I rose from a mat on the floor of the Nature Center, where I was attending a retreat hosted by a human potential practitioner. We had just individually snorted a liquidized Amazonian wonder plant called nicotiana rustica, a tobacco-based medicinal used in ceremonies by indigenous peoples. The proceedings, directed by our guide, were as familiar to me as the Electric Kool Aid Acid Tests of Ken Kesey in the 1960s, when you were “either on the bus or off the bus.” On the potentially sinister side, indulging in this experiment also resembled the cyanide-laced, Flavor-Aid, suicide-in-camaraderie induced by Jim Jones at Jonestown a decade after Kesey. I had to decide for myself what this invitation to partake was meant to be, and I decided it was worth the risk. So, of course, I was one of the first to line up for the intake. I was determined to make this nicotiana hit more akin to visions of my favorite flower, the vibrant blue Morning Glory, than to the shadowy purplish “Deadly Belladonna,” touted in horror movies.
Our guru poured the mahogany-colored liquid he had extracted into my left hand, and I took several deep snorts, some of the nicotiana leaking into my throat, bringing to mind the cocaine-laced-with-quinine that, once in my youth, I had ingested to bad effect. I noticed that when people spilled or leaked the nicotiana liquid, it looked like blood, but it tasted strongly of nicotine. Lying back down on my mat, I noted the coughing and clearing of throats all around.
When the burn had cooled, I relaxed and stared up at the overhead fan-and-light contraption, which I imagined to be a beautiful flower, its center a guiding light surrounded by spinning blades resembling petals. According to the leader, I was about to receive a message from the nicotiana and I was game for the exchange.
Seemingly on cue, outside the Nature Center, which was open on all four sides, strong gusts of wind whirled and thrashed the branches of the tall surrounding jungle vegetation. I asked the nicotiana and the surrounding plants to send me a message, and very quickly two messages came through.
The first message was, “That guy is crazy.” I suppressed a grin, as I understood this to mean not crazy like Charles Manson or anything evil, but more like Tim Leary in a white tunic blessing our acid tabs at a “Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out” event. Or like Allen Ginsberg chanting in Golden Gate Park at the great Human Be-In of January, 1967: both ritualistically weird to the uninitiated, but familiar and good if you were all in.
The second message that came to me was a paraphrased Woodstock refrain, “You’ve got to get back to the garden.” I knew that message was about me in the 1960s, when my life was filled with flower power, love, peace, and hope. And I realized that’s the way to get out of that political- or Covid-induced feeling of having fallen through the looking glass with no escape. And that’s how, with clear vision, we can defeat nihilism. I got up from the mat and took my Croton leaf along to remind myself to carry on persisting and aging with dignity and strength.
Author's Comment
Like its tidal rivers, New York City perpetually surges and flows with a diversity of people, places, and experiences. My life has been defined by travel and activism. I like my music gritty and soulful, and there is always a song in my head and a pen in my hand, whether I’m delivering medical supplies to Cuba or trekking the mountain jungles of Laos to converse with Buddhist monks in training.
Writer, Barb Drummond, grew up in a home filled with crazy antics, love, laughter, and an exceptionally unique and zany mother. Who else had a mom who baked cream pies just so she’d have one on hand to throw at people she loved?
Barb’s mother Sybil, however, drew the short straw by getting Alzheimer’s in her 60s. The disease stole her vibrant personality and voice. When Sybil died, an ordinary obituary just wouldn’t do. She was a glamorous Renaissance woman filled with creativity; a former ER nurse who saved lives; she was what movies are made of. Her sense of humour and charm made friends far and wide.
Barb wrote the quirky obituary with her mom’s voice. No one could’ve predicted the obit would go viral within 24 hours—worldwide! Hundreds of thousands of people internationally read about Sybil Marie Hicks and her smoking hot body—and they wanted more! Barb’s memoir takes you into her mother’s life and the media whirlwind when her mom became an instant worldwide celebrity after she died.
Within hours of its release, I Finally Have the Smoking Hot Body hit #1 best-seller status on Amazon. It continues to reach readers around the world and has been featured on CBC Radio and other media.
Barb's book is more than just a story, it’s a book that keeps on giving. A percentage of sales is donated to the Alzheimer’s Society, helping to support families impacted by this devastating disease.
In this hilarious, quirky, and poignant memoir, you’ll fall in love with Sybil and wish you’d known her in real life. (Even if she’d smoosh a cream pie in your face!)
Meet Barb and her mom on Barb’s website.
Available from Amazon.
Reared in Eastern Kentucky near the Licking River, Karen Beatty served as a Peace Corps Thailand Volunteer in the 1960s. She trained as a trauma-informed counselor for veterans, firefighters, and police officers. Her short stories and essays have appeared in Eureka Literary Magazine, Snowy Egret, and Books Ireland, and she was recently featured in Mud Season Review. Karen’s first novel, Dodging Prayers and Bullets
Suzanne Cottrell writes poetry, flash fiction, and creative nonfiction. She’s the author of three poetry chapbooks: Gifts of the Seasons, Autumn and Winter & Spring and Summer, and Scarred Resilience, as well as a hybrid book, Nature Calls Outside My Window, A Collection of Poems and Stories. She is an outdoor enthusiast and retired teacher, who enjoys reading, hiking, gardening, photography, and Pilates.
what a neat piece. The writing pulled me in immediately and there were so many beautiful phrases – naturally aged – burnt orange and caramel brown, ; suicide in camaraderie – lol – whirled and thrashed. Such descriptive and poetic writing. an so funny. I enjoyed reading this! Congrats !
Great piece, authentic, and vivid. Flower power, indeed! This essay has it all.