Ska Pastora – In Her Presence….

Hot as all get out in Portland in the 100F levels… ack.

A big congratulation to Diane Darling for her SheShamans Conference held this weekend in Geyserville California. I hear it was a success and went well surmounting all the challenges of launching a new project.

Diane Darling has been at the center of the Maelstrom of change and evolution in Northern California for quite awhile, often working quietly in the background, subverting the Post Dominant Paradigm with Acts of Intelligence, Beauty, and Love.

A big kiss out to her and all those who pulled this conference off! Good one Diane.

This edition deals mainly with Ska Pastora, or as some know her, Salvia Divinorum. She is a wily, wild one always willing to drop you into the deep abyss, and carry on a dialog as well…

This edition is dedicated to my Girls out in the garden. I promise to spritz you in the morning and afternoon, really I do.

Have a Wonderful Monday,


On The Menu:

On The Soul – Plato

The Links

Excerpt: Psychedelics Are The Grease On The Wheels Of Eternity…. (Gwyllm)

Ska Pastora -Poems in Her Honour…

A group poetry effort from the Earth Rites Community.

All Art: Luke Brown….


“Since, then, the soul is immortal and has been born many times, since it has seen all things both in this world and in the other, there is nothing it has not learnt. No wonder, then, that it is able to recall to mind goodness and other things, for it knew them beforehand. For, as all reality is akin and the soul has learnt all things, there is nothing to prevent a man who has recalled – or, as people say, learnt’ – only one thing from discovering all the rest for himself, if he will pursue the search with unwearying resolution. For on this showing all inquiry or learning is nothing but recollection.”


Anamnesis (Greek) [from ana back again + mimnesco remember] Recollection; used by Plato in his theory of knowledge. He taught that the human elements of consciousness sprang from seeds of inherent knowledge in the soul, present in the mind as the result of past experiences of the egoic center or reincarnating ego. Thus the acquisition of knowledge is a process of reminiscence or recollection of former experiences.


The Links:

Girl of the Century

Candidate for Psychedelic Therapy…

The Uncanny Valley


Psychedelics Are The Grease On The Wheels Of Eternity…. (Gwyllm)

Psychedelics are the grease on the wheels of eternity, facilitating the move from form to form, by bringing all into a certain mindfulness.

These sacred substances, like us, are made up of light, flowing endlessly through all that is. They partake of the eternal, crystallized elements that refract and reflect the glory of beingness.

Psychedelics are devices that trigger the memory of what our true bodies are: vessels of eternity that we delight in if we allow flow to happen. These devices are not blind blundering mechanics, but discreet, intelligent agents, that can tune and manipulate aspects of our spirits and corporeal selves for our betterment.


Ska Pastora -Poems in Her Honour…

A group poetry effort from the Earth Rites Community. We hope you enjoy!


INTRODUCTION: This is a piece I’ve already shared with several folks who were with me at the 1999 Breitenbush Salvia conference, some of whom also shared the session the poem refers to. The piece came to me spontaneously when I returned to my cabin after a session in the sanctuary in which we shared Sage Goddess Emerald Essence. I did not ‘craft’ it; it came to me into my journal as you read it now in one fell swoop or even more as one ‘swell foop.’

Our group had started out as just six of us but—as these things go— inexplicably and inextricably—grew to a dozen. Also, I approached the invitation to join with my two inner voices in conflict; and rather

than follow my usual dictum, ‘when in doubt, don’t,’ I went ahead. One voice, my lefthand dark guardian Azazel, said: ‘do it, Will; you’ve spent all your money here so you won’t have a chance to sample it otherwise until a couple weeks after you return home and send to Daniel for it!’ The other voice, Lee my righthand angel of light, said: ‘you will know when it is best for you to partake; it is not now, in this strange place among strangers, even with these friendly strangers!’

We formed our circle, introduced ourselves, stating how strong a dose we would take and sharing our intentions. I had decided on 3 undiluted droppersful, a moderate dose; some were going to have one or two dropper loads, many were going to dilute the liquid—about as strong as everclear—with hot water. Most people stated a respectful and respectable intention; I perhaps foolishly thought mine equally

appropriate: ‘you have shown me, Ska Pastora, what you have to show on other occasions when

I have chewed or smoked you; show me now your power in this form.’ Then, when we were passing the bottle and dropper, on the third round a bit dribbled down my lip, so I decided to squirt a fourth load in,

not consciously realizing that this would nudge my dose into the strong category.

We had decided to douse the lights when we were done with the circle work. As you will see below, I was unprepared for the suddenness and strength of the trip I was now on. But then, like some other intrepid psychedelic explorers, let alone the sorcerer’s apprentice, I have at other times over the past 35 years or so found myself beyond the M.C. Escher beyond as I begin the entheogenic beguine.


she will not suffer fools

i knew that

waiting at her gate

it was not my time

but wanton desire beckoned

almost roared

so i let myself be blinded

even though the snow was melting

so it wasn’t that

even though the circle was imperfect

but it wasn’t that

even though i’d heard no call

so it was that

so when i communed with her

in that refuge from the snow

darkness descended before i knew it

walls folded impossibly outwardly in

escaping voices twisted away

i lay alone in the desacrated temple

its heaving walls an unfunhouse ride

she would not suffer fools

i reached up to broken shards

then down to a vagrant pillow

broken slants of light

more distant muffled sighs

all was riven now

perhaps never whole

i knew not how i’d come

to this crazy house

i must go out

if there were an out

rolling over i found a wall

then the broken sharp things again

then—somehow not surprisingly—

a berber carpet under me

i rolled some more

hands fumbled on an edge

reached down

a stair


i dragged my belly my knees

came almost head over heals

(head over heals?)

boarding down the stairs

arms and legs my wheels

but she stopped me—

no, not SHE, but just she—

and asked me where i was going

‘oh, someone’s here!’


come back

i crawled back in the dark

back into the broken temple

less broken now

but no less desacralized

‘ouch! you’re stepping on me!’

the stepping stopped

sorry! came a distant sigh

as light and sanity blinked on

we all held our breath for both

i glimpsed the menacing shards

merely seashells along the wall

we gradually told our stories—

those who desired—

lawnmower man his

green goddess lady hers

one had disappeared

another stayed grimly silent

a hand over his face

we chatted we laughed we humans

but it was never right

foolish wanton deed

but it was done—good to go



Salvia – Victoria

May as well leave your gentle white faced god asleep at home,

Your green loving goddess snoozing in a tree.

Come naked, come empty.

If you’re looking for something more cosy,

a soft kiss is perhap more advisable.

We’re gonna shake your hand, and forget to let go for a while.

We’re gonna whisper sweet everything’s in your ear.

And scour you down at the gate…all the way down to your secrets.

Sometimes the leaves can get a bit thorny you know.

This won’t hurt a bit.


We’re gonna blow you up like a balloon, but that is what you asked for.

My brain shifts uncomfortably in it’s chair.

It knows it has to go.

It stomps out of the room,

Ha, they laugh, I wonder if it will come crawling back this time?

Sure, I mutter, it has an old habit of creating itself.

So, poised, I seek the fine ritual magick,

only to end up sprawled inelegantly, grinning.

Being whispered away by a dream called reality.

What was so funny? I don’t think I remember.

It was rare and elemental, words don’t suffice.


Salvia Odyssey – —Sage Student

A small bitter ball of midnight-black wax,

Smelling of tea, and time’s passing,

And fey sorcery.

Lights out. I lie down in bed.

It’s like getting ready for sleep

Yet beside me are a bowl and towel.

I chew the wax.

A little something

Sparkles in the darkness.

The wax is dissolving,

The universe is fragmenting.

Into green patterns.

Fractal, complex.

No joy. No fear.


Become the still point.

Lash myself to the mast

Of stillness



Consciousness persists.


Hold breath to increase effect.

And fractal lights bloom.

Many people.

Many places.

My name is legion.

Many times.

A bar in Dublin, near the water.

Ulysses? Joyce?

No and Yes.

A pioneer wagon

crossing the icy Missouri.

Become not one person.

But a family amid

Cold brown in-pouring waters.

Dying consciousness falls

Into an infolding green flower.

Petals closing inwards.

Falling into a black hole.

Within whose event horizon

Is neither death, nor time.

Losing self who becomes the universe?

Dying was nothing at all.

Death is being everything.

Something urgent.

A need to spit. Spitting

Wiping a mouth with a towel

I feel a face pushing into a bowl.

I feel a bowl pushing into a face.

I have a face! A face!

The Zen master asked

“What was your original face

before you were conceived?”

Besaged laughter,

the koan makes sense.

All has always been.

Awareness crystallizes,

Out of a cooling magma,

One crystal choosing to be me.

I know my name.

Jump out of bed.


Get into the hot tub,

Soaking up heat.

Soaking up life.

Lazarus returning.

Orpheus returning.

Odysseus returning.

Is that Argus barking?

No! It’s real.

My dogs are barking.

I give them dog biscuits.

Trip’s over.

I’m back.


Salvia divinorum Anagram Poem — Sage Student

Vivid Mana roil us,

Livid savior man?

Avoid rival. I’m Sun!

Amoral vivid in us?

A moral vivid in us,

Survival an idiom.

Vivid airman soul,

Mad via lion virus,

Land via ovum iris.

Visual or via mind?

In so vivid a mural,

I’m no survival aid.

—Sage Student


Salvia – Tomas

I’ve been twirled

I’ve been spun

And stretched just

like human gum

Pulled through a gossamer vale

extruded like six penny nails

watched it twirling through a hole

in a wall and then I saw

these floating balls

nothing left, not even space

until I looked around the place

and suddenly it all appeared

where it all went was never clear….


I am a node – Gwyllm

I am a node on a multinodal plant,

that dreams it is a part of

something called humanity…

I dream of dreamers dreaming dreams…

Thought dancing as waves of light,

molecules hallucinating solid states…

The illusion is full

and never abates….

I am a node on multinodal chain…

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