This has been my second essay, one day after the first. It was quite obvious that I had under dosed, so I raised the stakes.
As a foreword, two simple notes that last night resonated like clear truth and still echo today as I go about my business. The first, DMT will only give what you were asking for if it's truly what you need. The second, pharma is medicine. Big medicine.
I was at home, with my wife and our pets. After a relaxed afternoon, I played some music, meditated for a while. I stated no intentions; if anything, purpose would carry on from previous sessions with other substances and methods. At 8:30 pm I had a light meal, avocado and tomato salad, and started dosing at 10:00 pm.
185mg of Harmine/Harmaline freebase, dissolved in a shot of orange juice. So far I'm having no issues with the taste. After 20 minutes or so, I dissolve in another OJ glass 150mg of DMT fumarate and gulp it down.
I sit in the couch with my wife, dim lights. Our dog comes and lays by my side, parking her head on my lap. She always does. I breathe, let everything go slowly. Half an hour passes and the hum starts to come, noticeably stronger than yesterday. In a few minutes, big changes occur; I'm not my body anymore, I'm just piloting it. Time to go to the bedroom and lay down by candle light. The hallway was never so long.
In bed, CEV swarm over me. But not the shining, vivid DMT images I often see portrayed in other people's reports and art... No, I have yet to find those. So far, only salvia showed me places more than a fraction of a second. Spice is beautiful but cryptic, dense like a dozen swirling patterns reflected on a dark wall. But pharma allows me a bigger look. Zooming in, I realize that the shimmering biomechanical shapes are made by particles. Letters, numbers, symbols instead of pixels. They run along the lines, they become the lines. For a few seconds, the code is readable and returns a morphing ACTTGAACTCAGTA. The spark of human DNA language makes me smile. Silicon circuits fold and unfold in dim reds and oranges making me squint with eyes closed, but that's all the visuals I'm leaving in this report.
Tension builds up in my stomach. Not nausea, but pressure. As I try to ignore it to keep looking at the running code, hoping for a glimpse of an entity or something, my solar plexus keeps poking me. For a second I remember when I was a kid and went to the mountains, trying hard to spot any mushrooms, and ultimately returning with a couple quartz crystals in my pocket instead. I don't realize yet how apt that memory is going to be.
After twenty or thirty minutes of playing hide and seek, I concede and decide to purge. The spice isn't pushing me, rather ushering me. I shrug and follow, and the pressure in my stomach becomes a knot. I am being offered to untie it, so be it. My wife hands me a basin, I patiently bend, retch, push, nothing. It's so tight I need the index, the middle finger, half of my hand, until it comes out. I exhale and vomit at the same time. There you go. Can I lay down again, return to the fancy circuits? Thank you.
My body spreads on the bed again. Almost spilling out of it. The CEV change hue for a light blue as I turn right to recovery position. Then, I inhale. And inhale, and inhale. It's like it won't end. And I take the deepest breath of my life. And it smoothly reverses, with a deep, gutural exhale. I realize the sound comes from my throat. And breathe again. Air comes in and out with impossible, machine-like smoothness. Clean, effortless, perfect. The spice is teaching me how to breathe, is showing me how breathing could be. It's impossible not to smile as air flows out, a long, low moan humming every time. My windpipe becomes crystal.
The voice of my wife announces it's 12:35am. I asked her to keep track, I appreciate her kindness; she's my treasure and I don't need spice to remind me. But I couldn't care less about the time. For an hour, or maybe two, I lay there, stretching and breathing, learning how to breathe as an adventurous fish in an inspired day. The psychedelic space around me is just a vehicle for the air, flowing circularly in and out the way these didgeridoo players know how to do. No more visuals, no entities, no hyperspace. I needed healing, I need learning, and that's what pharma got me. Heaven can wait; I eventually fall asleep with a deep sigh, no dreams, a fresh morning to follow.
So long and thanks for the breathe, hope to visit again.
"The Menu is Not The Meal." - Alan Watts