Next time you’re tripping on’ shrooms, let this music be your guide.
A psychologist who surveys the effects of psilocybin–the active chemical in “magic” mushrooms–has used science to curate a Spotify playlist that accompanies users through psychedelic trip-ups.
Online magazine Inverse explained that Bill Richards works at a laboratory at Johns Hopkins University where researchers are looking into whether the medication helps cancer patients feel less depressed or anxious, helps smokers quit smoking, or causes “mystical experiences” in healthy people.
Richards curated the playlist to help participants in the study feel safe during the course of its drug-induced conferences.
“I construct the best musical selections I can, trying to divide the’ very good’ and the’ excellent’ on the basis of years of experience with many different people, ” Richards said. “There’s only room for so much music in a six- to seven-hour period of time.”
His selections are mostly orchestral songs–including Brahms, Vivaldi, Mozart, and Bach–which he said allow for patients to return to normal thinking patterns while they’re stumble.
“Except in the final phase, I tend to avoid music with terms in the language of the volunteer, so as to discourage the rational mind from following the content of the words, ” Richards said.
Regarded as the safest recreational drug available, psilocybin can cause users to experience euphoria, hallucinations, distorted senses of time and changes in perception. Richards organized his playlist to help the person navigate through “onset, peak and post-peak phases” of the drug’s consequences.
“In high-dose conferences, I feel that it is the structure of the music itself that matters most rather than the personal preferences of the volunteer or the guidebook, ” he said.
As the narcotic wears off and participants re-enter reality, the playlist ends with “What a Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong.
When “Wildman” Steve Brill hankers for a fresh snack, he doesn’t go to Whole Foods. Instead, he heads to one of New York City’s public parks and picks a feast of edible plants straight from the ground.
Brill, 67, has led foraging tours in and around the Big Apple for over 30 years, presenting students, tourists and dirt-shy locals how to collect wild edibles that grow in the green spaces dotting the city’s concrete grid.
Foraging allows Brill, a passionate cook, to whip up healthy meals without buying as much from supermarkets as the average person would. I joined him on one of his tours, where I sampled a variety of foraged herbs and even feed a lunch of wild foods Brill had prepared.( My colleagues were horrified when I told them. But the food tasted great to me .)
While it’s not ideal for many people for a variety of reasons, the practice of foraging allows Brill to enjoy delectable foods while reducing his contribution to a global food system that experts say is wasteful and inefficient.
“I can make almost anything from decadent-tasting truffles with melted baker’s chocolate seasoned with wild coffee from Central Park, to ice creams, ” Brill, who hails from Kew Gardens, Queens, told The Huffington Post.
Foraging generally isn’t allowed in New York City’s parks. But park rangers tolerate Brill, and the Parks Department even hired him to give foraging tours for a few years in the 1980 s. Collecting wild plants is perfectly safe, provided you know what you’re go looking for, Brill told, adding that novice foragers should rely on experts or guide books to help correctly identify edible species.( Brill told no one has ever gets sick from one of his foraging tours .)
Some plants can be difficult to identify, however, and eating the wrong item could be harmful. Plus, wild plants can soak up toxins from urban soil, and an expert we spoke to recommended against foraging for certain edibles. The New York City Health Department tells foragers should always check for signs about pesticide use, rinse find plants exhaustively and avoid feeing foraged edibles more than a few times a week.
( CNN) A man’s divine calling has landed him in jail after he was caught trying to sell thousands of fake drugs at the Bonnaroo Music and Arts Festival in Manchester, Tennessee, law officers said.
According to an arrest warrant from the Coffee County Sheriff’s Office, David E. Brady told policemen “he was doing God’s work, ” when they found 1,000 fake hittings of acid, 20 suitcases “made to look like cocaine, ” 37 pills that were made to look like molly, 22 bags of fake mushrooms and an incense stick made to look like black tar heroin.
Brady, 45, was sitting in a tent Wednesday when he was approached by Coffee County deputies after one of them ensure him with what appeared to be drugs, the warrant says.
If youve ever had the opportunity to experiencePsilocybin-containing mushrooms( AKA shrooms ), you probably considered the consequences of possibly having a bad trip before you took them.
I personally have never done shrooms. Ive heard theyre fun, but risky. The idea of altering my reality while on shrooms doesnt sit well with me.
But according to new research, theres a silver lining to experiencing a bad trip.
Based on a survey of1, 993 adults, 34 percentage of participants reported that their bad trip was one of the most meaningful experiences of “peoples lives”. Thirty-one percent said it was one of their most spiritually meaningful experiences.
Researchers at John Hopkins University asked the participants specifically about their bad experiences with shrooms. More than nine out of 10 of the participants involved had ingested psilocybin more than twice.
A bad trip isnt something you can forget easily. Sixty-two percent of the participants said their bad trip was one of their top 10 mostpsychologically difficult situationsever.
But why would people come away from a bad trip with positive feelings?
A whopping 76 percentage reported that they came away from their bad experiences on shrooms with a better sense of personal well-being and overall satisfaction. Surprisingly, 46 percentage said theyd do the bad trip all over again if they could.
Am I missing out on something by choosing not to do shrooms?
Well , not all the results from the survey are this positive.
Eleven percent of participants reported that their bad trips put either themselves or other people at the risk of physical damage, and 3 percent said they attempted medical help after the trip. So, yeah: The risks are very much still there.
If youve been thinking about trying shrooms, keep in mind that people came away feeling positive about having bad trips when they were in surroundings with social support.
Also, people who had shorter bad trips had better experiences as compared to those who had prolonged ones.
Its functional title is just about the only thing that wasn’t wildly ambitious about episode eight, an hour of television that bashed joyfully away at the limitations of the medium. Shot largely in black and white, it presented a harrowing, abstract creation myth for the show’s resident evil Bob, who- we learned– was bear out of the fire and ferocity of a nuclear explosion( shoot in languorous slow-motion by David Lynch ). It also fully introduced perhaps Lynch’s most terrifying creation, the soot-coated, skull-crushing Woodsmen, with their chill, mystifying refrain of” this is the water, this is the well “. It was very much “just go with it” Tv, a sometimes bewildering, always captivating, sensory experience that stuck with the viewer long after the credits rolled. We’ve seen nothing like it before, and we may not see anything like it again .
German Spy Agency Says Regulation Of Social Media Firms May Be Necessary – PYMNTS.com
Avoiding meat and fish while travelling can be frustrating and sometimes impossible tells Shahnaz Habib, but it can also lead to all sorts of adventures and give you a unique insight into a destination
In India, where I grew up, I was never considered vegetarian enough. I do not eat fish or meat, but I do eat eggs, which meant outing myself as a non-vegetarian when someone asked if I am pure veg. After all, this is a country where states have passed laws banning beef. But in the US, I have met vegetarians who eat chicken. Vegetarians who have casually thrown the word flexitarian at me, as if it were a sprinkle of coriander. Vegetarians who are at pains to let you know they are not crazy, like, you know, vegans.
Over three decades of being vegetarian, I have learned the hard way that there is no universal definition of what a vegetarian is. And when you are travelling and eating, observing vegetarian sustenance is not just a matter of asking: Do you have anything vegetarian? Depending on where you are, Do you have anything vegetarian? has to be followed with an arsenal of inquiries, from Can you construct that without fish sauce? to Are the beans cooked in lard or oil?
Of course its cooked in lard, the waiter at a Mexican eatery in New York huffed proudly, our food is authentic.
In Turkey even the most innocuous appearing vegetable soup or rice dish contains invisible meat, in the form of chicken or lamb stock. One of my first meals in Istanbul was at a tiny kebab eatery on a instead rickety balcony overlooking the Bosphorus. Etsis yemek var mi?( Do you have any meatless food ?) I asked the waiter, trying not to be daunted by the smirks from the men drinking tea at the next table. The lentil soup was constructed with beef bouillon. The aubergine kebab had meat in between the vegetable pieces. It turned out that the only vegetarian thing the kitchen could stimulate was a potato salad, so I ordered that. My salad arrived 20 minutes after my husbands chicken kebab. An enormous heap of fries on a flatbread.
We all have our own ways of dealing with the insecurity of poverty. For my father, food was a point of pride
I’d been dreading this moment, and cursed the person who’d designed food stamps. Why couldn’t they be green like real fund?
As my father opened his leather billfold and unfurled the purple and brown bills, I glanced up at the cashier. As I’d suspected, she was looking askance at our groceries: extra virgin olive oil, Kalamata olives, feta cheese, pine nuts.
I knew that seem, knew what she was thinking. I’d seen it a hundred times. She was thinking we didn’t deserve to buy fancy olive oil with food stamps. She was thinking she worked hard for her fund, and that she didn’t have that luxury.
My parents worked hard as small business ownersbut, like many rural Oregonians, we lived well below the poverty level. My dad had no qualms about accepting social services, but I detested it: waiting forever to talk to social workers who asked probing questions, the disgrace of turning in my free lunch ticket, the indignity of sitting in line for hours at dingy free clinics where the nurses stimulated me feel small and dirty.
We all have our own ways of dealing with the insecurity of poverty. For my father, food was a phase of pride. No matter how close the wolf got to our door, we ate well. Food stamps helped, but my dad was also thrifty. To make up for splurging on pine nuts, we ate quick marketing meat, government cheese, and tuna from dented cans. His resourcefulness paid off. We’d sit down together and eat chicken cacciatore and handmade pasta with garden salad with my mother’s special vinaigrette. He’d survey the table with an expression that seemed to say,” We may be poor, but we eat like kings .”
Dinner was the only period I felt rich. The next morning as I dressed for school in ill-fitting hand-me-downs and sneakers from Payless, I felt like a second-class citizen.
I went to school in Mapleton, a tiny mill town. In the morning, when mist ghosted the river, it could have been a scene postcard of idyllic smalltown life: the steeple, the moored skiffs, the clapboard homes, the lazy curve of water and sky.
But the facade was deceptive. We weren’t the only household feeling the pinch. In the early 1990 s, the Oregon logging industry was in freefall due to increased mechanization and changes in federal environmental policy. Logging chores evaporated and the mills shut down one by one. When I looked at my classmates, I insured the facade: all-American kids in name-brand jeans and basketball shoes. It didn’t occur to me that other parents were scrimping and prioritizing, buying the kids Nikes and putting off paying the phone bill.
That choice was a matter of pride. Just as my father attempted to protect us from food insecurity, my friends’ parents were protecting their children from social scrutiny.
Childhood poverty can be a powerful motivator for success, but everyone has a different takeaway. Mine was an intense dislike of scrutiny. My childhood dishonor wouldn’t propel me out of poverty, but it would make me avoid social services like the beset- even when it means that a trip-up to the grocery store attains my pulse race. Will my card encompass the bill? What should I put back on the shelf? After years of tallying the cost of each item I put in my cart, I’m very good at mental math.
I also inherited my father’s creative thriftiness and love for food. Six years ago, I wrote about foraging for wild nettles to compensate for an empty refrigerator. An editor from Salon.com procured my blog and invited me to write a weekly column on low-budget cooking. I was overjoyed. I wrote about shopping, foraging in the mountains that surround my home, budget horticulture, and cooking from random ingredients. It was difficult to publicly admit that we were poor, but my love for writing trumped my usual shame.