Dear Nexians,
i'm hesitant to reveal much information about a man who contacted me, requesting that i convey his messages to you, given the unfortunate statutes in his country regarding the amazing molecule. It would be a shame if he were to be compromised, because he is on a path to a great life.
However, i would feel remiss if i didn't introduce him to some extent, and besides, he wants to be able to post messages in the grown-up forums. (Eventually)
So, he is a young individual who has smoked marijuana extensively, and salvia once. ( Somewhat interestingly, it was a mixed bowl of mj and strong salvia, and it was his first time trying either ) He's never eaten mushrooms or LSD, much less 2c-eye or mescaline or what have you.
He first encountered the spice three weeks ago. A while before then, his roommate ( a much more experienced psychonaut than he ) told him the story of his first (and at that point only) trip, a non-breakthrough experience from the way he described it. It sounded fun, so the young man, we'll call him Someone Who Isn't Me, decided that if he had the opportunity he would take it. Sure enough, SWIM's roommate introduced him to the spice the very next weekend.
It was in a small room, with five other people, only one of whom he knew well. The setting was reasonable: quiet music ( Ramshackle by Beck ), candles the only light, incense burning, no fools present. An aluminum can pipe with an ash bed was prepared, the spice spread, and the madness began.
He watched carefully as the most experienced member began melting and boiling the off-white grains of spirit molecule. He took the second trip; he held the flame a few centimeters from the crystals, melting those that were still loose. He released the carb, took in a breath, and held it, as he was calmly and quietly advised by his mates. The vapor hit his lungs like a miniature nuclear shockwave, stopping short only at the borders of his physical form. He passed the makeshift pipe to his right, and tried to hold onto the world as he knew it. It was difficult, sounds became impossibly clear and perfect: unrealistic. And there was that damned tension in his chest; his throat must have been filled with marbles. That pure sound he associated with sleep paralysis nightmares was overpowering him, tearing him apart. It was the carrier wave! A force of nature, it seemed, intent on dragging him from reason and self-assurance and understanding and comfort! If he had a soul then it was being forcibly ripped from the depths of his body. Involuntarily his head dropped backwards against the wall, resting on the top of the couch. His own body was all clear to him, but it was not clear why the rest of the world was a paradox. The paradox, for him, was the pure contradiction of the senses. The world, less than a minute ago, had been a certain type of world. It was his world. Complete and unquestionable, made up of all the hard realities, the aspirations, the relationships, the context, the understanding, and the potential for understanding. In the moments after he took his first taste of spice ( And what a Taste it had! ), that certain world dissolved as easily as salt into water. This was difficult to swallow for one essentially unfamiliar with even that small degree of ego-dissolution. The people whom he'd been acquainted with earlier were strange creatures, apparently harmless and benign, but so foreign to him. They smiled sleepily at him, and it was so silly that he burst out laughing. The formerly grey walls were covered in a red and green lights, in a grid pattern over everything, even the creatures he was sitting next to. The whole scene seemed ludicrous and impossible, yet it was all there, unquestionably there. This thought was disconcerting, and preoccupied him for a while. He felt the need to explain to the world that everything was not as it seemed, that we had all been living a fabrication. The pure astonishment was palpable throughout his body, it was as though he had only just begun to understand anything of any significance of all, and he was drowning in the meaning of it all.
He jolted upright on the couch, took a deep yet abrupt breath (like a man overboard in rough seas), and instinctively began stroking the soft blanket he was sitting on (when the world slips you a Jeffrey...), yet another attempt to bring himself to dry land, to ground himself. It worked, little by little, and he soon felt the urge to cover his face to hide his still shell-shocked expression, then sweep his hands over his thick, flowing hair. He began speaking to the others, and was relieved to find that he understood their replies. They decided to repeat the experience with 5-meo-DMT ( referred to as "scary stuff" or "spooky shit" ). He was the first to take it in, but he was nervous, humbled by this unbelievable psychedelic experience. Similar feelings as the first experience ensued, with a little added anxiety due to a fear that he would be trapped in the state for an infinity. (Imagine losing a lifetime by existing only as a consciousness within one small moment, a quarter hour spice trip which internally lasts all of a lifetime, existence as spirit, reincarnation, and so on ad infinitum) They proceeded to roll three joints, two with very pure spice, and one with the scary stuff. They smoked one by one, all yielding the same strange sensation of unreality as the last. Eventually it was time to go to sleep, and the den went silent until morning.
He woke up feeling like a man who has returned from a strange land. He's been following these forums ever since, and prepared and smoked some changa.
Well, i'm quite tired, so i think the rest of this young man's story can be told some other time. He's very thankful to anyone who read his rambling story, and hopes that he can contribute to the generally healthy, balanced environment that he's been fortunate enough to stumble upon.
Happy Holidays to you all, and to all a good night.