#pharmako

Perhaps it is the plants that turn history, and we act in their behalf - sowing fields, opening plantations and imbibing the steaming extracts. The plant spirit moves through our bodies, spreading through the blood and nerves, lymph and synapse, until our identities are merged and we do their bidding. We secure beachheads, plan campaigns to subdue a continent and win a culture. 

Some plants are gregarious, others jealous. Tobacco gets along with everyone, excepting maybe Methodists. Wine and opium can't even attend the same party. Tea visits the poppy's house, but not that of the grape. Coffee seems to be imperialistic: thou shalt have no other stimulants before me, while khat doesn't mind coffee at the table at all. 

The plants have their own way of looking at history - it's not just a difference of time scale. It is difficult for humans to understand - we lack the plant's direct access to light - we eat them. 

Alcohol has a streak of meanness, and its shrines are loud and noisy. Coffee favors conversation to music, so its houses are lively but not loud.

In this primal communion - this, our eating of the god - we accept by surrendering. We give up our individuality, our autonomous freedom and will - and accept the grace of the Redeemer. The plant gets a chair on the top floor. 

Cannabis mixes freely, except when it's paranoid. Hallucinogenic mushrooms and cacti need no others - they cross mountain passes and explore desert trails like free wandering monks. They greet the elementals, make friends with corn, then open the doors. No one is excluded. 

It's no wonder that Catholicism was so easily accepted in Mexico. Sacrificing the god, and then eating him, was, to Mesoamericans, not an unfamiliar concept.