Secale au Secours!

Such ponderings and pontifications as these indubitably hatch from a mind as deranged as a cracked kernel of rye, whose medieval lustre dimmed by feudal ergotine infestation betrays a imminent blotch on the consciousness that will with ease match the blackness of that bread that would erstwhile be consumed in anticipation of safe and hearty nourishment (historically by medieval folk and the less well off or by contemporary Scandinavians and Teutons, in place of its bleached and nutritionally supplemented glutenous counterpart so ubituitous nowadays).

When the bread be it even ever, ever so dark, ceases to nourish but instead shall inflict a condition that might both feed and harm the soul then solace must, if not in emergency, finally be sought; for though there may be feeding there will also, at certain times and as surely as eggs is eggs, be harm.

Tis the nature of harm to scurry in trenches already dug, its rivulets deepening its draught and widening its bore in a scurrilous way; though inconsiderate and ostensibly inanimate, its effect denotes purpose, though that may through echo have belonged to another from long ago, an even forgotten owner.

Whomsoever takes this affliction unknowingly into himself, be he of indomitable constitutiuon, stouter in mind, body and soul than Peter upon whom a church was built, or be he a waxen faced and feeble limbed fellow cloaked in a shroud of timorous naivity, it will avail him no reprieve nor devine regard once his subsconcious is rained upon by the heavens and hells in equal measure.

Thus it is that such meanderings and effusions spew forth, as the mind wanders the internal terrain, constructing follies whither he will with little or no regard for territory. A few of these constructs may if nothing else, be deemed through some convoluted mechanism (and after a bribe or two) to be of some small artistic worth ( that'll do pig ), others no doubt attract the opinion that they constitute little more than psychological graffitti; but what else is one to do with ones assortment of mental spray cans?

It is play, a waffle, a gibber, nothing more, perhaps as whilst in a dream. This has been mooted many times and by many deep thinkers (or confused persons): 'are we not all in a dream?' As Tilk would say, 'Indeed'. I would ask "are we not all veritably players in a divine play?" (as has also often been asked, strangely by the little old lady that runs the corner shop ). If we are neither one nor t'other what then are we and of what are our thoughts made; what in fact do we ultimately make other than dust when we leave?

Imagine if you will a hundred thousand years or more from now , when it's all over and our Dear Earth, or what's left of it, finds itself visited by Alien travellers looking for a perch for the night. What might be their considered verdict as they sup their Alein cup of tea and glance nonchalently about? I for one bet it will be along the lines of.. "Dusty place this, innit?'

That aside, whether for the benefit of our future Alien pit stoppers or for our more immediate delectation, the echoes of Dante & Lucifer on the one hand and Gabriel & St Peter on the other would surely add interest, a little spice, an eternal condiment if you will, to what might otherwise be considered (even to Aliens) a little insipid, a little dry repercussion of existance: the legacy of dust.

Rather, then, than 'Secale Au Secours' perhaps this should be titled 'Secale, an Ode'? For whilst I have skirted around its virtues and only fleetingly mentioned it's place in history this lesser known cousin (in terms of psychedelic pharmacopoeia) of psilocybin and mescaline, fly agaric et al, has made it's indelible mark on as many psyches as the all the aforementioned put together, for sure, in conjunction with those eddies that sculpt history, the technological, the astrological, the social; the synchronicity of it is difficult to divorce from the DNA of divine will (Higgs boson?), but that has perhaps more to do with the state of awareness than the state of science, and though the two draw ever closer and may one day make their peace, I doubt marriage will ever be on the cards.

I digress, and why not? For digression is the keynote is it not, of the effects on the mind of those under the influence of one of the distillates of Secale (also known as Ergot, a fungus that grows on Rye)? Whilst ergotin or ergometrin and it's synthetic collaterals, syntometrin and oxytocin, are used in physical medicine, it is the renowned psychological changes that made the use of the ergot alkaloid Lysergic acid diethylamide (LSD) so promising in psychiatry. However it was the recreational use of LSD that lead to its widespread use and effects on awareness and hence society.

Thus without the ability of those in droves under the influence of LSD to go beyond the restrictions of time, the imprint of the few (that managed it) on the DNA of dust, would be so insignificant that unless our thoretical Alien friends were actually searching for it (who knows they may be psychically vampiric) such rare nectars from the artists of consciousness would remain literally buried in the sands of time.

What harm there may be in the travelling, (and there are those that do fall badly on the journey) if the desination merits supporting such dangers, what harm is there is that?

So to save us from being dust and instead for raising us to the level of 'stardust' I raise my cup and cry " Secale Au Secours!"