Back at it.
T = 0 Plugged 120 mg of FB extracted rue, in 1ml of white vinegar + 1ml of H20.
T = 20 Opened meditation, asking to connect with God and understand Love.
T = 25 Vaped 42 mg of yellow tan crystal spice.
T = 30 Blasted off into a grounded hyperspace.
T = 75 In and out of "consciousness", good head-space.
T = 90 Feel a warm, drunkenness, can move around a bit. Hard to put two sentences together verbally, but inner dialog fairly clear, esp the visual channel of communication to myself.
T = 120 I slide into "regular" consciousness, perceptions altered only somewhat. Very decent soul-glow persists until I go to sleep for the evening.
Like usual, the plugging is 100% free of nausea. When the MOAI hits, it makes my heart beat faster and harder. I've heard the claim that harmaline is more sedative than harmine (and the rue has more of the former than the latter) but I don't feel the sedation element till the come-down.
Unlike usual, I plugged very little liquid and had a super-clean colon. The universe didn't try to vibrate through my anus like last time, but hung out in my colon like a root-chakra medallion of protection. Yellow/Red pulses, 4 beats long, once every 4 or so minutes, behind my rectum.
My mind got blown apart in say, 5 minutes of hyperspace. The fragments collected into three bodies of "mass". Like a big bang of consciousness, and 3 planets forming from the cooling and condensing of matter, each with its own celestial orbit or rather, its own universe.
You see, these three minds were "on top" of each other etherically. Like how you might say that the spirit world, or realm of the dead, exists simultaneously on earth with a veil between them. Each world disparate from the next. When the director of my psychedelic movie would cut between them, my soul obeyed the rules and regulations of that universe*.
Scenes from each part of the pluraverse, with the wire-frame fractal imagery DMT art inspires, pervades. At some point, the worlds start converging, and like music. The chord is at first harmonic, then disharmonious as the pitches get to close together. Time slows.
I feel my body breathing. A deep vigorous inhale then pursed exhale. Then void. I don't feel the urge to breathe for an age, then when I do, my inhale pulls the worlds tighter together.
The universes are almost converging now. I wonder what will happen when they do? A final breath, one a final pull, and the planar alignment makes all go white.
And the director of my movie cuts to another universe. Another program. Is this a sort of cosmic intermission? A commercial break? I don't know what I'm seeing.
Verdant greens grow as vines, tessellating into the mother goddess's forest. Guided by my fears and internal beliefs and rules, the green-life vines push into where I'm clenching up - flanking my hidden fears. Luckily, I know that submitting to fears, not letting them get a rise out of you**, helps you move beyond them. Defending your position, leaning into them, attracts further negative force ofttimes. So I become Teflon, water, judo.
Persistent to nebulous corners of my mind, the mother goddess changes ... she becomes a phallus. Gazing upon it, I wonder "Is it my phallus, or hers?" The whole universe becomes her sex, and every detail is pervaded by the image. The cosmic penis, formed by the forest leaves and roots and vines, form, simultaneously forms and unravels into the universe, becoming the universe. Like a green kaleidoscope of cock, a mandala of the male member, the vision spins slowly to my bewilderment***.
After this vision closes, the director rolls the credits and I open my eyes. I'm awake, but druggy. Vision blurry, hazy. I close my eyes and drift off into a DMT dreamsleep, a catacomb of geometric imagery. I open them again, and repeat.
During this in/out phasic consciousness, I enter a head space where I get to talk to myself and reason out details of life and the trip and other such self introspection.
I proceed to flop out of the couch upon which I was seated and start to perform some slow, blissful yoga. Nurturing and easy stuff, I have little strength or compulsion to push myself.
At the close of my yoga practice, I open up into dead man's pose for 20 minutes, the tingling in my fingers makes me imagine what it would be like to die. I "feel" like I am dying, and it is serene. Draining. Quiet. Nothingness and darkness fade in, and perhaps if it were the real thing there would be a darker, warmer nothingness beneath that. A space where God and family are free inside love. A space where I can finally be free from the world and its cares, its machinations. And perhaps most importantly, a space where I am free from the burden of myself.
An absolution where I am nothing, which is a love not to fear****.
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Epilogue:
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Among the trippy thoughts I had, here are some:
- Our minds are the camera man, and I'm astounded to how small a lens we have in comparison to the whole of memory and sensation available. We truly can construct almost any life from the constituent parts were given.
- There are so many decisions made each day. Do you think about the texture of the keyboard? Or the sound? Or daydream about that day in school where something trivial happened? As director, why would you choose to include that scene inside your life-movie?
- God's consciousness must be wide AND deep.
- Love is the true power, though it is not compulsion. It is only pure when it has no prejudice or strings.
- We have so little knowledge of our own body. Which muscles, specifically are the ones that are tightest? Which are responsible for this movement? There is a hidden symphony under our skin, and we are deaf to it.
- We have very little knowledge of the inner experience of others. As such, we should default to love and compassion.
- If you really cared to, you could conjure up DMT visuals at any time ... if you had the constitution to focus. That'd mean real meditation, the kind where you'd need to turn off the ipod.
- Where you are clenched is where you are weak (Yoga/BJJ ideas, unidirectional force prescribes the counters). Your fears define your limits of being, the limits of your capacity to love.
- DMT likes to hit you in the weak spots. Such feedback is a gift.
- How many of us are in here? I must have 5 different voices that are all "me". I just don't notice that I have so many when I'm not in hyperspace, but if carefully spied on, we are at least tripartite beings.
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Footnotes
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* If that's confusing at all, yeah, I agree. It makes more sense if you've seen the Hugh Jackman movie, The Fountain.
** I just noticed a great deal of poorly chosen words in this post. I know, I'm an absurd fox.
*** Lots of dicks. Like seriously, so many dicks.
**** That's one of like three versions of what I think death is probably like.
Namaste, travelers.
- FF
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