This is a wholly fictional account of a report given by a fictional character referred to as Bella the fictional hamster, and will be told though her PoV, fictionally.

To preface, for reasons beyond the scope of this post, Bella spent the last five or so years attempting to retrieve past life memories, locate someone she believes she knew from said life, and improve contact with several extra-dimensional entities she believes she encountered during a crisis period. After five years exploring every straight-edge method known to man (meditation, yoga, musically induced traces, qi gong, tai chi, breathwork, lucid dreaming, binureal beats, sensory deprivation, crystal work, astral projection, nootropics, dream journaling etc) and meticulously recording the results, she hit a plateau. She’d come out of puberty with a cocktail of of high-functioning autism, ADD, OCD, Anxiety, depression, and intrusive thoughts,(Or as she likes to call it, “Full-Spectrum Bitch Extract“) and could hardly order pizza over the phone without a panic attack, let alone sort out her own jumbled thoughts from any possible psychic communication. She concluded the next step would only be achieved with chemical aid. She has since administered DMT once, LSD four times, a crude LSA extract five times, and Ayahuasca four times.

The account mentioned today is the second ayahuasca experience, aka “The time I ruined Christmas“

It was Christmas eve. She’d just come home from the gym/grocery store, and on the way back thought hey, why not try some ayahuasca but with no effort? Every time she’d done psychedelics, she cleared her schedule and planned to spend the entire day on the floor laughing/weeping/vomiting, whatever the situation mandated. And she loathed it. Loathed the idea of allocating an entire day for inactivity when there was so much to be done. She worked a full time job, spent an hour and a half at the gym every day, was in the middle of redecorating the house, and was writing a novel length work of (admittedly therapeutic) robot porn. The very thought filled her with dread, and as beneficial as she knew these sessions to be, she’d often put them off for weeks at a time, unwilling to sacrifice a precious day off. What if, she thought, what if I didn’t have to do that? What if she could proceed through her ultra-productive, micro-managed day as usual, and just cram in a short therapy session whenever she had a few hours to spare? The first time she tried it, she was pleased to find the entire trip spanned about three hours, as apposed to the 6-8 hours sacrificed for LSA and LSD. If this worked, it would be awesome. She was nervous, of course, aware over the course of her few trips that the trips themselves were living, intelligent entities. Forgoing the prepwork in favor of a high-octane superwoman approach might not just be foolish, but arrogant. Then again, her reasons for going under were noble. She was knee-deep in an identity crisis that had reached it’s zenith in her search for past life clarity, and sought to deepen the connection to someone (she hoped) she knew from back then. Those reasons were worthy, right? Ayahuasca would understand, right?

Right. This is a horrible idea. But she, living in a near-constant state of anxiety for most of her adult life, wasn’t actually sure what a good idea felt like, and thus had no proper means of discerning the two. Lets get this shit show started.

She walked inside. She drank 3g of syrian rue straight no chaser(if there was one thing Bella was confident in, it was her ability to ingest large quantities of foul-tasting liquid) put the groceries away, then proceeded to drink 6 g of acacia confusia rootbark. About this time her boyfriend, Vinny the rat came up the stairs, to ask her if she had any plans in the way of social gatherings, being that it was christmas eve. It was here she felt her first pangs of guilt. On account of both her identity crisis, money being relatively tight, and an attempt to not turn the holiday into a panic-y gift-giving orgy as it had been in years past, she’d done very little in the way of preparing for Christmas. In the eyes of anyone who cherished the holiday for nostalgic reasons, shed honestly come off as a total scrooge. He was no ghost of Christmas past, present, or future, though, so she simply told him she had no plans and and also that she’d just downed a psychedelic smoothie. He seemed surprised. And disappointed. Mostly disappointed. More guilt flashed though her. She was quick to reassure him that it would be over in three or so hours max and they’d have plenty of time to go to church or get dinner or both, so not to worry. He shrugged, sighed, and went back downstairs.

Bella went to her altar room, where she knelt down and explained her reasons for visiting today: To strengthen the connection with this possible-past-life loved one, to find equilibrium with her ever fragmenting identities, but first and most importantly, to be “shown what she needed to be shown.” whatever that may entail. She left her altar room, went out to the balcony, and stared at the tree tops until they began to ever so slowly sway, and curl in on themselves in tight little fern frond spirals.

It’s happening. Immediately, the body high washed over her, that warm, purring pulse, a visceral cat playing hide and seek between her organs. The air turned to liquid velvet, the carpeted floor was feather-soft off-white moss, every physical sensation was drowsy, swimming ecstasy. She looked at the tiny, barely decorated christmas tree they’d put up, a candy colored green cellophane lighthouse glowing welcomingly in the center of the room. She stared for a moment, laughing like an idiot. Her boyfriend came back, inquiring to wither or not it had “kicked in“ yet. “It has“ she said “Its nice to know that the tree always looks like this, even if you cant always see it. The true nature of everything is beautiful, so long as you stay on the correct frequency.“ Yeah. That was beautiful.“ she thought. “Poetic as fuck.“ It was around that time she thought it may be a good idea to take her laptop, lie down in her altar room, slap on some noise cancelling headphones and listen to the exact same tracks she did during her first trip. Not because she was feeling increasingly guilty around Vinny, nope, nu uh. Not at all. but because she was feeling weak. Yeah. Totally. Because she was weak.

She laid down, closed her eyes, and waited for “Mamahuasca“ as she affectionately called her, to take her surfing through the astral seas once more. She felt the same feeling in her midsection, and then in her head, as she did the first time they spoke and sure enough there she was, in all of her pink, metal, neon plant machine robot feminine glory. And she wasn’t alone.

She had brought a male entity with her. Bella recognized this form. Had a very emotionally charged relationship with this form. Her reliance on this form was so strong, in fact, that she’d confused several different entities with it over the course of her life, and wasn’t sure which was one of them, if any, that it was. Most recently, she had conceptualized both the masculine aspect of god and her own personal link to divinity as having this form, so that may have played into what happened next.

“Hello Papa” she said.

“Hello.“ he said “We’re taking away your name.”

“Okay.“ said Bella. Wait...wha-”

Bella couldn't even finish that thought as her soul was simultaneously ripped from her body and rendered prisoner in it. Someone had dumped an indomitable ocean of ethereal momentum on her chest and it forced its way down her throat, into her stomach, into every crevice of her physical form and swelled within her. She couldn’t breathe, but wasn’t exactly sure she needed to. Surely these two would never hurt her, they were just fixing her brain in some way. She thought perhaps they were trying to get her used to the idea of death, of being completely demolished, digested, obliterated, by making her feel so incredibly scared and small. There was merit, surely, in being rendered as helpless as a newborn in both body and spirit. So she tried to enjoy it, embrace utter annihilation at the hands of these two trusted beings. This has to be a lesson of some sort. She convinced herself, even as they tore her apart the second she built herself up again. She would appreciate this. She would show them she was worthy. She would learn. And even if she didn’t, hey, at least she’d be stronger for having lived through such a horrible experience. She wasn’t going to die, at least. They couldn’t even kill rats with this stuff. To think a musclehead hamster in her prime with no health conditions other than dumb-bitch syndrome could die from a moderate dose was ridiculous.

Except...she hadn’t fasted. She’d had a generous amount of caffeine this morning, and raw cacao powder, and whatever the fuck was in her protein powder other than protein and....uh oh.

The fear set in. Despite her desperate self reassurances, she remembered an account of someone who had taken rue with 5meoDMT. His skin had turned blue from lack of oxygen and he had to force himself to manually breath the entire time until it wore off. She had done nothing of the sort, but the phrase manual breathing recalled an old fear she had from childhood of somehow forgetting how to breathe. What if, somehow, in this state, fertile breeding ground for delusion it is, she convinced herself that she couldn’t breathe, and asphyxiated as a result? She had come in to rewire her brain, after all. What if she somehow accidentally nerfed the nerve responsible for operating her lungs?

That was stupid. Stupid and scary. She opened her eyes to look at her arm, just to make sure it wasn’t blue. Her arm, as it turns out, was not only blue, it was far, far too small and noodle-y to be her arm, and the body it was attached to was distorted as if by fisheye-lense. Whelp. She was clearly tripping too hard to make this call on her own. She took the headphones off and got up, forced her noodle appendages to drag her into the hallway, and called for Vinny.

“Hey Vinny?“

“Yeah?“

She opened her mouth, but every combination of words felt awful. Sounded awful in her mind, tasted awful on her tongue. Everything was just awful.

“Could you come up here? I’m not...I’m not having a good time.“

The very act of admitting this flipped some sort of switch. The last sentence hung itself in the air and imprinted itself on reality. A good time this was not. This was the furthest thing from a good time. Her concept of a good time had been scrapped, melted down, and forged into a giant metal dildo which witch the designers of the universe were currently raw-dogging her with. This was the worst thing ever.

She crawled into the bathroom. She tried to purge. She collapsed into a tangle of limbs on the floor, tried to cry, but couldn’t even do that. She crawled back into the hallway and lied down, only vaguely aware of Vinny coming up the stairs to sit down next to her. The cat playing peekaboo in her innards had become a serpent of razorblades. She was having a full blown panic attack, and it was visually manifested for her. She could see into the cells that comprised her eyes, which had helpfully adopted the symbolism of thousands of tiny demon teeth and eyeballs to demonstrate how negative energy affects the body at a microscopic level. Fear roared wave-like within her, rising, peaking, subsiding. Every time she hit a crest, she knew she would die. She was going to fucking DIE, and the only thing waiting for her on the other side was more fear. Her entire universe was fear, her heartbeat and shallow breathes a flimsy barrier between her and absolute hell.

She was sorry. She was impatient and used these magnificent plants for the wrong reason and was being punished and she was sorry. She told this to Vinny, who was skeptical, but deeply concerned, asked her what dosages she took exactly and went into her alter room to use her laptop. At this point the door the the altar room was a swirling portal of reptilian eyes. She wondered if she was being attacked by some asshole extra dimensional entity at this point, and her brain, in his de-fragmented state, was just interpreting them as a vortex, when in reality they might be an actual lizard person. There was the darkest, most crystal clear and eloquent laughter in her ears, and she heard a masculine voice tell her something, but she to this day does not recall what it was. It was at this point she called once, more, in desperation, to the friendly entities she kept council with, but could not hear a response. There was folly, perhaps, in spending the majority of your waking life seeking provision in the asteral. It had been her lifelong escape from the madness of three dimensional existence. Now, for the first time, she honestly longed for refuge in its limited perception. The prison was suddenly a sanctuary, and it was that revelation that shook her to the very depths of her soul.

She wanted to scream. She was, in fact, very much afraid of screaming. She was afraid of screaming so loud the neighboors would call the cops. She was afraid SHE might call the cops, or at least 911. She was afraid that if she didn’t, she’d die a very foolish death, and her cause, in its infancy, may very well die with her. But if she did call, and admit that she’d taken ayahuasca, then she’d definitely do harm to her cause. She’d ruin everything, all she had worked so hard for, she’d never get her memories back, never meet this person she was trying to desperately to find. Five years of work, a conclusion to a lifetime of directionless rage and confusion, it would all burn to the ground.

It was then she realized that if she wanted to continue with a mission this insane, then she couldn't afford to be splitting her brain in half over who she could have been in another life. She was not mentally fit enough to handle that information right now. If she wanted to survive, wanted to stay out of the madhouse, wanted this to work, then she had to be Bella. Not whoever she was before, not whoever she’s supposed to become. Not even her own idea, or anyone else's idea of who those two should be. She had to be the hamster she was born as. She wasn’t sane enough to be anyone else right now.

Vinny emerged from the altar room, and assured her that she wasn’t dying. He’d looked everything up, what she was going through was actually relatively common, and she was just getting a ’surpreme asskicking’ as he put it. He sat down next to her while she rocked back and forth, murmuring “This is so bad.“ under her breath, and lavishing him with praise for staying with her. She couldn't believe how compassionate this man was, and was appalled by her own lack of empathy. Here she was, ruining Christmas for the one person she knew still gave a shit about it because she thought she could shotgun the most potent psychedelic on earth like a can of beer. Because she’d been arrogant. She knew if he had been the one crying and rolling on the floor convinced he was a hair’s breadth away from insanity, she would not have comforted him, not genuinely, and this disgusted her. She could only apologize, and compliment him over and over again while she lay on his shoulder, tears streaming so profusely from her eyes a small puddle had actually accumulated on the floor. Her field of vision split into two separate, identical frames, and she could see the room the same regardless of wither her eyes were open or closed. Every sentence visually manifested with thousands of tiny concentric mirrors, showing her her own thoughts as they completed. She remarked that this comfort he offered her felt so familiar, and wondered if perhaps she had known him from a previous life as well. She spoke of the person she searched for, the one they both knew, and arrays of hexagonal portholes offered a silhouetted scene carved of melting snow and pine needles of the three of them. It was wholly stereotypical, reflective of the season and holiday she’d ruined, and could discern no kernel of truth from it. While the fear would still come, rise, crest, and fall, she could brace herself now, stay standing upright in the surf. Keeping herself talking, or at least exhaling during the very peak managed it, and his voice, the continuous stream of his words, no matter what he spoke of, was pure remedy. Music, however, was terrible. Music was a mistake. Every peaceful, melodic song he played was engineered by a team of asshole demon scientists to strip the meaning of audible beauty from her ears.

Eventually, he managed to convince her to crawl into the altar room with him. It had been three hours. He showed her the site he’d looked up the ayahuasca information on. There were others like her who had made similar mistakes, thinking they had sufficient experience with other substances to expend less effort in preparing for the journey. She admitted the same, that she had been looking for a more easily re-creatable version of LSD, and judging by how positive her first experience with the brew was, thought she’d found it. How wrong she was. There was no replacement. Every substance was its own entity. Every trip was it’s own entity, and like it or not one took their own sanity into their hands with every session. That was the price. All sales final, no refunds.


He noted she seemed to be ’comming out of it.’ and she agreed, though the second she did she perceived Mamahuasca and Papa standing by the window, no taller than the edge of the sill but still infinite in scale. They looked at her, and said without language of any kind - “You take this shit more seriously next time. Also, you’re welcome.“

“Thanks.“ she whined, with the enthusiasm of a kicked puppy, upon realizing that she asked for help resolving her identity crisis, and had received it, even if it came in the form of temporarily cramming herself back into her 3rd density personality to avoid arrest and/or hospitalization.

She got up. She took a shower, got dressed, told Vinny she was never going to ruin Christmas for him ever again, he had missed his calling as a therapist, crisis counselor and or shaman, and that they could spend the rest of the night however he wanted. So they went to church and got Ihop afterwards. The end.

Good on Bella! Judging by the story, it seems she has learned all the important lessons

Also nicely written trip report .



Definitely can relate to that

I love this. Thank you for taking the time to share your journey-

Thanks alot for sharing.

Your writing is great. Some people on the nexus should become writers.

I hope one day i can develop that skill too.

For me it seems you are on a good path and have a great partner in life.
And you are willing to go through this to find healing.

Very inspirational.

One day i will grow the balls to try Aya i hope.

I wish you all the best and have a gud one

That was a great read

Thank you so much for the feedback guys! In my opinion as an author Bella has definitely learned from that etheric buttfucking and is trying to build up enough confidence for another long journey, as right now she's still scared out of her wits(it hasn't stopped her from trying though) I'll have to share some of her other stories as soon as I get a hot minute to write them down.

Again, thank you, and I'm very glad to be here.

Thanks for the writing, missed it the first time around.

Welcome to the Nexus!