroom window, readying me to get up!

The first of many oversights on my part where the heady hippy world of uni clashed with the slightly straight-but-only-just world of parents.

Shit.

We were off, and after a bumpy start, things were ok, despite getting searched at the airport. No surprise there as I was the only dread-head on the whole flight!

When we landed in the hotel and started unpacking, I found skunk in my bag and felt the universe looking after me with a chuckle, as I’d taken it out of my bag back in Manchester. The heady vibe continued as my brother and I shared joints to cope with the bizarre situation we felt we were in and a day after landing, I was playing capoeira on the beach and fell onto my foot, another black mark against the sensible “me”, and with the non-stop philosophy and mystical musings, it was enough to put my folks on edge.

Yet I didn’t see, as I was happy and free.

But it wasn’t ok, apparently.

We were back just a week later, and I arranged to borrow my folks car so I could visit friends and enjoy some freedom before term time.

Two lovers later, and an evening unfurled that would unhinge my uni life…

A few fateful days

Towards the end of my time with the car, I got arrested in a car park where there were often all-night parties: I was hoping to find one, but as we drove in, I saw a car sat in the dark and my heart plummeted. “Have this pill or chuck it out the window,” I told my friends.

They wondered what I was on about, “It’s the police”.

“It’s just a car,” they encouraged, but I knew.

The pill went out the window but I didn’t drop the hash. I panicked and dropped it in the back footwell instead as I stopped the car, and got out to meet the police who were now walking towards us.

A short chat later, and they’d found the hash, deemed me drunk (though I’d only had one drink), and impounded my car. I was taken into the back of a police van, and my friends were taken home…

Hilariously, I got over the shock almost immediately and started to enjoy the experience.

It felt like it was one of my worst fears, yet here I was, nothing I could do, and I was determined to make the most of it. I looked around the van, taking in every moment, and when we arrived at the station, I felt the same.

They motioned for me to take off my jewellery, and I started undressing too: inhibition had no place in the place of peace I’d found after facing this fear and somehow I wasn’t afraid of the police any more. I’d faced my fears, and there wasn’t anything they could do to me.

I was free.

They laughed and said it wasn’t needed and started taking my fingerprints. With this, I was laughing too, for it was another new experience and without fear, I found it interesting.

Led to the cells away from the processing area, I was alone for the first time in what felt like a log time and it felt good. I fell asleep lying on the narrow metal bench and was awoken to go for an interview.

After a few minutes of intense chatting, they started leading my answers by shaking their head or nodding. I got the gist that I needed to shut it, so followed their lead, and within moments, the interview was over and they were offering me my belongings. A sergeant sat in the corner, peering over his paper, and I felt like they were in a hurry to get rid of me.

Within moments, I was in the warmth of the summer morning, the streets still quiet, and looking to the sun to find my way home, as I had no idea where I was and could only guess the direction.

A long walk later, I was home and greeted by my housemate and headed for bed.

Yet, the adventure wasn’t over, and later that day, determined to enjoy the rest of my time with the car, I turned up at a friends house to go out for the night. Also there were two people I dearly loved and two people I felt uncomfortable around: I didn’t trust them and felt on edge, and for once in my life, I told them so.

“I love you guys, but I’m not sure about you. I’m a healer and I walk through you like Jesus, yet you treat me like shit.” I’d felt the scorn and condemnation in their eyes many times and this was, I suppose my pent up anger!

They stared at me agog (and to be fair, who could blame them).

Uh oh.

The room was silent, and it was one of those tumbleweed moments.

My patience had given out, and there was no going back.

Leading up to that night, I felt I’d been poorly treated by these, and others, who took my kindness as weakness, and my silence as stupidity.

No more, I thought.      

Yet apparently, when you call people out, they don’t like it. My closer friends took my car keys off me, and my friend (and previous lover) Ben stayed with me all night, yet I couldn’t sleep.

My nerves were frayed, I know now, but I didn’t know it at the time.

Spending time with Ben was lovely. He was a peaceful dude with long hair, and DJ who stayed at the back watching the world, just like me. I think I loved him, but couldn’t handle it and didn’t know how to be the adult I saw him as.

He was kind though and just stayed with me, hugging me and chatting until the morning.

I was due to take the car back to my folks in Wales, yet something told me, I shouldn’t drive. It didn’t feel ok so I phoned me Dad to tell him, figuring he’d probably heard about the arrest, the night before.

They came up from Mid Wales later that day, and suddenly, it felt like the ground was melting under my feet.

Worlds were colliding and the integration time I hadn’t taken for 2 years beckoned…

Overstimulation from the trip with my folks, the non-stop assault to my senses for the last year, following an intense and life changing summer before.

Apparently this could have been the time to stop and integrate my very full and expansive university experience, but I didn’t know how.

I’d barely gone home from uni as my family home was no more: both parents were living with their new partners and there was no room for me. I stayed in uni, keeping going and going and going, and perhaps now I was tired.

Yet, my heart was wide open, and so was my mind to God, the stars and beyond.

Back in Wales and a narrow escape.

I went back to Wales with them and they insisted I took the sleeping pills the doctor gave me and I had nothing in me that was strong enough to argue. I took them and slept a lot, but I didn’t want my new life and feelings to end. I’d changed beyond my previous imagination and I didn’t want to go back.

I didn’t want to be trapped by society and family norms again.

But I had to play the game, and looking back I can see I narrowly escaped getting sectioned by the police and my parents.    

It would take me a long time to realise my altered states weren’t ok with most of society in the UK.

Altered states were seen as mad and therefore bad, and therefore something to change and rectify rather than allow and integrate.

I can’t remember how, but I made my way back to Manchester a few days later, and aimed to go back for my third year, but something felt different. My world had cracked open and I wasn’t so sure of myself.

Torn between my new and expanded self and the fearful one, afraid of my parents, the gap between the worlds seemed too wide and a few months later and a few more stories later, I was sat in Piccadilly station, chain smoking Marlboros and on my way home for good.

Uni had lost it’s appeal, as had maths, and my mind was opened but I had no focus.

How was I meant to use these insights, my connection with God?

How was I to live in this world that pained my heart with the sadness, war, concrete and detachment from the beauty of life?

It made no sense, but I wasn’t sad to leave the heavy burden of essays and achievement behind, yet I had no idea where my life would go, and fell into a dark place when I got back to Wales, until I started to unfurl and nervously found my feet again based in Mid-Wales….

If you’ve been affected by anything I’ve written here, please lean into your support system, your mental health team, doctors, or therapists or reach out to friends and family.

If you’d like support with integrating your own altered states or awakening, or anything else, reach out and let’s see if we’re a good fit to work together.

You are so loved and so supported by the universe and even when it feels like the world is against us we can lean into our breath and feel connected to the oneness that life is.

We can claim our sovereign right to experience life in our own way, no matter what other think - we may just need to keep it quiet and share it with those we know and trust…

So much love, and so many blessings to you,

Caroline Mary x