THE JOURNAL OF ELLIOT CRIPPLESBY
The man has more facets than the Crown Jewels. I am talking of course about Mr. Vermies. In the drive from Voi to Mombassa he told me more about himself than I feel he has ever told anybody else before.
He explained to me that Ramona was a doctor. He then told me that he had to see her because he had run out of shamanic plants! Can you believe it?
“Ok Elliot, I think I owe you another explanation,” he began, having thanked me again for paying the woman. “Ramona is a doctor; a local doctor. She dishes out traditional cures, natural remedies and potions, that sort of thing. But she’s also much more than that. She knows of certain special Roots and Plants – Shamanic Plants – that I need to contact my Allies.”
“Your Allies?”
“Yeah, my… helpers.”
“You can’t just get them on the phone then?” He gave me a look and then continued patiently.
“I mean helpers like the Denubari. Spiritual helpers. The entities that exist in the Spiritual World, or if you prefer, on other, more subtle levels of existence. An infinite number of Worlds and Universes exist alongside our own, but on a different vibrational rate – a different frequency if you like, like all the stations on a radio.
“These Worlds, these Beings, they’re all out there now,” he waved his arms about vaguely. “Always have been, always will be, it’s just that we normally can’t get to them. It’s all to do with vibrational energy, but we’ll not get into that right now, but by using certain psychotropic Plants and substances along with the appropriate rituals, it is possible to access these places and communicate directly with the inhabitants – what people sometimes lump together as Ghosts or Spirits. The Denubari had told me that Ramona made them. I’d run out.”
“Hang on a minute. Psychotropic substances? Do you mean drugs?” A hint of alarm crept into my voice.
“Come on Elliot, we’re all grown ups here. ‘Drugs’ is a word that has been deliberately used to instil fear and mistrust by the authorities. The negative associations have become so strong over the last couple of generations that you only have to hear the word ‘drugs’ now and you immediately think about dirty, filth-ridden smack houses and sallow-faced addicts breaking into houses, beating up grannies for their pensions and that sort of thing. The truth is very different.
“Our culture is perhaps the only one in the history of humanity that has not openly embraced mind altering drugs, be it for pleasure or the expansion of the mind. And it isn’t just the ‘primitive’ tribes, the aboriginal cultures around the World who’ve been happy to dabble. Oh no - it’s quite ironic that the very civilizations who helped to shape our own, the Greeks, Romans and Egyptians – they were all on some sort of substance or another. And there are hundreds out there: Amphetamines, Blue Lotus, Cannabis Sativa, Datura and then from E, literally, right through to Z.”
He gave me plenty of examples, some of which I knew and many that I did not and I found it an interesting perspective, I must admit. As were his further claims that it was not the drugs themselves that were dangerous, but the users.
“Yes ok,” I came in, “but that same argument has been used by the various firearms associations in America for years: that it is not the guns, but the men holding them.”
“No, no,” he responded, “guns are made specifically for one reason and one reason only - to kill. To destroy. Plants not only grow naturally, but – and especially in the case of psychotropics - each has a whole plethora of uses depending on what you want them for and how you go about preparing them.
“And anyway, what about the use of amphetamines in the Second World War? The government issued pills in order to keep the soldiers going for longer - in order to help them kill. But now all of a sudden they’re bad, wicked, evil. So it’s ok to use them to kill more people, but not for anything else? They were fine before, but now they’re dangerous? Come on, don’t you find that massively hypocritical?”
“Well, I suppose they would say that people have died using them recreationally.”
“Yes, but Elliot, out of a drug-taking population of several million in England let’s say… fifty deaths a year isn’t bad. Any death is a tragedy, of course, but fifty people die falling off ladders every year. What do you want to do – ban ladders?
“Look, it’s not the substances, but how they’re taken. We are living in an age of excess and it is this attitude that is to blame for any drug problems - the need to go too far, the lack of respect for the substances themselves - and for life in general.”
Hmmm, all deep, meaningful stuff… I hope I am not turning into a hippie, but a lot of what he said made sense. I could see his point of view quite easily and have to take my hat off to him anyway because it couldn’t have been easy to blurt it all out like that, stuck in here with me in a land rover in the middle of nowhere, not knowing how I was going to react. On the other hand, maybe being thrown together like that actually made it easier. In normal, everyday life there are always plenty of distractions to stop this kind of intense conversation from taking place. Switch on the TV, listen to the radio, watch a billboard sailing past – out here though there was nothing but me, him and the situation. It’s probably much healthier this way.
From his standpoint these ‘substances’ are essential, very valuable tools to be used with the very greatest care and respect. And whatever my personal opinions may happen to be, he does get astounding results. That much is undeniable.
Of course, none of this alters the fact that having ransacked a hotel and then ditched the stolen booty, we are now heading into a major city with a car full of drugs – that’s how the authorities would see it, no matter what we might think.
Burglary first, then drug running - I am turning into a bigger criminal that the man we’re chasing for God’s sake! Where will it end? Hopefully not in an East African jail cell, that’s all I can say!
Anyway, back to the events of the day. We drove into Mombassa with our newly acquired contraband (not exactly “Fear and Loathing...” but it did prey on my mind) to find that a good number of the rally drivers had long since finished the race and it was only the stragglers still to come in.
And you could have knocked me down with a feather, but the Professor’s car had only gone and won! Fans of the principle driver, Mr. Donald, were waving hundreds of South African flags and it seemed as if every inhabitant of the place had come out, thronging onto the streets. It was bedlam.
We slowly inched our way along the teeming byways and turned into the first hotel we came to, having made the decision to park the Land Rover while we still had chance. We chose not to check in immediately, thinking we would come back later and do it. I was sure they wouldn’t mind and besides, there was only a skeleton staff on duty, so I don’t know that they even noticed.
Making much better progress on foot, we headed for the area set up for the public to view the winning drivers and as we got there it was just being announced over the tannoys that the few competitors who were still out had officially retired, so the prize giving would now take place. The third and second place teams were brought out and handed their prizes before finally, alongside Mr. Donald, our very own Professor Alan Humphries appeared on the podium.
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