Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Do you have any comment on this sonnet?

I hate to see the forum cluttered with things I can pull out of a book. If you have something to add, however, then it might become useful. For example, did this relate to a recent trip of yours? If so, please elaborate.

Now that adds value to the forum!

In a sense, from the perspective of this sonnet, a DMT trip would be like, preparing silence (an ever fixed mark) Finding one's own silence, and then jumping into the tempest of hyperspace.


The carrier wave is our north star to our wandering hyperspace vessel.
[It is the star to every wandering bark,]

And we truly experience a timeless state within the DMT realm, and even in moments of presence in our normal waking state.

Our third eyes, in my humble opinion will survive the death of our physical bodies.
[But bears it out even to the edge of doom.]