There is a wordless place, if you want to call it that, which one may reach with psychedelics. One may arrive at it by other means as well, but psychedelics are the most expedient. It is beyond life and death, time and space, or the scope of any human language. While one is there, it seems that life here on Earth is illusory, or at least of lesser significance. It reminds me of early childhood, before phenomena became signifier rather than signified, but beyond saying that it's difficult to specify.
In that "place" the processes which arose to deal with the peculiarities of this world, i.e., the ego, dissolve and that part of us that is hidden reveals itself. I venture into very murky territory here, but I will say that it seems to me to be a part of us that is beyond the world of linear time, which takes no part in this world and to which this plane of reality is completely alien. In fact, I cannot emphasize the strangeness of this "place" enough. It is the strangest thing one can experience, and yet it is also right here, all the time. We're there now, in fact! Yet, more often than not it is hidden from us, or we from it. When we go to that "place," everything that was familiar, ourselves included, is no longer so.
For some of you, I suspect you will know immediately what I'm pointing at (albeit in a very roundabout way); but, for those who are not aware of it, it is impossible to convey in words.
I now know, thanks to psychedelics, that I have been aware of this place all my life, I've just been hiding from it. On a heavy mushroom trip three years ago, I was forced to abandon myself and this world completely and spend a stretch of time there so vast that it bordered on the infinite. Just recently, I took mushrooms again, and was again brought to that place; however, this time I stood on the edge and was allowed to step back.
I was terrified, beyond terrified. To step into that "place" looks like madness, absolute insanity of the kind that no conscious being can survive for long.
The place I speak of, and the awareness of it, leads one to what I like to call the "singularity of the self." It is an awareness of our incredibly strange predicament as conscious beings in a universe of impermanent phenomena. The depth to which we are alone is staggering, and, at least for me, shattering. I can get along fine, as long as I ignore this fact, but that seems like a escape to me, and, of course, there aren't really any escapes.
Are there any here that can face the fact of their existence without fear? I would dearly love to know how one deals with this deep and harrowing truth, for I freely admit that it terrifies me more than anything else.
I would love to have enough faith to step into that place and let go, but it looks and feels so much like insanity and death that I choke every time I venture there.
Best of wishes to you all,
Beelzebozo
Quote:I have come to believe that in the world there is nothing to explain the world.
―Loren Eiseley