“The old dream”. That’s what Jerónimo Mazarrasa, a member of the ICEERS Foundation team, called it one day in a chat group focused on ethnobotany topics. And it stuck with me. I had been experimenting with an electronic book management software that included a powerful search engine, thinking about using it with my digital library, and I mentioned it in the group. My implicit question was, wouldn’t it be interesting for the community to have access to a well-curated, specialized archive with a text search feature? Of course, but it wasn’t an easy or short task. We lacked time and resources.
Perhaps that’s where Jerónimo’s comment came from, but in any case, it stuck with me because it was true. Even without the search function, a specialized community library represents a space that reaches the level of a dream—and an old one at that. Old dreams are tenacious. They persist over time, through many people, waiting. This one, in particular, waited until the end of 2023, and then it was pushed forward by two pioneers.
The first push came from Fernando Pardo, a key editor, one of the founders of La Liebre de Marzo, sage and author. Fernando passed away in 2022, and among all the legacy he left behind was an impressive personal library on neuroscience, psychedelics, ethnobotany, psychology, anthropology, and related subjects. The final push came from a friend of Fernando’s, José Carlos Bouso, and it made perfect sense for him to be the one to give it. Bouso had already been envisioning a library for ethnobotanists, psychonauts, gardeners, and other symbionts who approach plants for reasons beyond the purely nutritional or aesthetic. For those who don’t yet know him, José Carlos Bouso is something of a Shackleton in the field of psychoactive substance research. A pioneering trailblazer, authentic and prolific researcher, writer, and, of course, bibliophile. In late 2023, he called me and opened the possibility of recovering Fernando’s library—a collection of about 3,000 titles that should not dissolve into the second-hand market, and that we decided to acquire.
José Carlos Bouso and Fernando Pardo at the first World Ayahuasca Conference (Ibiza, 2014).
Detail from a photo by Xavi Vidal.
In the effort to rescue all these books, we must thank Quim Tarinas for his mediation, Jose Afuera for his hard work, and Suriel Martínez for both of these roles, as he was already part of the project before it existed—and before it was even called Mandrágora.
The name Mandrágora took root without much difficulty for various reasons. Mandrake is one of the most charismatic plants I had the opportunity to get to know over the past decade—a plant with uncanny roots capable of connecting myth and pharmacology, medicine and magic, ancient history with pop culture. Though not particularly easy to cultivate, it fit into our (its) Mediterranean climate much better than other equally charismatic “master plants” whose cultivation eventually conflicted with my common sense. Over the years, I began replacing my tropical and subtropical species with native species, naturalized plants, or at least those more easily adaptable to our environment. The more I learned about these plants, the more I became interested in exploring their traditions and properties. Where I once struggled to help an ayahuasca, an iboga, or a khat survive the winter, I learned to observe how mugwort, Syrian rue, and mandrake simply followed their own cycles.
The Mediterranean air that has infused our future library also stems from another push (from yet another pioneer, of course). Benjamin De Loenen, friend and first promoter of the ICEERS Foundation, had invited me some time ago to think about incorporating the European tradition into his project. Ben and ICEERS’ dedication, not only to research but to an alliance with American and African indigenous traditions, is part of a long process in Western culture. A work of remembrance, of recognizing the connection with nature, which perhaps would not have begun without the modern fascination with indigenous knowledge—a living testament to that connection. We can learn the keys to healing from an illness if we pay attention to those who do not suffer from it. But sooner or later, if we truly want to heal, we must apply the lessons learned to our own family, to our home, to our territory. Ben once again anticipated a shift, from the personal to the collective, and began to show an interest in our own plants and the history we share with them. And there we met again. Thus, when after Fernando Pardo’s library we also received the gift of José Carlos Bouso’s own library (which, of course, convinced me to add a part of my own), we began to work around all these books for the Mandrágora Foundation. We’re committed to continuing to learn from all disciplines and traditions, but especially to pay attention to our own and to help it heal.
Fernando Pardo in Alta Garrotxa, 2021. Photo by Mauro Bianco, courtesy of Óscar Ruiz.
We also understood that, beyond the books and people, it would be essential to also take in the very plants of our tradition, so often disparaged or forgotten. The living library project of Mandrágora, our seed bank and future garden, is something we’ll discuss in an upcoming article. Nonetheless, it has already played a significant role in shaping the first team with people who wanted to join the initiative. All members of the founding board of the Mandrágora Foundation share a special relationship with plants. They have studied, explored, or cultivated them, and they understand our relationship with plants well enough to enrich it. I am deeply grateful for their involvement, enthusiasm, and trust.
I aspire to build in Mandrágora the place I would have loved to find when I began to take an interest in plants, their properties, and their ability to heal, teach, and transform. A place for those who wish to connect with the wisdom shared by books and plants, whether they are ethnobotanists, psychonauts, gardeners, or any other kind of symbiont. Mandrágora aspires to bring to life an old dream—one that Fernando Pardo probably would have shared too.
– Joan Manel Vilaseca
