There seems to be an incredible polarity to the DPT experience. In my experience, the character of the drug seems to be altogether different at high doses, but my experience is limited. Dose-related or not, DPT reports certainly reflect the extraordinary variability in experiences ... from divinely beautiful to downright gruesome. Below are some expertly articulated examples from both ends of the spectrum.
Jamshyd:
"... And of course, with the sudden implosion, all human constructs of the universe were RIPPED away, and all was left bare. There was nothing to be differentiated from nothing. It was all the same. The “pealing away” of the world was characterized as a familiar motif: a dome like that of the pantheon’s (with a hole on top – I’ll get to that in a minute), but instead of crevices, there were shimmering golden eyes staring directly at me. They are actually more comforting than scary. There was intense light coming in from the infinity from which the circular opening at the top ensued.
There is a Gnostic text, The Hypostasis of the Archons, that expressed this vision very well:
"The <great> angel came down from the heavens and said to her, "Why are you crying up to God? Why do you act so boldly towards the holy spirit?"
Norea said, "Who are you?" The rulers of unrighteousness had withdrawn from her.
He said, "It is I who am Eleleth, sagacity, the great angel who stands in the presence of the holy spirit. I have been sent to speak with you and
save you from the grasp of the lawless. And I shall teach you about your root."
(Norea apparently now speaking) Now as for that angel, I cannot speak of his power: his appearance is like fine gold and his raiment is like snow.
No, truly, my mouth cannot bear to speak of his power and the appearance of his face!”
And indeed, my mouth fails as well beyond this point. I can only say that nothing happened over the next hour, but I say nothing only because all the languages I know are limited to the very human constructs of meaning that have now been stripped away. I will stress though, that it was not a blackout. I actually “remember” it, but as soon as I open my mouth to speak, all that comes out is silence."
Psood0nym:
"... I was at ground level peering into a shifting field of tall grass in moonlight. Diaphanous tigers crisscrossed my field of vision and wound through the undergrowth, their black stripes transformed into transparent fissures cut clean through their bodies. Then, in one fractional moment, the wind parted the grass and the tiger's ruptured stripes marshaled in line so that I could suddenly see a great distance through both the tigers and the field. That world froze and I flew through the divide and into empty night. Everything turned inside out with a terrible ripping sound and an electric jolt, and I hovered above it as a bare locus hearing my own disbelieving utterances: "that was it!" "this is it!"--yet I provided no impetus to those words. They were the rustle of grass shifting in the wind."
Nuages Gris (erowid report):
"... I could not connect to the gaian mind, not even synthetically. Nevertheless, it did seem to have a character. It hid itself in kaleidoscopes, in cognitive telemetry, in emotions and stimuli, in synchronicity and auditory phantasms, only to pop out when I least suspected it and assert itself and its views. Slowly me and it collided in a crunching wreck and began to claw at each other's reality, clinging, destroying, intertwining in an ill-conceived sado-masochistic tangle. We couldn't reconcile with each other. My ego was taken and twisted, reformed into a thousand things at the whim of the alien force possessing me. I not only became foreign translations of self, but animals, objects, planets, hallucinations, concepts, energy, nothingness, and everything. These feelings, these dramas of the transmutating soul condensed into visual metaphors which re-formed into new selves and spawned another set of synesthetic stimuli. I was adrift in an unstoppable self-transforming cascade of ontological undulations.
I felt an anti-nirvanic imperative, the titanic struggle of the me split into yin-yang, the DOer and the BEer refusing to unify. It was the messiest ego death I’ve ever undergone - splintered bone and gristle still floating around in anthropomorphic parodies of the first person. My mind had been turned inside out and was subject to brutal scrutiny. The inversion exposed a hundred anxieties I didn't know I had."
http://www.erowid.org/experiences/exp.php?ID=30698
In my one experience with the drug, recollection of 40 mg IM brings forth adjectives like "plush", "velvety", or "ethereal" ... then, with the addition of 50 mg IM at one hour (for a total of 90 mg), words like "sinister" or "insectoid" come to mind. Amazing drug ...
It's literally everywhere, people give it away at music festivals around here.
