ForEverAfter
Ex-Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jan 16, 2012
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Soma, DXM, Psilocybin & Cannabis - "The Meaning of Life & the Letter A"
I miss the bus, on the way to work. So, I decide to walk half the distance rather than just sitting around. On my way, I notice a small grassy field containing one or two reasonably sized Amanita Muscaria toadstools. I remember the spot, so I can come back after work and pick them up.
I find another four caps. Ranging from eighteen centimeters to ten centimeters diameter. The largest was enormous, and the small one was small. But, overall, I figure it’ll probably make a decent dose. Maybe not as strong as last time, but certainly worthy of an experiment.
I separate the caps from the stems and put them in one of two trays, leaving the stems in the fridge for later. I get a sense of dejavu doing this. I don’t consciously know why I don’t just place them all in together. But, I know there’s a reason. I leave the door of the oven open and set it to fan forced, around 75-80 degrees celsius. The caps are quite wet from the rain. They range in freshness from bright red and young to relatively old and misshapen. Though, I checked the gills and under the skin thoroughly for infestation as Muscaria is particularly prone to rot in the wild within a short amount of time. I have found maggot infestations deep in many otherwise reasonable looking specimens. None of the caps I picked had anything worse than a couple of ants. After twenty minutes in the oven, they had turned a darker shade of red and sweated a significant amount of liquid onto the surface of the non-stick tray.
The pieces are soaked with their own juice. I cannot use the pieces to mop up the juice. I just end up spreading more around. They are sweating like crazy. I suddenly remember why I didn’t put the stems in. It was so long ago, I forgot. The stems, they don’t sweat. You use them to mop up the juice from the caps. My fingers are soaked with toadstool juice. I grab the bag out of the fridge and start breaking up bits of stringy fiburous stem, mopping up the dark yellow juice from the bottom of the baking pan. It works perfectly. After about ten minutes of smearing, the white stem pieces have turned yellow like saffron rice. Twenty minutes later, there is a small amount of excess juice at the bottom of the pan. I juggle pieces of cap and stem around, evening out the absorbtion. I use pieces of dark red caps as sponges, squeezing them between the palms of my hands and dripping the sweet smelling liquid across the pieces. I am excited in a calm terrified sort of way. This is the most ancient drug and the most powerful experience I’ve ever had. DMT does not compare. It’s been so long since I’ve had it, I’ve lost track of the years. At least five. This will be my second experience.
There is something that frightens me, I guess, about such a satisfying experience. Like, maybe, if I did it three or four times a year I wouldn’t need to get fucked up all the time. Like, the lower down on the heirarchy of spirituality the drug is, the more you need to repeat use in order to appease yourself. Like, the dirtier it is, the more you need to use it to compensate for the dirt. Soma – on the other hand – is so pure. It is the cleanest drug I have ever had. Such a perfect vision. It’s hard on the body, but easy on the soul. I go back and check on the oven. It takes three or four minutes to mop up all the juice, which is getting darker – an oily brown now. I turn the fan up to high.
The next time I check the oven, about ten minutes later, there is hardly any juice. The pieces will now begin to dry out. They may sweat a little bit more, but they’ll probably require much less attention. I open another beer and roll another joint.
The caps have now turned from slimy like snails to slimy like smoked pieces of fish. There is almost no fluid at all in the pan. I find the smell intoxicating. So do my cats. When the oven door is completely open, rather than just ajar, they jump up and try to stick their nose into the pan. I held a piece out in front of my king cat and he started purring madly. I used to have an albino cat. She was deaf. I loved her so much. More than I’ve loved any pet. She had a really weird meow. It didn’t sound like a cat. It didn’t sound like any animal, except her.
One day she ate a whole bunch of Amanita Muscaria caps that I had prepared for my wife. We had to keep an eye on her for the next eight hours, as she wandered about the house, drooling, her eyes like ornate marbles. She lay down in weird positions, too, with her legs sticking out like she was dead. It was kind of freaky, but not really. Like, I knew she wasn’t going to die, she was just fucked up. Crazy thing is she ate a human dose. I mean she was a fat cat, but no more than six kilograms. I don’t know what the muscaria exchange rate is between homosapiens and cats.
My poor little cat ate what I am now preparing for myself. Six large caps, that I left out on the kitchen counter. I was so impressed with her after that. I mean I already knew she was amazing, but it totally blew me away to see her do it. I read an article recently about a little kid who munched some psilocybin mushrooms numerous times apparently. Like he had it the first time and then he thought fuck yeah I’m going to do that again. That’s pretty crazy for a kid. I can’t remember how old he was, but not at the age you’d expect that sort of fearlessness in the face of – for him – was something inexplicable. We know what magic mushrooms are. Little kids don’t. When my cat ate that plate full of Soma, she didn’t know what she was doing.
Then years later I found this black cat when I was mushroom hunting. It was eating psilocybin mushrooms out of the ground. After that I was convinced that cats ate mushrooms. Since then I’ve seen caterpillars, birds, and – most commonly – slugs, eating psilocybin mushrooms.
I should point out – if I haven’t already – that the mushrooms didn’t kill my albino cat. She got run over by a car. My car. I killed her. I was on LSD at the time. I think that’s one of the main reasons that I don’t drive a car anymore. I’d forgotten– until I wrote this, just know – how much that crazy little cat meant to me. She was our first shop bought kitten. We’d raised a couple of other feral kittens overseas and ended up giving them away before returning to Australia. My deaf little albino kitten, she disappeared within three hours of us getting her. Eventually we found her in the top drawer of a desk that we hadn’t opened. Somehow she had opened it, climbed inside, then closed it behind her at the age of twelve weeks. We didn’t have a car, so I had to carry her two kilometers back from where we bought her. Poor thing. Fuck, I loved that cat. She was so wise. I think the fact that she ate Muscaria proves that. But then, maybe all cats are attracted to it. And all animals. Maybe animals are getting high all the time. And stopping getting high, is what makes you evolve, or devolve depending on your perspective. Enlightenment is the deconstruction of consciousness. Being one with the world. Like an animal. So animals are enlightened. Or, they don’t have to be because they aren’t off track – spiritually – to begin with. Cats are definitely trippers. They’re not the sort of animals that eat something they don’t recognize the taste of. I mean you can feed anything to a dog or a pig, but cats are particular. They smell something out before they eat it. All three of my cats, would eat the mushrooms I am preparing if I put it into a bowl. I can tell from their enthusiasm upon smelling it and from how close they put their nose into it. Lemons and oranges make them run in the other direction. Amanita Muscaria, Soma, God – whatever you want to call it – makes them run towards it. Maybe primitive species use substances as an evolutionary jumpstart. Like they’re not supposed to keep using it as they get past a certain point of evolution and no longer require it to inspire them. When they can inspire themselves, like we can, then they forget about Soma. Over tens of thousands of years, it loses attention until it is this funny looking thing in the park that your son kicks over and you have no idea about how powerful it is. Most people see these red and white toadstools and think of children’s cartoons like the Smurfs. They tell their kids that those mushrooms are poisonous, because human beings no longer require that kind of poison. We have evolved beyond needing God and now focus on drugs that can expand our lives in different ways. Maybe that’s why I find it so immensely satisfying an experience. Because it is not an experience I need, as much as psilocybin. I think you can treat the population of the world as a database. If people don’t want God, there must be a reason for that. I guess one argument is that people created religions and the religions outweighed the Gods, so they forgot about Soma and all the other drug induced holy experiences that have existed throughout history. Faith and drugs is a powerful combination. My faith is faltering, so I experience it rarely. I wonder what a man of undying faith would experience within a divine psychedelic trip. How close he could come to God. That is all I want. To meet God once more, and not be afraid.
The mushroom pieces have gone from slimy like a cooked piece of fish, to chewy like a cooked piece of calamari. There is no juice on the pan. Once they’re done in the oven – I’d estimate around forty minutes from now, maybe an hour – I’ll put them in the evaporator. I’m planning on grinding them down into a fine dust and compacting them into fifty or sixty gel caps. The reds of the caps have gone a deep deep red almost black colour. They are not burnt, they have been changing from bright to dark red gradually over the entire cooking proccess.
Some of the caps are starting to dry out a bit. Nothing significant yet. I turn the fan down to low. In half an hour I’ll transfer them to the evaporator and leave them overnight.
I stop off on the way home, to check out one or two of my old spots. The first place has a couple of subs but nothing worth bothering about. I pick two mushrooms from the ground and eat them. It is about time of year that the Amanita population starts booming. I expect to find half a dozen or so at the second spot. I don’t have any way to carry them again. I end up finding fourteen, far more than I can comfortably carry in my hands and pockets. So I use my long sleeve shirt. Button it up into a bundle. Underneath the shirt, I’m wearing a tank top as a singlet. It wasn’t meant to be worn on it’s own. Without the untucked shirt to cover me up, my bright red underwear is visible from above my sagging jeans. I look like some kind of sleazebag. Like I’m exposing myself as some sort of thrill seeking fetish or maybe I’m trying to attract women by showing them some skin. Or maybe I’m trying to attract men. Whatever it is, it isn’t good. I walk back to the bus stop, carrying a huge bundle of Amanita Muscaria mushrooms. I walk through the park and resist the temptation to pull a branch of a tree to make a hobo suitcase but I might as well. Probably look more dignified, really, with a stylish branch pouch.
The mushrooms are kicking in. I get on the bus. It’s full of schoolgirls. They whisper about me and giggle and make horrified faces. I clutch my Muscaria stash. The fabric is thin and the mushrooms are wet. You can see bits of them, pressing against the side of the sack. Red surfaces with white dots. I get off two stops early because the driver doesn’t speak English. Fucker tells me that this is the closest he can drop me. Then I walk home past like three more bus stops. Fucker. Maybe he did it on purpose. Either way, it’s bullshit. I’ve had a fucking long day and I’m tired and the situation is beyond fucked. I don’t mind going through some ridiculous shit. I don’t mind looking like I just woke up under a bridge. What makes me anxious is looking like one of those guys that wears bicycle shorts and/or leather pants. Tank top wearing is not for me. That’s why I use it as a singlet. I’m not one of those metrosexual transexual pansexual drama major students. And I don’t want people to think I am. That’s worse than them thinking I’m a junky or a drunk or that I look homeless.
I get home with ten minutes to fax through my timesheets which requires me to fill them out, scan them, and e-mail them. It takes me over an hour. My head is buzzing in all sorts of different directions. And my computer isn’t working. I smoke a roach, which tastes horrible and does nothing. I’m really dissatisfied with smoking. I used to remember liking it more. Cigarettes and joints are horrible. It’s a really terrible way to consume a drug. I go into the other room and crumble up a big chunk of bud into the vaporizer. Maybe a third of a gram. I inhale it in four bags, holding each breath and coughing my lungs up before the next. I am absolutely fucked by the time I get halfway through the third bag. By the time I’m finished I am destroyed. I keep forgetting about the mushrooms and thinking that I’m just so incredibly high. Usually when I combine the drugs, recreationally, I have a lot of shrooms and a little bit of weed. Sometimes I have a shitload of weed, but it is still the garnish. You have the trip as the major force of inebriation, and the smoke as the minor. Today it is the other way around. Or, maybe, indistinguishable.
I go to Uni, which is just around the corner. I put on a new shirt and my trenchcoat. I am extremely stoned. The trenchcoat cashes in the wind and the tails blow out behind me. I go into the library. It is full of Asian students, as always. After hours, the library is always like ninety-five percent Asian students. People in this country have a lot of resentment towards various cultures. But I think it’s just jealousy. Where are all the white students? They’re all drinking. Smoking. Clubbing.
I sit down at a computer, log in, and start filling out my paperwork. It’s fucking confusing. I’m overly aware of the fact that I’m high because I’m at that stage where you become unaware and start acting weird then become aware of the fact that you are acting weird and therefore that you are high. I spun around in a cycle. Forgetting. Remembering. Acting weird. Acting normal. I start direct downloading some TV shows using the University server. But the list is going to take too long to get through. And I don’t want to sit in the library for ever. I’m paranoid about the illegal downloading, and the fact that I am slipping in and out of conscious weirdness. I create a Word document that says “Don’t use this computer. There are others available.”
On the way home, the tails of my coat blow out against the breeze. I walk along the edge of a fountain. I walk fast, the cold breeze rushing against my face.
When I come back to the library, there is this Asian student half-sitting in my chair, logging out of my account. I poke him in the back and say, “Hey!” It’s been forty five minutes since I logged off. I cancel the procedure to opt out of the server, download the movies onto my phone and go back home.
The mushrooms are in the oven. I broke them up – twelve caps, anyway – into two baking pans and slid them, on top of each other, into the oven. I set it to fan forced, 65-70 degrees celsius. This was maybe twenty minutes ago. I return to find them soaking in their own juice. I use the remaining two caps and the stems to mop up the liquid. The inside of the stems is fluffy like cotton candy. It’s extremely absorbent. As I mop up the liquid with the wet pieces of cap and stem, I become frightened that the stuff I am touching might have maggots in it. I am hallucinating and the slimy gills of the mushrooms look like they are wriggling around. I poke my finger into a couple of caps so I can see inside them and make sure. I picked four or five old caps to make up the fourteen. I do this with all kinds of psychedelic fungi. If you dry it out and eat it in caps, doesn’t matter if it’s not fresh.
The evaporator has almost finished. Muscaria takes longer to dry out because it’s humongous. The caps become rubbery. The red spotted skin shrivels up tight into a wrinkled leather look. The pieces didn’t look much look mushrooms after I took them out of the oven. Most of the caps were browny black. Some reddish black. They’ve been in the evaporator for about twenty hours. Now they look even weirder. Like dead mutant insects. Still bendable. Pieces of dried Muscaria should be hard like sticks. It should be difficult to break them in half with my finger tips. Mother fuckers are rubbery, which means there’s still water in them. And water means weight, which means more gel caps. I’m hoping to get 25 grams in less than 40 gel caps. Assuming I have more than 25 in the first batch, which I believe I do.
The mushrooms are still in the evaporator. The first batch is almost definitely done.
I go to check on the Amanita caps. They aren’t leaking much juice any more. I turn them over and mop up the dark yellow liquid. The evaporator is still running. It has been going for four days. The Muscaria pieces from the first two batches are still slightly pliable. I have to conclude that they will never become cracker dry, and pack them into gel caps.
Edit: I leave the mushrooms in the evaporator for another six days. They are completely dry by the time I move on to the next phase.
Wake up on the couch. Don’t know what time it is. Don’t care. Got a day off, finally. I skip breakfast and head straight for the dextromethorphan. Half a bottle of cough syrup, 300mg DXM. Go back to sleep for an unknown amount of time. Wake up, glowing. Decide to start the Soma experiments.
The caps are still in the evaporator. I figure I might as well leave them there to ensure that they don’t absorb any moisture. I take a handful of dried caps – 23.2 grams, dried Amanita Muscaria – and shove them in the coffee grinder with 2 grams of powdered Psilocybe Cyanescens. Total weight = 25.2 grams. It fits comfortably into less than 50 gel caps. I think there’s 47 total.
The powdered mushroom smells wonderful. It really does. It smells like an exotic spice. It is an intoxicating smell. The same smell that has been drifting out of my oven day and night for the past week. Despite the caps turning almost black, the resulting powder is a light reddish-brown. It does not look or smell at all like dried psilocybin mushroom powder. It smells like food. The aroma awakens my appetite. My body tells me, I am supposed to eat this.
Psilocybin mushrooms cause the opposite reaction.
3:00 pm
The low dose DXM buzz is lingering around my head. Don’t know how long it will last. I take 23 gel caps. I drink Coca-Cola with the gel caps, to dissolve them faster. I take half the dose as a precaution. I figure I should test the water before I dive in. The odds are, I’m going to become extremely physically ill. Then I think fuck it. If I’m going to be sick, it might as well be worth something. I can’t be afraid of Soma. I wasn’t afraid the first time.
3:10 pm
I take the remaining 24 gel caps.
3:15 pm
I feel cold, suddenly. I’m shaking. Must be a co-incidence. The gel caps couldn’t have dissolved yet. But they have. There’s something going on. Some weird feeling I can’t put my finger on. My mind is racing extremely fast. Everything is vibrating. I get that feeling you get when you’re coming up on unknown drugs. That voice that says, “this is going to be a big one.” It is screaming in my ear. I am tempted to panic. But I can’t do that. You cannot fight Soma. I roll a joint.
3:30 pm
While smoking I feel extremely calm. I take long deep breaths and fill up my lungs. I can hear my heart beating. Loud, but not fast. I am very aware of my organs. My heart, my lungs, my stomach. There are occasional twitches from my abdomen. My neck is really loose. I am really stoned. Stoned from the low-dose DXM. Stoned from the joint. And stoned from the Soma. It’s been so long that I really don’t know what to expect. I don’t remember what the initial effects were like. I’m feeling a little tired. I want to lie down.
3:35 pm
I decide to roll another joint. I drift off on various cognitive tangents. My thoughts are hazy. I feel sedated. It’s hard to move. My legs are tingling, like they are asleep. I feel like I’m going to go to sleep soon. It’s not a normal kind of tired. Half of the signs of fatigue are there, half aren’t. It kind of feels like falling asleep when you don’t want to. Trying to stay awake to work on an assignment, forcing your body to stay awake. Except, in this case, my body is awake and my mind is falling asleep.
3:47 pm
I light the joint. Still drifting off. Can see patterns in the smoke as I exhale. Not sure if I’ve had enough Soma. Although I don’t remember how long it’s supposed to take to kick in, I suspect that I am not going to have a visionary experience with this dose. I’m tired. I’ve been awake for about two hours. My inner world is full of psychedelic patterns mixed. It is different to normal hallucinations. Weird and beautiful. But I can’t keep typing. I need to lie down.
4:00 pm
Waves of sensation going through my body. I try to induce a lucid dream. The drugs help. After some time, my body is mostly asleep. The only thing awake, in terms of muscles, is my neck and scull. Feels like the rest of me has been run over by a steam roller. I have great difficulty relaxing muscles in my neck, on the right. Thinking about relaxing them, causes the problem muscle – the soulder blade – to pop back into existence, and I have to start over at the lower spine. Breathing deep. In for five seconds. Hold for five seconds. Out for five seconds. Clean air. Don’t think about anything.
5:30 pm
Not going to make it out without a re-dose. I weigh up 28.6 grams, grind it up, and put it into 48 gelcaps. I am very inebriated. A combination of DXM, Soma, Psilocybin and cannabis. The Soma makes it foreign. I feel deadly serious. That’s the best way to describe it. I am absolutley solid. Like a rock. There is nothing funny about this journey. It exists outside the realm of normal human emotions. It is beyond emotion, so am I. I feel nothing. I am ready. I smoke a joint for the nausea. Fairly certain this extra ounce will push me over the edge.
5:57 pm
Feeling tedeous towards the end of the joint. Very tired, indeed. Haven’t had anything to eat. No nausea so far but it’s best to be sure. I wearily roll another joint. It is difficult to find the motivation. My leg is asleep. It is difficult to sit up. I am shaking. My lung capacity has increased dramatically. I am able to breathe and smoke very deep and hold it for a long time.
6:07 pm
Starting to spasm. My shoulders are twitching. Very difficult to type. I go lie down on the couch.
The cat and mouse game begins. I lie down and try to relax all the muscles in my body. It is incredibly difficult to do. I am hallucinating a great deal. In the middle of the hallucinations is a particularly bright and impressive pattern. I recognize it, instantly, as God. As I relax my muscles, I come closer to it. The God pattern grows, overlapping the rest of the pattern. As I tense up, it shrinks. Sometimes it disappears completely. There is a tiny muscle in my right shoulder blade that I am having trouble releasing. Everything else is loose. This one tiny muscle is preventing me from meeting God.
I didn’t have to do this, the first time I consumed Muscaria. There was no need to induce a lucid dream. It just happened. I haven’t had enough.
8:00 pm
Decide to prepare another dose.
8:30 pm
Consumed 23 gel caps, containing roughly 22 grams dried Amanita Muscaria.
8:45 pm
Spaspming a lot while smoking a joint. The spasms start slightly. My shoulder spasms. Then my hand. Then I start spasming all over. I wonder if I’m doing it on purpose. I try to stop doing it consciously, if indeed I am. But it is impossible. My body is jumping all over the place.
Need to lie down.
The divine pattern is on the end of a three dimensional column, extending from the other patterns, facing me. Like God’s finger. I can almost touch it with my consciousness. I lie back down and relax, breaking down the tensions in my body until I am not aware of my body. Separating my consciousness from reality. Setting my body to auto-pilot. I relax my muscles until only the head is left. As if the rest of my body is flat. Then I start removing myself from my head. Until only a small part at the back of my scull is still there. Then, it is gone. And I am free from my body. I am now inside God’s finger. The divine pattern is flashing all around me. It flickers through contrasting patterns, as if I’m experiencing all aesthetic possibilities simultaneously. The divine pattern, it is every pattern as one. But I still can’t break through to the other world.
9:44 pm
Make 22 gel caps, containing roughly 15 grams. Eat them. Spasming a lot. Hallucinating a lot.
Roll a joint. It is extremely difficult to smoke. Getting through a single joint is a huge challenge. Hallucinations are pulsing. I don’t know how to explain what I mean by this. They came to me in electric charges. Fast, sudden, like lightning. Very rhythmic. Every x interval of time passed, it would pulse. I smoked fast. Then I decided to smoke another joint. But after two drags, I realized I couldn’t. My body was giving way. The patterns pulsing. I could hardly see. The joint was impossible to extinguish. I left it burning on the desk and stumbled back to the couch.
11:45 pm
I vomit into my mouth. Struggle to get to the bathroom on time to empty my stomach into the sink. A small amount of brownish red liquid comes up into the bath. My body is giving out underneath me. I fall to the ground, landing hard on the tiles. Then crawl back to the couch and go to sleep.
Prior to vomiting, I had a divine experience. One that I was not expecting. I discovered the meaning of life. It was perfectly clear in my head. The realm that I existed in, cognitively, is completely unlike the normal way of thinking. The necessary reference points are not available in the normal world. This is why there are allegories. When people have divine experiences, they cannot help but use real world reference points to explain what they learnt. In this case, language and mathematics bridged the gap between the real world and the divine. The trip was highly mathematical, not because mathematics is divine, rather because numbers do not have the stigma that most real world things do. A flower is not a flower. We attribute meaning to the flower. The meaning of the flower, outweighs the object itself. The number 1, on the other hand, while having some metaphorical significance, pretty much is the number 1. It can be, anyway. Mathematics is pure because of this. Due to the purity of numbers they can be used to explain the unexplainable. They provide blank reference points, to which meaning can be attributed.
Muscimol is a dereriant. Not because it makes you delerius. Rather, because it makes you appear delerious to those around you. Doctors don’t take the drug, and conclude delerium. They watch people taking the drug, and conclude – due to their inability to understand it – as delerium.
It is very difficult to go to the other side, and take something back with you. I tried to write what I was experiencing. My muscles were spasming while I typed. I could hardly see. This is what I wrote.
“I’m going to start writing a story. You’re going to laugh when you read this sentence. Youre going to laugh when you read hear this sentence. You’re going to laugh when you read this sentence. You’re going to laugh when you read this sentence. Your’e going to laugh when you read this sentence. 1, A… Holy Crap. We just named infinity. Ask someone what that the meaning of meaning of the world is; it’s the only question, that the answer is also the question. Meaning of life. What is the meaning of life? Itself. How to spell infinity, so that it reads the same backwards and forwards.
A sideways A is 1, in all dimensions.”
These were meant to be notes, I could elaborate on a later date. But now, as if I have awoken from a dream, the details are hazy. Soma teaches us about infinity. I used to think it was about immortality. Life and death. The endless cycle. And it is, in a sense. But it is greater than that. Soma pertains to the universe and beyond. It has more to teach us, than the cycle of life. Soma is about the divine cycle. I learnt the following, as I remember.
There is no such thing as life and death; I am, and always have been.
The beginning of the universe is the end of the universe. Time, like everything else, is cyclical. There is no right and wrong. No black and white. No on and off. Everything is a part of everything else. On meets off. Right meets wrong. Black meets white. They are the same.
Language and mathematics provide a means by which concepts outside of language and mathematics can be explained, but they are imperfect methods of communication. Language is less perfect than mathematics.
The meaning of life is the question, “What is the meaning of life?” Life serves its own purpose. It is, because it is. Consciousness exists because it can.
Infinity dictates that all possibilities are played out simultaneously. There are other versions of myself, in parallel dimensions.
The question “Why are we here?” can be re-written as “Why is there something?” but just as valid a question is “Why isn’t there?” This second question, however, cannot be asked without someone to ask it. If non-existence is an option, and it must be in the realm of infinity, there is nobody there to question it. “I think, therefore I am.” More so, “I think, therefore we are.” The universe exists because – if it didn’t – we wouldn’t be around to ask why it exists in the first place; it exists in order to accommodate the question, “Why are we here?” The answer, being the question; and the question, being the answer. Just like black being white. Black is black, so white can be white; and, vice-versa. They exist not as enemies or competing forces; opposites exist as two sides of the one thing. Opposites are equal.
Heaven is creation and hell is distruction. Before time, at the beginning of the cycle, someone or something is trying to create something from nothing. After time, at the end of the cycle which is also the beginning, someone or something is trying to destroy the creation and return the world to nothingness. Things exist so one day they cannot exist. Buildings are built to be destroyed. Babies are born to die. Creation is destruction. Heaven is hell. And so on, and so forth. When the universe ceases to exist, it begins again out of neccessity. Because without it, the question is “Why are we without it?” This question creates it. In the beginning was the word, as they say in the bible. There weren’t words. We just use that as a reference point in our allegories because it is all we have. The question is not linguistic. It is a divine question. “Why is there nothing?” is, in itself, something. So there is something. But then there’s the question, flipped around. “Why is there something?” Which leads to nothingness again. And so on, and so forth. Like Schrodinger’s Cat, there must be nothing and something if both are possibilities. And there is.
I am struggling to explain this so that it makes sense to someone who hasn’t experienced it. And I will continue to struggle, because what I am attempting to do is impossible. People logicalize religion. They say the story of Jesus doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t. It’s not literal. It’s allegorical. Jesus is an allegory, created to explain the inexplicable. He is the commercial produce of seers. To understand divinity, you must experience it. Otherwise, all you have is a story created to fill in the gaps of your understanding. In the movie Contact, which I have never really appreciated until today, Jodie Foster’s character has an encounter with an alien or a divine body. The real being that she is experiencing is beyond her comprehension. So it is translated into recognizable reference points. It comes to her as an allegory. Her father, on a beach. Similarly, my divine experience came to me already translated. Using human devices, such as numerical and alphabetical symbols to explain something far beyond the realm of mathematics and language.
I saw a cube, unfolding. The cube represented all matter in the universe. It rolled, on an axis, ninety degrees, revealing a plate underneath it. When the cube rests on the plate, life exists. When it rotates away from the plate, there is nothing. This was explained to me mathematically, as negative one squared and one squared: the values attributed to life and non-existence. Negative one, squared is one. And one squared is one. Therefore life and the absence of life are equal. But negative one squared is not the same as one squared. It only appears that way. The square root of one is both one and negative one; whether the cube is on the plate or off the plate is of little consequence.
Multi-dimensional co-existence was a recurring theme. Not only are there potentially different versions of my physical being in parallel universes, there are also beings that exist in parallel dimensions that are vastly different from me. The matter that makes up the world as we see it, makes up a completely different world – depending on which dimension you exist in. I am human, here. And I am something else, somewhere else.
In a one dimensional world, the letter A is a line. It resembles the number one. So does every other letter of the alphabet. In a one dimensional world 1 is 1, C is 1, and A is 1. In a one dimensional world, everything is 1 – more or less. In a dimensionless world, everything is everything. It is impossible to differentiate between one dimensionless object and another. It becomes more and more difficult to understand infinity the further you progress from nothingness, or oneness. In the 0th dimension, everything makes sense. As the universe becomes more and more complicated and it’s inhabitants more and more diverse, the unity between all things becomes compromised. Enlightenment is not nothingness. Well it is, but it’s also everythingness. That moment when nothing and everything collide, and become – noticably, unquestionably – one.
I saw the letter A become one dimensional in my head. Then it became a dot. The number one did the same thing. There was a three dimensional graph in my mind. The letter A turned on its side, and became a line. Then the line turned on its side and became a dot. But it was still the letter A. The message was clear when it was being delivered to me. I didn’t need to think about it or interpret it. It made perfect sense. It made more sense than it does now. But I still understand, more or less, that everything is everything else. It’s all just a matter of perspective.
Today I woke up late for work. But I didn’t care. I haven’t felt the slightest bit of stress or anxiety today. Work was wonderful. My back was relaxed still from the meditation. And I was full of energy, interacting with people on a much better level than normally. I love the universe. I love the world. Muscaria has changed me, again. It is not an experience I will, or can, forget. Yet, I am disappointed that I do not remember the whole scope of the divine revelations I experienced last night. What I’ve managed to write down is like what someone might remember from a dream. Strange and profound, but only a small part of the whole puzzle.
I need to repeat the experiment. I am tempted to do it today.
Yesterday I took 90.8 grams of Soma – over a period of six hours and forty five minutes. But it was from a batch that I suspected to be of low quality. The third batch I prepared did not sweat. I remember having a failed experience with Soma years ago, and the same thing happening. Erowid says that the potency of caps varies enormously given surrounding conditions. For whatever reason, the caps I ate yesterday, were less potent than the ones I will consume today.
4:14 pm
I take 75 gep caps, containing 48 grams dried Soma.
4:30 pm
I take 4 gel caps, containing 1.85 grams dried psilocybe cyanescens
4:40 pm
I drink 100 ml of cough syrup, containing 300 mg dextromethorhan hydrobromide.
5:05 pm
I drink 50 ml of cough syrup, containing 150 mg dextromethorhan hydrobromide.
5.10 pm
I smoke a joint. Effects strong. Mellow. Lie down on bed.
[/b]?.?? pm[/b]
Flying backwards through time. Back to my birth. I am amongst others, trying to do the same. There is a field of mushrooms, blowing in the breeze. I am one of the mushrooms. But I have a greater chance of transcendence, because I believe. I am pure of heart.
At one point, when I was travelling backwards through time, I had to appear in the sky. Flying backwards at high speed through the air, thousands of kilometers from the ground, in the 1980’s, in order to “collect” a single drop of water. I could actually feel myself flying backwards at high speed.
There is a paradox. I am the paradox. I thought that I would end up in the past. People would say 1982 was the time somebody came back from the future. But the time travel was only for the trip. My unborn body on this airplane will continue to be born and I will continue to consume Muscaria. These events will play out again. Every thing I do is important. The universe is unravelling. My actions are part of this unravelling.
I became everything. The universe is a an algorithm. Soma disconnects me from my physical form and explains infinity. It is increcibly difficult to explain. Everything that happens will unhappen. Our actions are recorded as code wire, wound around a peg. The code wire then unravels, in the opposite direction. Then the wire is coded again. And so on, and so forth.
Soma has this winding up and releasing thing. At the beginning of the trip, it wound backwards. I saw the trip going backwards, so that it could slingshot forwards.
I had a feeling throughout the experience, like I was the centre of the universe. More like the whole universe. And I was the whole universe. I guess that’s the point.
I went to the end of time. When everything had been done. There were no planets. No people. Just a ball of pure energy. If I, the human me, am part of a massive code. Then that code exists somewhere as a whole. If I am a part, there must be a whole.
The entire universe was a little white ball. I was the universe. The ball. I knew everything. Except for the meaning of life. The meaning of life is the last thing you learn before becoming everything. When all the people are dead and all the planets are gone. During those last few seconds, before the code ends. Then you become one. I had this dilemma, instantly. I was trapped in inifinity. I was the universe, this little ball, forced to bounce around endlessly within myself. I felt frightened. Infinity is terrifying. There is never an end. I will, forever, be one. Then, I accepted my fate. I accepted infinity. The little ball that represented the universe flew at high speed in every direction, retracing it’s steps over and over again. This loop, I don’t want it to end. It is beautiful.
I, the universe, say “I love you so much,” to myself; I am completely content to remain one and everything for all of eternity.
It is so difficult to explain. The details are hazy, like a dream. I remember more than most dreams, but what I do remember is so extremely complex that it doesn’t make sense in fragments; the meaning cannot be derived unless the statement is complete. The bits that I do remember, would make little sense if I tried to write about them. Like travelling backwards through time and space, to collect a drop of water thousands of kilometers from the ground. This was a tiny piece of the puzzle. It made perfect sense during the trip. Well, it didn’t at first. At first, like everything, it was confusing. Then something happened to reveal the significance of it. At first it appeared random. Then, in retrospect, during a revelation, it’s purpose was revealed. Soma does this. It sets things up that appear meaningless, then it reveals meaning. Now, since all I have is the setup it seems meaningless. It seems random, delerious. But it isn’t. Chaos is not chaos; the universe isn’t random, it’s just so incredibly complicated that it seems random.
I can’t keep trying to remember. I need to repeat the experiment. If I accumulate enough fragments then maybe I can make sense of the divine mystery. All three of my Soma experiences are related. Time travel, infinity, the universe, mathematics, falling, going back to the beginning of time, going to the end of the universe, becoming the universe: all of these things are commonalities. The overall message is always the same. I just can’t remember it. All I have are pieces of a puzzle.
I smoke a joint.
Sunday 27th May, 2012 (Preparation Day One)
I miss the bus, on the way to work. So, I decide to walk half the distance rather than just sitting around. On my way, I notice a small grassy field containing one or two reasonably sized Amanita Muscaria toadstools. I remember the spot, so I can come back after work and pick them up.
I find another four caps. Ranging from eighteen centimeters to ten centimeters diameter. The largest was enormous, and the small one was small. But, overall, I figure it’ll probably make a decent dose. Maybe not as strong as last time, but certainly worthy of an experiment.
I separate the caps from the stems and put them in one of two trays, leaving the stems in the fridge for later. I get a sense of dejavu doing this. I don’t consciously know why I don’t just place them all in together. But, I know there’s a reason. I leave the door of the oven open and set it to fan forced, around 75-80 degrees celsius. The caps are quite wet from the rain. They range in freshness from bright red and young to relatively old and misshapen. Though, I checked the gills and under the skin thoroughly for infestation as Muscaria is particularly prone to rot in the wild within a short amount of time. I have found maggot infestations deep in many otherwise reasonable looking specimens. None of the caps I picked had anything worse than a couple of ants. After twenty minutes in the oven, they had turned a darker shade of red and sweated a significant amount of liquid onto the surface of the non-stick tray.
The pieces are soaked with their own juice. I cannot use the pieces to mop up the juice. I just end up spreading more around. They are sweating like crazy. I suddenly remember why I didn’t put the stems in. It was so long ago, I forgot. The stems, they don’t sweat. You use them to mop up the juice from the caps. My fingers are soaked with toadstool juice. I grab the bag out of the fridge and start breaking up bits of stringy fiburous stem, mopping up the dark yellow juice from the bottom of the baking pan. It works perfectly. After about ten minutes of smearing, the white stem pieces have turned yellow like saffron rice. Twenty minutes later, there is a small amount of excess juice at the bottom of the pan. I juggle pieces of cap and stem around, evening out the absorbtion. I use pieces of dark red caps as sponges, squeezing them between the palms of my hands and dripping the sweet smelling liquid across the pieces. I am excited in a calm terrified sort of way. This is the most ancient drug and the most powerful experience I’ve ever had. DMT does not compare. It’s been so long since I’ve had it, I’ve lost track of the years. At least five. This will be my second experience.
There is something that frightens me, I guess, about such a satisfying experience. Like, maybe, if I did it three or four times a year I wouldn’t need to get fucked up all the time. Like, the lower down on the heirarchy of spirituality the drug is, the more you need to repeat use in order to appease yourself. Like, the dirtier it is, the more you need to use it to compensate for the dirt. Soma – on the other hand – is so pure. It is the cleanest drug I have ever had. Such a perfect vision. It’s hard on the body, but easy on the soul. I go back and check on the oven. It takes three or four minutes to mop up all the juice, which is getting darker – an oily brown now. I turn the fan up to high.
The next time I check the oven, about ten minutes later, there is hardly any juice. The pieces will now begin to dry out. They may sweat a little bit more, but they’ll probably require much less attention. I open another beer and roll another joint.
The caps have now turned from slimy like snails to slimy like smoked pieces of fish. There is almost no fluid at all in the pan. I find the smell intoxicating. So do my cats. When the oven door is completely open, rather than just ajar, they jump up and try to stick their nose into the pan. I held a piece out in front of my king cat and he started purring madly. I used to have an albino cat. She was deaf. I loved her so much. More than I’ve loved any pet. She had a really weird meow. It didn’t sound like a cat. It didn’t sound like any animal, except her.
One day she ate a whole bunch of Amanita Muscaria caps that I had prepared for my wife. We had to keep an eye on her for the next eight hours, as she wandered about the house, drooling, her eyes like ornate marbles. She lay down in weird positions, too, with her legs sticking out like she was dead. It was kind of freaky, but not really. Like, I knew she wasn’t going to die, she was just fucked up. Crazy thing is she ate a human dose. I mean she was a fat cat, but no more than six kilograms. I don’t know what the muscaria exchange rate is between homosapiens and cats.
My poor little cat ate what I am now preparing for myself. Six large caps, that I left out on the kitchen counter. I was so impressed with her after that. I mean I already knew she was amazing, but it totally blew me away to see her do it. I read an article recently about a little kid who munched some psilocybin mushrooms numerous times apparently. Like he had it the first time and then he thought fuck yeah I’m going to do that again. That’s pretty crazy for a kid. I can’t remember how old he was, but not at the age you’d expect that sort of fearlessness in the face of – for him – was something inexplicable. We know what magic mushrooms are. Little kids don’t. When my cat ate that plate full of Soma, she didn’t know what she was doing.
Then years later I found this black cat when I was mushroom hunting. It was eating psilocybin mushrooms out of the ground. After that I was convinced that cats ate mushrooms. Since then I’ve seen caterpillars, birds, and – most commonly – slugs, eating psilocybin mushrooms.
I should point out – if I haven’t already – that the mushrooms didn’t kill my albino cat. She got run over by a car. My car. I killed her. I was on LSD at the time. I think that’s one of the main reasons that I don’t drive a car anymore. I’d forgotten– until I wrote this, just know – how much that crazy little cat meant to me. She was our first shop bought kitten. We’d raised a couple of other feral kittens overseas and ended up giving them away before returning to Australia. My deaf little albino kitten, she disappeared within three hours of us getting her. Eventually we found her in the top drawer of a desk that we hadn’t opened. Somehow she had opened it, climbed inside, then closed it behind her at the age of twelve weeks. We didn’t have a car, so I had to carry her two kilometers back from where we bought her. Poor thing. Fuck, I loved that cat. She was so wise. I think the fact that she ate Muscaria proves that. But then, maybe all cats are attracted to it. And all animals. Maybe animals are getting high all the time. And stopping getting high, is what makes you evolve, or devolve depending on your perspective. Enlightenment is the deconstruction of consciousness. Being one with the world. Like an animal. So animals are enlightened. Or, they don’t have to be because they aren’t off track – spiritually – to begin with. Cats are definitely trippers. They’re not the sort of animals that eat something they don’t recognize the taste of. I mean you can feed anything to a dog or a pig, but cats are particular. They smell something out before they eat it. All three of my cats, would eat the mushrooms I am preparing if I put it into a bowl. I can tell from their enthusiasm upon smelling it and from how close they put their nose into it. Lemons and oranges make them run in the other direction. Amanita Muscaria, Soma, God – whatever you want to call it – makes them run towards it. Maybe primitive species use substances as an evolutionary jumpstart. Like they’re not supposed to keep using it as they get past a certain point of evolution and no longer require it to inspire them. When they can inspire themselves, like we can, then they forget about Soma. Over tens of thousands of years, it loses attention until it is this funny looking thing in the park that your son kicks over and you have no idea about how powerful it is. Most people see these red and white toadstools and think of children’s cartoons like the Smurfs. They tell their kids that those mushrooms are poisonous, because human beings no longer require that kind of poison. We have evolved beyond needing God and now focus on drugs that can expand our lives in different ways. Maybe that’s why I find it so immensely satisfying an experience. Because it is not an experience I need, as much as psilocybin. I think you can treat the population of the world as a database. If people don’t want God, there must be a reason for that. I guess one argument is that people created religions and the religions outweighed the Gods, so they forgot about Soma and all the other drug induced holy experiences that have existed throughout history. Faith and drugs is a powerful combination. My faith is faltering, so I experience it rarely. I wonder what a man of undying faith would experience within a divine psychedelic trip. How close he could come to God. That is all I want. To meet God once more, and not be afraid.
The mushroom pieces have gone from slimy like a cooked piece of fish, to chewy like a cooked piece of calamari. There is no juice on the pan. Once they’re done in the oven – I’d estimate around forty minutes from now, maybe an hour – I’ll put them in the evaporator. I’m planning on grinding them down into a fine dust and compacting them into fifty or sixty gel caps. The reds of the caps have gone a deep deep red almost black colour. They are not burnt, they have been changing from bright to dark red gradually over the entire cooking proccess.
Some of the caps are starting to dry out a bit. Nothing significant yet. I turn the fan down to low. In half an hour I’ll transfer them to the evaporator and leave them overnight.
Monday 28th May, 2012(Preparation Day Two)
I stop off on the way home, to check out one or two of my old spots. The first place has a couple of subs but nothing worth bothering about. I pick two mushrooms from the ground and eat them. It is about time of year that the Amanita population starts booming. I expect to find half a dozen or so at the second spot. I don’t have any way to carry them again. I end up finding fourteen, far more than I can comfortably carry in my hands and pockets. So I use my long sleeve shirt. Button it up into a bundle. Underneath the shirt, I’m wearing a tank top as a singlet. It wasn’t meant to be worn on it’s own. Without the untucked shirt to cover me up, my bright red underwear is visible from above my sagging jeans. I look like some kind of sleazebag. Like I’m exposing myself as some sort of thrill seeking fetish or maybe I’m trying to attract women by showing them some skin. Or maybe I’m trying to attract men. Whatever it is, it isn’t good. I walk back to the bus stop, carrying a huge bundle of Amanita Muscaria mushrooms. I walk through the park and resist the temptation to pull a branch of a tree to make a hobo suitcase but I might as well. Probably look more dignified, really, with a stylish branch pouch.
The mushrooms are kicking in. I get on the bus. It’s full of schoolgirls. They whisper about me and giggle and make horrified faces. I clutch my Muscaria stash. The fabric is thin and the mushrooms are wet. You can see bits of them, pressing against the side of the sack. Red surfaces with white dots. I get off two stops early because the driver doesn’t speak English. Fucker tells me that this is the closest he can drop me. Then I walk home past like three more bus stops. Fucker. Maybe he did it on purpose. Either way, it’s bullshit. I’ve had a fucking long day and I’m tired and the situation is beyond fucked. I don’t mind going through some ridiculous shit. I don’t mind looking like I just woke up under a bridge. What makes me anxious is looking like one of those guys that wears bicycle shorts and/or leather pants. Tank top wearing is not for me. That’s why I use it as a singlet. I’m not one of those metrosexual transexual pansexual drama major students. And I don’t want people to think I am. That’s worse than them thinking I’m a junky or a drunk or that I look homeless.
I get home with ten minutes to fax through my timesheets which requires me to fill them out, scan them, and e-mail them. It takes me over an hour. My head is buzzing in all sorts of different directions. And my computer isn’t working. I smoke a roach, which tastes horrible and does nothing. I’m really dissatisfied with smoking. I used to remember liking it more. Cigarettes and joints are horrible. It’s a really terrible way to consume a drug. I go into the other room and crumble up a big chunk of bud into the vaporizer. Maybe a third of a gram. I inhale it in four bags, holding each breath and coughing my lungs up before the next. I am absolutely fucked by the time I get halfway through the third bag. By the time I’m finished I am destroyed. I keep forgetting about the mushrooms and thinking that I’m just so incredibly high. Usually when I combine the drugs, recreationally, I have a lot of shrooms and a little bit of weed. Sometimes I have a shitload of weed, but it is still the garnish. You have the trip as the major force of inebriation, and the smoke as the minor. Today it is the other way around. Or, maybe, indistinguishable.
I go to Uni, which is just around the corner. I put on a new shirt and my trenchcoat. I am extremely stoned. The trenchcoat cashes in the wind and the tails blow out behind me. I go into the library. It is full of Asian students, as always. After hours, the library is always like ninety-five percent Asian students. People in this country have a lot of resentment towards various cultures. But I think it’s just jealousy. Where are all the white students? They’re all drinking. Smoking. Clubbing.
I sit down at a computer, log in, and start filling out my paperwork. It’s fucking confusing. I’m overly aware of the fact that I’m high because I’m at that stage where you become unaware and start acting weird then become aware of the fact that you are acting weird and therefore that you are high. I spun around in a cycle. Forgetting. Remembering. Acting weird. Acting normal. I start direct downloading some TV shows using the University server. But the list is going to take too long to get through. And I don’t want to sit in the library for ever. I’m paranoid about the illegal downloading, and the fact that I am slipping in and out of conscious weirdness. I create a Word document that says “Don’t use this computer. There are others available.”
On the way home, the tails of my coat blow out against the breeze. I walk along the edge of a fountain. I walk fast, the cold breeze rushing against my face.
When I come back to the library, there is this Asian student half-sitting in my chair, logging out of my account. I poke him in the back and say, “Hey!” It’s been forty five minutes since I logged off. I cancel the procedure to opt out of the server, download the movies onto my phone and go back home.
The mushrooms are in the oven. I broke them up – twelve caps, anyway – into two baking pans and slid them, on top of each other, into the oven. I set it to fan forced, 65-70 degrees celsius. This was maybe twenty minutes ago. I return to find them soaking in their own juice. I use the remaining two caps and the stems to mop up the liquid. The inside of the stems is fluffy like cotton candy. It’s extremely absorbent. As I mop up the liquid with the wet pieces of cap and stem, I become frightened that the stuff I am touching might have maggots in it. I am hallucinating and the slimy gills of the mushrooms look like they are wriggling around. I poke my finger into a couple of caps so I can see inside them and make sure. I picked four or five old caps to make up the fourteen. I do this with all kinds of psychedelic fungi. If you dry it out and eat it in caps, doesn’t matter if it’s not fresh.
The evaporator has almost finished. Muscaria takes longer to dry out because it’s humongous. The caps become rubbery. The red spotted skin shrivels up tight into a wrinkled leather look. The pieces didn’t look much look mushrooms after I took them out of the oven. Most of the caps were browny black. Some reddish black. They’ve been in the evaporator for about twenty hours. Now they look even weirder. Like dead mutant insects. Still bendable. Pieces of dried Muscaria should be hard like sticks. It should be difficult to break them in half with my finger tips. Mother fuckers are rubbery, which means there’s still water in them. And water means weight, which means more gel caps. I’m hoping to get 25 grams in less than 40 gel caps. Assuming I have more than 25 in the first batch, which I believe I do.
Tuesday, 29th May 2012 (Preparation Day Three)
The mushrooms are still in the evaporator. The first batch is almost definitely done.
Saturday, 2nd June (Preparation Day Seven)
I go to check on the Amanita caps. They aren’t leaking much juice any more. I turn them over and mop up the dark yellow liquid. The evaporator is still running. It has been going for four days. The Muscaria pieces from the first two batches are still slightly pliable. I have to conclude that they will never become cracker dry, and pack them into gel caps.
Edit: I leave the mushrooms in the evaporator for another six days. They are completely dry by the time I move on to the next phase.
Friday 8th June, 2012
Soma, Psilocybin, DXM & Cannabis – Inexperienced – “The Meaning of Life & the Letter A” (Forwards)
Soma, Psilocybin, DXM & Cannabis – Inexperienced – “The Meaning of Life & the Letter A” (Forwards)
Wake up on the couch. Don’t know what time it is. Don’t care. Got a day off, finally. I skip breakfast and head straight for the dextromethorphan. Half a bottle of cough syrup, 300mg DXM. Go back to sleep for an unknown amount of time. Wake up, glowing. Decide to start the Soma experiments.
The caps are still in the evaporator. I figure I might as well leave them there to ensure that they don’t absorb any moisture. I take a handful of dried caps – 23.2 grams, dried Amanita Muscaria – and shove them in the coffee grinder with 2 grams of powdered Psilocybe Cyanescens. Total weight = 25.2 grams. It fits comfortably into less than 50 gel caps. I think there’s 47 total.
The powdered mushroom smells wonderful. It really does. It smells like an exotic spice. It is an intoxicating smell. The same smell that has been drifting out of my oven day and night for the past week. Despite the caps turning almost black, the resulting powder is a light reddish-brown. It does not look or smell at all like dried psilocybin mushroom powder. It smells like food. The aroma awakens my appetite. My body tells me, I am supposed to eat this.
Psilocybin mushrooms cause the opposite reaction.
3:00 pm
The low dose DXM buzz is lingering around my head. Don’t know how long it will last. I take 23 gel caps. I drink Coca-Cola with the gel caps, to dissolve them faster. I take half the dose as a precaution. I figure I should test the water before I dive in. The odds are, I’m going to become extremely physically ill. Then I think fuck it. If I’m going to be sick, it might as well be worth something. I can’t be afraid of Soma. I wasn’t afraid the first time.
3:10 pm
I take the remaining 24 gel caps.
3:15 pm
I feel cold, suddenly. I’m shaking. Must be a co-incidence. The gel caps couldn’t have dissolved yet. But they have. There’s something going on. Some weird feeling I can’t put my finger on. My mind is racing extremely fast. Everything is vibrating. I get that feeling you get when you’re coming up on unknown drugs. That voice that says, “this is going to be a big one.” It is screaming in my ear. I am tempted to panic. But I can’t do that. You cannot fight Soma. I roll a joint.
3:30 pm
While smoking I feel extremely calm. I take long deep breaths and fill up my lungs. I can hear my heart beating. Loud, but not fast. I am very aware of my organs. My heart, my lungs, my stomach. There are occasional twitches from my abdomen. My neck is really loose. I am really stoned. Stoned from the low-dose DXM. Stoned from the joint. And stoned from the Soma. It’s been so long that I really don’t know what to expect. I don’t remember what the initial effects were like. I’m feeling a little tired. I want to lie down.
3:35 pm
I decide to roll another joint. I drift off on various cognitive tangents. My thoughts are hazy. I feel sedated. It’s hard to move. My legs are tingling, like they are asleep. I feel like I’m going to go to sleep soon. It’s not a normal kind of tired. Half of the signs of fatigue are there, half aren’t. It kind of feels like falling asleep when you don’t want to. Trying to stay awake to work on an assignment, forcing your body to stay awake. Except, in this case, my body is awake and my mind is falling asleep.
3:47 pm
I light the joint. Still drifting off. Can see patterns in the smoke as I exhale. Not sure if I’ve had enough Soma. Although I don’t remember how long it’s supposed to take to kick in, I suspect that I am not going to have a visionary experience with this dose. I’m tired. I’ve been awake for about two hours. My inner world is full of psychedelic patterns mixed. It is different to normal hallucinations. Weird and beautiful. But I can’t keep typing. I need to lie down.
4:00 pm
Waves of sensation going through my body. I try to induce a lucid dream. The drugs help. After some time, my body is mostly asleep. The only thing awake, in terms of muscles, is my neck and scull. Feels like the rest of me has been run over by a steam roller. I have great difficulty relaxing muscles in my neck, on the right. Thinking about relaxing them, causes the problem muscle – the soulder blade – to pop back into existence, and I have to start over at the lower spine. Breathing deep. In for five seconds. Hold for five seconds. Out for five seconds. Clean air. Don’t think about anything.
5:30 pm
Not going to make it out without a re-dose. I weigh up 28.6 grams, grind it up, and put it into 48 gelcaps. I am very inebriated. A combination of DXM, Soma, Psilocybin and cannabis. The Soma makes it foreign. I feel deadly serious. That’s the best way to describe it. I am absolutley solid. Like a rock. There is nothing funny about this journey. It exists outside the realm of normal human emotions. It is beyond emotion, so am I. I feel nothing. I am ready. I smoke a joint for the nausea. Fairly certain this extra ounce will push me over the edge.
5:57 pm
Feeling tedeous towards the end of the joint. Very tired, indeed. Haven’t had anything to eat. No nausea so far but it’s best to be sure. I wearily roll another joint. It is difficult to find the motivation. My leg is asleep. It is difficult to sit up. I am shaking. My lung capacity has increased dramatically. I am able to breathe and smoke very deep and hold it for a long time.
6:07 pm
Starting to spasm. My shoulders are twitching. Very difficult to type. I go lie down on the couch.
The cat and mouse game begins. I lie down and try to relax all the muscles in my body. It is incredibly difficult to do. I am hallucinating a great deal. In the middle of the hallucinations is a particularly bright and impressive pattern. I recognize it, instantly, as God. As I relax my muscles, I come closer to it. The God pattern grows, overlapping the rest of the pattern. As I tense up, it shrinks. Sometimes it disappears completely. There is a tiny muscle in my right shoulder blade that I am having trouble releasing. Everything else is loose. This one tiny muscle is preventing me from meeting God.
I didn’t have to do this, the first time I consumed Muscaria. There was no need to induce a lucid dream. It just happened. I haven’t had enough.
8:00 pm
Decide to prepare another dose.
8:30 pm
Consumed 23 gel caps, containing roughly 22 grams dried Amanita Muscaria.
8:45 pm
Spaspming a lot while smoking a joint. The spasms start slightly. My shoulder spasms. Then my hand. Then I start spasming all over. I wonder if I’m doing it on purpose. I try to stop doing it consciously, if indeed I am. But it is impossible. My body is jumping all over the place.
Need to lie down.
The divine pattern is on the end of a three dimensional column, extending from the other patterns, facing me. Like God’s finger. I can almost touch it with my consciousness. I lie back down and relax, breaking down the tensions in my body until I am not aware of my body. Separating my consciousness from reality. Setting my body to auto-pilot. I relax my muscles until only the head is left. As if the rest of my body is flat. Then I start removing myself from my head. Until only a small part at the back of my scull is still there. Then, it is gone. And I am free from my body. I am now inside God’s finger. The divine pattern is flashing all around me. It flickers through contrasting patterns, as if I’m experiencing all aesthetic possibilities simultaneously. The divine pattern, it is every pattern as one. But I still can’t break through to the other world.
9:44 pm
Make 22 gel caps, containing roughly 15 grams. Eat them. Spasming a lot. Hallucinating a lot.
Roll a joint. It is extremely difficult to smoke. Getting through a single joint is a huge challenge. Hallucinations are pulsing. I don’t know how to explain what I mean by this. They came to me in electric charges. Fast, sudden, like lightning. Very rhythmic. Every x interval of time passed, it would pulse. I smoked fast. Then I decided to smoke another joint. But after two drags, I realized I couldn’t. My body was giving way. The patterns pulsing. I could hardly see. The joint was impossible to extinguish. I left it burning on the desk and stumbled back to the couch.
11:45 pm
I vomit into my mouth. Struggle to get to the bathroom on time to empty my stomach into the sink. A small amount of brownish red liquid comes up into the bath. My body is giving out underneath me. I fall to the ground, landing hard on the tiles. Then crawl back to the couch and go to sleep.
Prior to vomiting, I had a divine experience. One that I was not expecting. I discovered the meaning of life. It was perfectly clear in my head. The realm that I existed in, cognitively, is completely unlike the normal way of thinking. The necessary reference points are not available in the normal world. This is why there are allegories. When people have divine experiences, they cannot help but use real world reference points to explain what they learnt. In this case, language and mathematics bridged the gap between the real world and the divine. The trip was highly mathematical, not because mathematics is divine, rather because numbers do not have the stigma that most real world things do. A flower is not a flower. We attribute meaning to the flower. The meaning of the flower, outweighs the object itself. The number 1, on the other hand, while having some metaphorical significance, pretty much is the number 1. It can be, anyway. Mathematics is pure because of this. Due to the purity of numbers they can be used to explain the unexplainable. They provide blank reference points, to which meaning can be attributed.
Muscimol is a dereriant. Not because it makes you delerius. Rather, because it makes you appear delerious to those around you. Doctors don’t take the drug, and conclude delerium. They watch people taking the drug, and conclude – due to their inability to understand it – as delerium.
It is very difficult to go to the other side, and take something back with you. I tried to write what I was experiencing. My muscles were spasming while I typed. I could hardly see. This is what I wrote.
“I’m going to start writing a story. You’re going to laugh when you read this sentence. Youre going to laugh when you read hear this sentence. You’re going to laugh when you read this sentence. You’re going to laugh when you read this sentence. Your’e going to laugh when you read this sentence. 1, A… Holy Crap. We just named infinity. Ask someone what that the meaning of meaning of the world is; it’s the only question, that the answer is also the question. Meaning of life. What is the meaning of life? Itself. How to spell infinity, so that it reads the same backwards and forwards.
A sideways A is 1, in all dimensions.”
These were meant to be notes, I could elaborate on a later date. But now, as if I have awoken from a dream, the details are hazy. Soma teaches us about infinity. I used to think it was about immortality. Life and death. The endless cycle. And it is, in a sense. But it is greater than that. Soma pertains to the universe and beyond. It has more to teach us, than the cycle of life. Soma is about the divine cycle. I learnt the following, as I remember.
There is no such thing as life and death; I am, and always have been.
The beginning of the universe is the end of the universe. Time, like everything else, is cyclical. There is no right and wrong. No black and white. No on and off. Everything is a part of everything else. On meets off. Right meets wrong. Black meets white. They are the same.
Language and mathematics provide a means by which concepts outside of language and mathematics can be explained, but they are imperfect methods of communication. Language is less perfect than mathematics.
The meaning of life is the question, “What is the meaning of life?” Life serves its own purpose. It is, because it is. Consciousness exists because it can.
Infinity dictates that all possibilities are played out simultaneously. There are other versions of myself, in parallel dimensions.
The question “Why are we here?” can be re-written as “Why is there something?” but just as valid a question is “Why isn’t there?” This second question, however, cannot be asked without someone to ask it. If non-existence is an option, and it must be in the realm of infinity, there is nobody there to question it. “I think, therefore I am.” More so, “I think, therefore we are.” The universe exists because – if it didn’t – we wouldn’t be around to ask why it exists in the first place; it exists in order to accommodate the question, “Why are we here?” The answer, being the question; and the question, being the answer. Just like black being white. Black is black, so white can be white; and, vice-versa. They exist not as enemies or competing forces; opposites exist as two sides of the one thing. Opposites are equal.
Heaven is creation and hell is distruction. Before time, at the beginning of the cycle, someone or something is trying to create something from nothing. After time, at the end of the cycle which is also the beginning, someone or something is trying to destroy the creation and return the world to nothingness. Things exist so one day they cannot exist. Buildings are built to be destroyed. Babies are born to die. Creation is destruction. Heaven is hell. And so on, and so forth. When the universe ceases to exist, it begins again out of neccessity. Because without it, the question is “Why are we without it?” This question creates it. In the beginning was the word, as they say in the bible. There weren’t words. We just use that as a reference point in our allegories because it is all we have. The question is not linguistic. It is a divine question. “Why is there nothing?” is, in itself, something. So there is something. But then there’s the question, flipped around. “Why is there something?” Which leads to nothingness again. And so on, and so forth. Like Schrodinger’s Cat, there must be nothing and something if both are possibilities. And there is.
I am struggling to explain this so that it makes sense to someone who hasn’t experienced it. And I will continue to struggle, because what I am attempting to do is impossible. People logicalize religion. They say the story of Jesus doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t. It’s not literal. It’s allegorical. Jesus is an allegory, created to explain the inexplicable. He is the commercial produce of seers. To understand divinity, you must experience it. Otherwise, all you have is a story created to fill in the gaps of your understanding. In the movie Contact, which I have never really appreciated until today, Jodie Foster’s character has an encounter with an alien or a divine body. The real being that she is experiencing is beyond her comprehension. So it is translated into recognizable reference points. It comes to her as an allegory. Her father, on a beach. Similarly, my divine experience came to me already translated. Using human devices, such as numerical and alphabetical symbols to explain something far beyond the realm of mathematics and language.
I saw a cube, unfolding. The cube represented all matter in the universe. It rolled, on an axis, ninety degrees, revealing a plate underneath it. When the cube rests on the plate, life exists. When it rotates away from the plate, there is nothing. This was explained to me mathematically, as negative one squared and one squared: the values attributed to life and non-existence. Negative one, squared is one. And one squared is one. Therefore life and the absence of life are equal. But negative one squared is not the same as one squared. It only appears that way. The square root of one is both one and negative one; whether the cube is on the plate or off the plate is of little consequence.
Multi-dimensional co-existence was a recurring theme. Not only are there potentially different versions of my physical being in parallel universes, there are also beings that exist in parallel dimensions that are vastly different from me. The matter that makes up the world as we see it, makes up a completely different world – depending on which dimension you exist in. I am human, here. And I am something else, somewhere else.
In a one dimensional world, the letter A is a line. It resembles the number one. So does every other letter of the alphabet. In a one dimensional world 1 is 1, C is 1, and A is 1. In a one dimensional world, everything is 1 – more or less. In a dimensionless world, everything is everything. It is impossible to differentiate between one dimensionless object and another. It becomes more and more difficult to understand infinity the further you progress from nothingness, or oneness. In the 0th dimension, everything makes sense. As the universe becomes more and more complicated and it’s inhabitants more and more diverse, the unity between all things becomes compromised. Enlightenment is not nothingness. Well it is, but it’s also everythingness. That moment when nothing and everything collide, and become – noticably, unquestionably – one.
I saw the letter A become one dimensional in my head. Then it became a dot. The number one did the same thing. There was a three dimensional graph in my mind. The letter A turned on its side, and became a line. Then the line turned on its side and became a dot. But it was still the letter A. The message was clear when it was being delivered to me. I didn’t need to think about it or interpret it. It made perfect sense. It made more sense than it does now. But I still understand, more or less, that everything is everything else. It’s all just a matter of perspective.
Today I woke up late for work. But I didn’t care. I haven’t felt the slightest bit of stress or anxiety today. Work was wonderful. My back was relaxed still from the meditation. And I was full of energy, interacting with people on a much better level than normally. I love the universe. I love the world. Muscaria has changed me, again. It is not an experience I will, or can, forget. Yet, I am disappointed that I do not remember the whole scope of the divine revelations I experienced last night. What I’ve managed to write down is like what someone might remember from a dream. Strange and profound, but only a small part of the whole puzzle.
I need to repeat the experiment. I am tempted to do it today.
Sunday, 10th June 2012
Soma, Psilocybin, DXM & Cannabis – Inexperienced – “The Meaning of Life & the Letter A” (Backwards)
Soma, Psilocybin, DXM & Cannabis – Inexperienced – “The Meaning of Life & the Letter A” (Backwards)
Yesterday I took 90.8 grams of Soma – over a period of six hours and forty five minutes. But it was from a batch that I suspected to be of low quality. The third batch I prepared did not sweat. I remember having a failed experience with Soma years ago, and the same thing happening. Erowid says that the potency of caps varies enormously given surrounding conditions. For whatever reason, the caps I ate yesterday, were less potent than the ones I will consume today.
4:14 pm
I take 75 gep caps, containing 48 grams dried Soma.
4:30 pm
I take 4 gel caps, containing 1.85 grams dried psilocybe cyanescens
4:40 pm
I drink 100 ml of cough syrup, containing 300 mg dextromethorhan hydrobromide.
5:05 pm
I drink 50 ml of cough syrup, containing 150 mg dextromethorhan hydrobromide.
5.10 pm
I smoke a joint. Effects strong. Mellow. Lie down on bed.
[/b]?.?? pm[/b]
Flying backwards through time. Back to my birth. I am amongst others, trying to do the same. There is a field of mushrooms, blowing in the breeze. I am one of the mushrooms. But I have a greater chance of transcendence, because I believe. I am pure of heart.
At one point, when I was travelling backwards through time, I had to appear in the sky. Flying backwards at high speed through the air, thousands of kilometers from the ground, in the 1980’s, in order to “collect” a single drop of water. I could actually feel myself flying backwards at high speed.
There is a paradox. I am the paradox. I thought that I would end up in the past. People would say 1982 was the time somebody came back from the future. But the time travel was only for the trip. My unborn body on this airplane will continue to be born and I will continue to consume Muscaria. These events will play out again. Every thing I do is important. The universe is unravelling. My actions are part of this unravelling.
I became everything. The universe is a an algorithm. Soma disconnects me from my physical form and explains infinity. It is increcibly difficult to explain. Everything that happens will unhappen. Our actions are recorded as code wire, wound around a peg. The code wire then unravels, in the opposite direction. Then the wire is coded again. And so on, and so forth.
Soma has this winding up and releasing thing. At the beginning of the trip, it wound backwards. I saw the trip going backwards, so that it could slingshot forwards.
I had a feeling throughout the experience, like I was the centre of the universe. More like the whole universe. And I was the whole universe. I guess that’s the point.
I went to the end of time. When everything had been done. There were no planets. No people. Just a ball of pure energy. If I, the human me, am part of a massive code. Then that code exists somewhere as a whole. If I am a part, there must be a whole.
The entire universe was a little white ball. I was the universe. The ball. I knew everything. Except for the meaning of life. The meaning of life is the last thing you learn before becoming everything. When all the people are dead and all the planets are gone. During those last few seconds, before the code ends. Then you become one. I had this dilemma, instantly. I was trapped in inifinity. I was the universe, this little ball, forced to bounce around endlessly within myself. I felt frightened. Infinity is terrifying. There is never an end. I will, forever, be one. Then, I accepted my fate. I accepted infinity. The little ball that represented the universe flew at high speed in every direction, retracing it’s steps over and over again. This loop, I don’t want it to end. It is beautiful.
I, the universe, say “I love you so much,” to myself; I am completely content to remain one and everything for all of eternity.
It is so difficult to explain. The details are hazy, like a dream. I remember more than most dreams, but what I do remember is so extremely complex that it doesn’t make sense in fragments; the meaning cannot be derived unless the statement is complete. The bits that I do remember, would make little sense if I tried to write about them. Like travelling backwards through time and space, to collect a drop of water thousands of kilometers from the ground. This was a tiny piece of the puzzle. It made perfect sense during the trip. Well, it didn’t at first. At first, like everything, it was confusing. Then something happened to reveal the significance of it. At first it appeared random. Then, in retrospect, during a revelation, it’s purpose was revealed. Soma does this. It sets things up that appear meaningless, then it reveals meaning. Now, since all I have is the setup it seems meaningless. It seems random, delerious. But it isn’t. Chaos is not chaos; the universe isn’t random, it’s just so incredibly complicated that it seems random.
I can’t keep trying to remember. I need to repeat the experiment. If I accumulate enough fragments then maybe I can make sense of the divine mystery. All three of my Soma experiences are related. Time travel, infinity, the universe, mathematics, falling, going back to the beginning of time, going to the end of the universe, becoming the universe: all of these things are commonalities. The overall message is always the same. I just can’t remember it. All I have are pieces of a puzzle.
I smoke a joint.
Perhaps one day i'll try amanita muscaria...
