Good evening, I am HolySmoke, and this is a wall of text. In this introduction essay, I will try to write up a mini-biography of sorts, from as early as I can remember in life, until the present. Sorry if this is uninteresting/not the way an introduction is supposed to be. I am writing this mostly to try to make sense out of my own life, but thought it would nicely double up as an intro essay to the Nexus. Have only lurked here before (without an account). I have contemplated just making a few paragraphs shortened version of this, but decided to post the whole thing. There is a TL;DR on the bottom. If you decide to read it all, God help you.
Nothing makes sense, yet everything makes sense. I currently feel like I am constantly entering into a world of calm chaos and mist. In many ways, I feel like I have lived in a state of constant confusion for at least half a year or more, yet on the outside I function really well. I have a much easier time being social than before, and I am effective when solving complex academic problems at work. I barely get distracted when working, but also feel a lack of motivation for most things.
It almost feels like a multifocal depression (I made that term up now), that affects most aspects of my life except the core things I find enjoyable and meaningful: exploring music that challenges me/listening to music in general, exploring/hunting for botanical knowledge and insights outside. That is pretty much it. Even when outside, botanizing, it doesn’t feel like I am thinking, I am watching thoughts happen, and words are forming, but I am not sure I am saying them. It is velvety, constantly floating around in a dream-like state.
Yet I function better than before, I know the names of the plants I see, I know the rough taxonomy of species I don’t know, and can figure them out with literature. I can do this while having a nice conversation with the friend that accompanied me, or whatever. And nothing else is there. Just the conversation and the plants, the sun on my back and the small rocks on my knee while I kneel down to get a closer look. It feels like I entered an alternative insanity, a place where nothing makes sense, and yet structured and good things continue to happen. Do I desire too much understanding and control? Do I need to let go of this need for control? Have I let go too much? It is neither pleasant nor unpleasant. I am both confused and without thoughts. Both calm and anxious.
I hope these sections about childhood and teenage years don’t come across as too much moaning and complaining. I am just trying to create a narrative for myself in order to better understand. Most of the information is probably trivial and uninteresting. Oh well.
I was born almost 24 years ago, C-section. No birth canal for me. My earliest memory was 4 years later, I was in kindergarten, and we were going to the local river to feed the ducks. About six meters from the main entrance of the building, I felt very weak. A few meters later, I collapsed. It was leukemia.
The next memory is half a year or a year later, during my 2-year stay at the hospital. I was to get a shot or a blood sample, can’t remember. I was violently resisting, screaming, crying. I remember 4 people including my mom holding me down while the needle entered my arm.
At the age of 6.5, I was cancer free, just in time for first day of elementary school. I quickly made friends with one other kid, I think his name was Sverre. 6 months later he moved with his family to Australia (I live in Europe). After some time I made a new friend, but she also moved after about a year. I was a bit of an awkward kid, and stayed alone for the next two years. I did good in class, but loathed recess. During this period, my parents broke up, and my father got thrown out of the household. He already had a bit of a drinking problem, and this periodically worsened after he moved out. He was never violent or anything like that, but I think it has only worsened his loneliness and depression.
Around age 8 or 9 I have the first encounter I can remember with hallucinations. It was a sleep paralysis of sorts, but I somehow managed to use my core muscles to sit up (though my arms and legs were paralyzed still). I was dripping in cold sweat, and in a state of disbelief, shock and fear. In the room with me were armies of WW2-esque soldiers marching on the walls, coming towards me. They came out from the woodwork, so to speak, from behind closet doors, down along the painted lines on the wall, and along the floor straight towards me. I knew they were dangerous, and meant me harm.
Then, in vivid 3D, my grandmother came flying towards me on a small moon, with a breadbasket in her arms. I knew that if she gave me some of the bread, I would be saved. But when she was just within reach, the orbit of her moon-platform turned her away from me, and a strong sense of impending doom filled up my body. I began breathing faster and faster, and suddenly I managed to get control of my body. I practically jumped up, and my legs began shaking. My mother, who slept in the same room, told me to calm down and go to sleep.
In fifth grade, all the classes were shuffled, and I was lucky in meeting a bunch of interesting kids who would be my stable source of friendship for the next 3 years. This was a great period of Super Smash Bros Melee, Maplestory, Pokemon, sleepovers and in general the safety of being part of a social group. I was still awkward around most people, all of us were, we were the nerds, and had a good time with it. Towards the end of this period, when I was 12, I began isolating myself more and more, obsessed with the meaninglessness of existence. I wanted out, and regularly spent a large portion of time vocally hating myself, telling myself to die, that I am bad, that I shouldn’t be here, that the cancer should have gotten me, I wasn’t meant to survive.
When we were around 13 or 14 years old, it was time for Secondary school (or whatever you call it in English. School for 13-16 year olds). The “leader” of our group/my best/only good friend at the time had set a new goal for himself. In simple terms, to hang with the cool kids, he succeeded, and began a relationship with a girl. My simple teenage brain equated friend gaining girlfriend with loss of friend, and as I had convinced myself that I was the ugliest and most awkward loser of them all, my only social hope was being friends with others like me. No girl could ever be interested, so why bother trying. During both this period and childhood, I wasn’t a big fan of showering or bathing, and I am pretty sure I actually stank like hell for most of the time. Somehow, I never connected that with my social awkwardness. I knew something was wrong with me, so I wouldn’t approach or sit next to people. This created a self-fulfilling prophecy where I would isolate myself to avoid people, causing people to avoid me because of the isolation, making me think that they avoided me because something was seriously wrong with me.
Maybe 75% of nights, I would continue to speak hateful words to myself, not so loud that people in the next room (brother and mother) could hear it, but loud enough to hear it myself. I would cry myself to sleep and punch myself in the face. I was convinced that the feeling of doom and hopelessness was the basic fact of existence, and that the supposedly happy people around me were either naïve, brainwashed, or otherwise repressing the ugly truth. I had created a reality were death was the only truth, the only answer.
Once, I think when I was about 15 years old, I was cross-country skiing with my brother and father. For some reason or other, a fight broke out between my brother and I, which made many repressed feelings bubble up. I normally hid these feelings, only expressing them in solitude at night, and always repressed them when around people. This time I couldn’t though. I went out from the track and a hundred meters into the woods, sat down stubbornly, and proclaimed that I would sit here until I was dead. Of course, I was a stupid teenager, and maybe 30 minutes later my ass was frozen and my father wanted to move on. Afterwards, he looked me in the eyes, and asked me what that was all about. I still remember vividly the rapid expression change in his face, the quick contraction of the pupils, when I told him that, for 3 years now, I had been suicidal. He wasn’t really able to handle it, and I wasn’t able or willing to talk about it. The day after he told me to never mention this to my mother. I never have.
I made a good friend during that period, and we are still close 10 years later. We supported each other and hung out regularly. Started many new hobbies together. He introduced me to music, explosives, and some edgy corners of the internet (rotten, 4chan, efukt). We could talk about anything relating to the external world, but when it comes to the internal world, he still has difficulty making any statements about feelings or the nature of consciousness.
Catalyzed by the newfound exploratory behavior, I stumbled upon texts and forum posts on alternate states of consciousness on the internet. Psychedelics seemed the most interesting of all. I couldn’t imagine seeing things that aren’t real. After all, the objective world is objective, and the objective world is what I am perceiving, and what I am perceiving is a mostly gray and meaningless world, because it objectively is. Or at least, the teenage me was convinced of that.
I still found meaning in understanding the natural world, and biology/chemistry/physics and to some degree maths were very interesting subjects. They were the only thing I could proclaim being good at.
One night, I for the first time went into an altered state of consciousness on purpose. I had read that you could experience vivid hallucinations by crouching down low, breathing heavily and hard for 30 seconds, then rising up and, as hard as you can, blow air into your mouth while having your thumb between your lips. (NOTE: This is dangerous, and works by depleting the brain of oxygen as far as I know, can lead to brain damage if done repeatedly). After doing it, you will fall down (I had laid out pillows behind me to land on, and measured it out so that my upper body landed on a couch).
And so I did it, when blowing on my thumb, my vision quickly went black… and I blacked out. Moments later I was halfway on the couch and floor, thoughts and visions going at insane speeds, body partly convulsing for about 30 seconds. I cannot remember the thoughts and visions, only that I was really surprised, shocked and impressed that it was possible to experience this. I grabbed my camera and tripod, and did it again, same result. In hindsight, I was lucky to fall backwards on the couch. If I fell forwards, I would have banged my head hard against the floor. (AGAIN: It isn’t worth doing this, the experience is meaningless and not particularly enjoyable. I am only including it because it was the first time I decided to experiment with my own consciousness.)
I sent the video to my friend, I think over MSN, and though he was interested in what it was like, didn’t want to try it himself. During the next few years I continued to read up on psychedelics, especially LSD. It supposedly was not dangerous, as compared to depleting the brain of oxygen, and was not addictive. I asked my friend if he thought he would be interested in trying it in the future sometime, and after reading up on it himself, he was.
Around this time, high school begun, and once again I was cast into a classroom of strangers. I had luckily learned to shower regularly by this time, and had a slight increase in self-confidence. The girl I was seated next to was very quiet, and didn’t really socialize with the other girls in class. A few weeks into the semester, we added each other on MSN to work on a school project, and she stated my eyes were beautiful, followed by telling me that she has fallen in love with me. Air horns, nuclear alarms and sirens were going off in my head. The anxiety was bad enough just talking about the school project, but this was too much. All systems shut down, wasn’t able to think. Wasn’t able to accept her, wasn’t able to reject her.
At one point, we were alone in a park, and she repeatedly asked if she could just kiss me. Still in the hyper alarmed state, almost frozen solid, but still trying to carry on looking like a normal human on the outside, I declined with “I’m good”. How many times I have facepalmed and cringed at this memory in the years after.
This went on for about 6 more months, and she gradually showed up less and less. In the end, she gave me an ultimatum; to decide once and for all if I was ever going to be interested. Afraid of what would happen if I said yes, I said no. She changed schools shortly after.
Not much happened for the rest of high school, insecurity, anxiety and depression was constantly present, and suicidal ideation took hold for a few weeks every month. Maybe 20% of schooldays I skipped, but was luckily not very dumb, and was able to pass everything with OK or good grades. Most negative aspect of my existence then was in hindsight unknowingly self-inflicted, I had a good friend, not a bad family, food on my plate, holidays in Italy, and interesting/good people around me. I was not bullied, the victim of any violence or bad living situation. In many ways, I was just a whiny little shit that only dared whine to himself.
The whiny little shit graduated high school, and set his sights on University. I got into a B.S. course in biology, in another town, and so moved out 500 km from my parents. This was a blessing, the first semester I was surprised by the almost total lack of suicidal thoughts.
Although anxiety was raging like never before (I wasn’t able to eat anything at uni for instance, the mouth was too dry and the stomach too tight), reality somehow felt different and slightly more hopeful than before. I was no longer in a classroom with other 18 and 19 year olds. I was now almost the only 19 year old amongst people at least 2-3 years older than me, from all over the country. They seemed more mature than my previous peers, and I felt more at home in this new city than I did at home.
I began drinking on average half a litre of ~30% alcohol, like fireball and jägermeister, every Friday and Saturday during the first two semesters of uni. Mostly to cope with the anxiety, and because I had learned to find the effect enjoyable when combined with sugar, porn, fatty foods, videogames and 4chan. I was still intrigued by LSD, but had not yet come across any character at uni that seemed related to drugs of any kind. (Not strange, since I mostly was socially isolated during this year).
As a secondary escape from anxiety (which I at that time blamed on society and other people rather than something internal), I had begun exploring nature a lot. I live in a country that has a lot of nature per capita, and I spent almost every weekend hiking and camping in woods and marshes. I became interested in knowing what it was I was walking past on the trials. The names of the insects, the plants, the mushrooms.
In spring I discovered that I don’t need to find LSD to experience psychedelics, Psilocybe semilanceata grows locally here in fall, strangers on the internet claimed. I looked up hundreds of pictures of P. semilanceata and possible doppelgangers, learned what habitats it grows in, and looked up maps to search for possible places to go mushroom hunting in fall.
In summer there were 3 weeks of field courses with the other biology bachelor students. During these courses I was botanically baptized, and made it my goal to get to know every plant species in my country. I hung out with a girl for two of these three weeks, C, and she was almost overtly friendly and social. C is about 5 years older than I am, has kids, and a partner who was in prison at that time. Due to these facts, I only ever thought of our friendship as a friendship, and didn’t want to get intimately close with her.
We were both kinda socially weird people, so it was nice to have someone to persistently hang out with when in the field and during the nights of drinking. Since I viewed it as basically impossible for her to be sexually interested in me, both due to my low self-esteem and her life situation, I interpreted her friendliness only as part of her quirky character. For C was absolutely a quirky character, a bit insane at times, smart and irrationally rational.
During the last week of field courses we weren’t in the same group, and somehow I ended sharing room with a guy that had brought a jar of what I’m sure was at least 50 grams of good bud. I had never seen weed before, and my only drugs thus far had been alcohol, porn, caffeine, sugar and oxygen deprivation. The guy was a very extroverted, positive, friendly and inclusive dude. One night I went out with him and two other people to smoke. The other two people I had been a bit intimidated by before, they were the “cool” guys with tattoos and self-confidence. I quickly discovered that all three were unusually calm, low strung and down to earth people. I could relax around them, didn’t need to be on guard, anxiety lessened. Could say whatever, no one gets offended or thinks you’re weird, just laughter. I didn’t get high that night, because I hadn’t understood that you should inhale deeply into your lungs. Nevertheless, that was the first encounter with cannabis.
By this time I had been completely enamored and captivated by vascular plants, and by the end of summer I had learned a couple hundred local species and their taxonomy, as well as started to grow them in my room.
Fall came, and I went mushroom hunting with my old friend from Secondary school. We were now 20 years old. He had moved towns the same time as me, luckily. After many failed attempts, we finally found an area with liberty caps. We picked all we could find, and decided to eat 5 fresh ones at the spot. Liberty caps are small, and these individuals were especially small, so they barely had any effects. However, I had gotten a hold of a small amount of weed and some rolling papers. I had not ever been high yet, and neither had he. We made the worst two joints I have ever seen in my life.
When lighting up, the joints instantly went up in flames, and we hurriedly tried to inhale as much as possible. Either the first time you get high is different from the other times, or the small amount of psilocybin had a synergy with the weed (or both). We both experienced positive effects, and there were feelings of child-like laughter, wonder and amazement. There was both spatial and temporal distortions, and contrary to my militant atheist attitude at the time, this plasticity of reality was an indication that there is something more to this.
A few weeks later, we were ready to try the shrooms we had picked. It amounted to only 1.7 grams per person, but for the first psychedelic experience, it was sufficient. My friend threw up his about 10-15 minutes after ingestion, and didn’t trip very hard. As far as I know, this was his first and last encounter with mushrooms. For me, it was an initiation, I felt like I had witnessed sacred knowledge. I had felt that there is something beyond self-hate, that reality is maybe not only what it seems. That my conclusion of existence being gray and meaningless may have been based on way too few reference points. There was an afterglow for at least a week afterwards. I was convinced: this needs to be explored further.
Not having any contacts for weed, LSD or shrooms, or anything else, I continued drinking alcohol. A few months after the first trip with shrooms, I realized that some of the pain medication I had laying in the bathroom actually contained codeine. Desperate to explore more altered states of consciousness, or maybe mostly to alleviate anxiety, I decided to do a cold-water extraction of the codeine, and try it out. (NOTE: I don’t condone the use of opiates. As will become apparent later in the text, I discovered this was not taking me anywhere useful in life, and quit). The first time (~100 mg codeine) was wonderful, slow Pink Floyd was playing, and I was floating on waves of velvety warmth and safety. After not too long, it was over, and I wanted more. A potentially destructive habit was about to form. I dosed codeine in increasing doses for about 2 months after that, but nothing ever felt like the first time, though every time felt good.
After those 2 months, I finally got my hands on LSD. 25 tabs of it, each tab supposedly at 130 µg. I asked my old friend if he wanted to try the first time with me, and he did. We took 1.5 tabs each, in the safety of my room, and awaited effects. As was habit for us at each social hangout at the time, we drank a big can each of energy drink during the come-up. This made the trip a bit speedy and mildly uncomfortable, but the experience was blowing our minds. For some reason, I insisted on listening to Daft Punk – Discovery at almost max volume, and coupled with the caffeine, this made for very rapid thoughts and CEVs. It felt like a euphoric insanity of sorts, where I could see my racing thoughts in image form, and partly control it. I noticed that many of my thoughts were rather silly, and I quickly began to think about the silliest thing I could at the time.
In that state, the silliest thing I could think of was Hitler with a rainbow moustache surrounded by fluffy kittens. For a few seconds, I saw that in the CEVs. Ecstatic, I opened my eyes, and exclaimed to my friend what I had seen. Laughter ensued.
In other moments, I had a feeling of the experience being extremely intense and rapid, and for a few fleeting moments, I would get thoughts/images of gouging out the eyes of puppies. Disturbed by this, and contemplating what it means to think it, I wrote down “If we are in a simulation, and our brains are only simulating the simulation, is there then any difference between doing something, and imagining doing something?”
These were only a few specific moments from the trip, and I have forgotten most of it. I have probably forgotten the most important parts, and only remember the things that are easiest to formulate. After this first LSD trip I completely lost any attraction towards codeine or any other opiates, and I lost any attraction of drinking alcohol to the point of being drunk. These two losses remain to this day, 4 years later.
During the next 6 months (we are now in 2015) I frequently tripped at medium to small doses, mostly alone in nature, every other weekend. My outlook on life significantly improved, along with my mood, self-confidence and enjoyment of life in general, but only for 7-10 days after each trip. On some of the stronger trips of that period (~250 µg) I had moments of dissolving into the environment, and of being people I knew. I began to question my framework of consciousness being a purely physical phenomenon produced by the brain. My friend (who never took more than 150 µg) said that it sounded irrational, and didn’t want to discuss it any further. I wrote down in my book “Is there one consciousness, infinitely many consciousnesses, or something in between?”
The regular LSD use while out in nature in the spring and summer of 2015 facilitated, catalyzed and set in stone the plant interest that had awakened from its winter slumber. Plants became my main obsession, and I began to map them out, understand their ecology, take photos and videos to better ID them, feel them, taste them, intimately staring into them both while tripping and sober, and them staring back. I had found an infinite source of beauty, fascination and alien structures. The closer you look, the more there is to see. I have never stopped looking and learning since that summer, and now I am involved in several botanical jobs. I thank LSD for unraveling the veil, and letting me see the green angels as they are in all their essence.
In the fall of 2015, I was already familiar with doses in the 400 µg-range, and decided to bring along some good hashish for a special trip. I had stopped the bi-monthly use, and it had been at least a few months since last time. I arrogantly thought I had awakened and was enlightened, but this supposition was countered by the still recurring self-hate and suicidal thoughts. Though it was less so than in my teenage years, it was very much still present. For the first time, I had a serious intention going into a trip, and took 300 µg about an hour before sunset. I was going to ask myself in a serious manner during the trip if I actually wanted to die, and why that would be. There were no clouds, and I was expecting to have a good view of the moon that night.
The trip started out very well, I had watched the sunset while peaking, and gotten an LSD-esque euphoric insight that suicide obviously wasn’t the answer, that I don’t even know what death is, so how could I want it. I didn’t find any good reason to die, though I hadn’t really found any good reason to live either, other than keeping grief away from friends and family.
It began to slightly rain, and with no shelter I decided it was better to keep moving. With Black Sabbath on the headphones, I went savage on a dead tree with my hatchet (NOTE: I’m not saying that is was a rational or smart thing to do, going savage with a hatchet while on 300 µg alone in the woods at dusk
, obviously it isn’t the safest thing to do if an accident was to happen), and prepared a small fire.
The rain stopped when the album ended, which felt like a meaningful coincidence at the time. I brought out my very warm sleeping bag, and decided to light up the hashish before I lit up the campfire. I had never combined cannabis with acid before, and was not prepared for the powerful effects. After the first few hits form the bong, I got stuck in an action-loop of laying down, forgetting I had smoked anything, sitting up and taking a hit, then laying down again. I may have taken 8 or 9 big hits, which would have knocked me out if I were sober.
Combined with peaking on 300 µg on acid, I had my first hard encounter with a complete transition of realities. It was a forced ego-death, where my body dissolved, and reality was fully and wholly a slowly spinning gigantic cube of metallic dark colors in a room equally gray and machine-like. I was the room, and I was the cube, and that was all there was. I realized I had always been there, and always will be. I realized that every atom of existence is conscious of being this cube, and that its existence is pain. Or at least, I wildly resisted, and interpreted that reality as purely pain.
Judging by the movement of the moon across the sky, I was in that state for at least 1 or 2 hours before my eyes were opened and I was lying in a pitch black cold forest a late October night. I was completely appalled, and in a terrorized shock. I was still unable to speak, or really use my limbs at all. For the next 4-5 hours, I had almost no short term memory, and reality was an unintelligible mess. There were a few moments of relative clarity scattered here and there, where I was able to have some thoughts. I was almost sure I had permanently gone insane, that if anybody found out about my mental state now, I would be forced to live in a mental hospital for the rest of my life. I imagined a scenario where that happened, and that if that happened I would have to quickly grab a pen from one of the nurses and shove it into my jugular.
I was vaguely aware of having smoked too much, and hoped that the effects would lessen soon. Even though I fantasized about using the knife I had laying by the still unlit fire to end it then and there, I made a rule to myself: You are not allowed to do anything drastic until the sun comes up. When the sun almost had come up, I extended the rule by 24 hours.
The next day, I was able to get home, and luckily it was a Saturday, so I had an extra day to come back. It took almost 2 weeks to fully reintegrate into my body, during those 2 weeks, I had to visually look what I was doing with my hands and feet. There was a lag time of many seconds between feeling something with my limbs, and me being conscious of that feeling. Also the feeling lasted many seconds after it was done. Think extreme visual tracers that you get on acid, but apply them to the feeling of having a body. I was kind of floating around my body, but not fully in it. Though this body-thing was more like a side effect. The real shock was what happened with reality, with my mind, with the power of these compounds. I saw now that these are not recreational substances, and that I should take them much more seriously than I had before.
I was not very familiar with the term “ego-death”, but stumbled upon it about 2 months after the trip. During these 2 months I had temporarily quit every substance, including caffeine and alcohol, because I could feel that the reality of the cube was still very near, and I could slip into it with any little trigger.
I stumbled upon the term ego-death via googling, and ended up reading up on it and Buddhist philosophies on reality, somewhere on the Nexus (or it may have been the shroomery). After obsessively reading about this ego-death phenomenon, which describes the experience of the cube, or rather, the experience of a total shift of reality, and reading a forum member’s very long post explaining Buddhist philosophy, the dark and murky confused reality of the past 2 months quickly got swept away, and there was a reddish bright light and total ecstasy in my body and all of my being, for 10 or 15 minutes. During that period, everything made sense, the Truth was found, and the Truth cannot be uttered. After these 10 minutes, I was fully back in body and mind, and felt very much present, calmly happy, and at peace. Of course, this feeling, like anything else, does not last. It was the start of the end of using psychedelics recreationally, and the beginning of a practice of self-improvement, self-examination, and infrequent medium to large doses where I practice floating into the experience as much as possible, letting go.
“Show me what I need to be shown, and I will accept it.” Is a mantra of sorts that I express mostly before DMT blastoffs, though it isn’t always easy to accept what is being shown.
In the 3.5 years since this, I have mostly quit soda, alcohol and caffeine. I still join the occasional party, but drinking alone is no longer tempting. I’ve gone through around 30 more tabs or acid since then (25 of which were supposedly dosed at 200 µg), mostly at 300 or 400 µg, but once at 550 µg. Last real trip a year ago. Substance abuse hasn’t been completely absent, for periods I would recreationally take 2C-B for purely hedonistic purposes, same goes for weed. I’ve been cycling through periods of meaningful self-improvement, searching and soul wandering, and periods of saying “fuck it”, where I get high every day for a couple of weeks while listening to music and eating food. It is however a year since the last time I did that.
In October of 2016 I had for the first time gotten my hands on the fabled Spice, and I had constructed a Machine. For months, I thought the suicidal thoughts had been gone forever, but during the past weeks they had begun intruding again. With this vaguely in mind as an intention for taking DMT, I smoked 50-60 mg while on a low dose of mushrooms. My method was ineffective, and I didn’t fully break through. The impression when coming back, however, was very strong. I was convinced I had died, and that all my notions of what reality is, have more powerfully than ever before been blown out the window.
Ever since that first experience with DMT, it feels like some core component in reality has clicked into a different position. Everything feels calmer, maybe in a bit more chaotic insane way, but still calm. In addition, there has been no suicidal thoughts, at all, for over 1.5 years now. It doesn’t feel like just the suicidal thoughts have disappeared, it is as if the source for it is no longer there. It was a core shift in the understanding of what “I” am, that I never got from acid or shrooms, even on higher doses. Suicide no longer makes any sense. I don’t even know what dimension I am in, how foolish of me to think I want to hurry along to the next one. The message I got from DMT that time, was that while I am here, I might as well interact with the...
Intensity increases exponentially until you reach the I of the storm.