Changed
Bluelight Crew
- Joined
- Sep 19, 2006
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Mescaline (San Pedro) - Semi-experienced - Universe Shattering Huxlian Mindfuck
9:24 pm: I've reduced the mescaline to a (slightly more than) reasonable amount. Just brewed a
pot of ginger tea, sweetened slightly by some honey. I have eaten more than I should have today:
oats/jaggery/honey/milk x 2, three eggs (thanks XXX), 2 slices of bread (thanks XXX), and a few
bits of lentil. I don't think it will negatively influence the trip, however. I have also gotten
things around a bit later than I would have liked, but my sleep schedule is somewhere between
Cloud 9 and Islamabad, so I'm not really concerned (I rose from bed at noon today-- an
ambitious hour lately). I'm going to defecate quickly.
9:37 pm: I just emerged from the bathroom where I took--and this is hardly related to the action
at hand-- the largest shit in the history of my life. Perhaps the smell that is lingering in my
nostrils will cover up the vile potion's own horrid stench?
9:40 pm: Just found a strainer in the plethora of kitchen utensils. Strained a deceptively large
amount of cactus pulp from the brew. There is exactly 1/2 a cup of mescaline-baring goodness
here. Down the hatch it begins to go.
9:42 pm: Pinched the nose and gulped down about 1/4 of it. I think the nose pinching really
helps. This stuff is infinitely more concentrated than my previous two brews-- the consistency is
even thicker. Goose-bump-producing and hair-raisingly-horrible-after-taste still strongly in
tact.
9:45 pm: Another series of gulps sees the cup's level at just 1/4 capacity. I think I better
slow down, as quickly shocking the system with hyper-potent mind altering alkaloids could have
dangerously projectory implications.
9:50 pm: This is happening sort of swiftly, but I feel very energized (like after drinking a pot
of coffee), and my scalp is sort of tingling. I think I drank the brew too quickly. At least
there is still 1/4 left. Maybe 1/3. This could be a wild ride.
9:58 pm: George Harrison's voice already sounds like a fucking conduit to Heaven. Again: my
definition of a mescaline trip WILL be redefined tonight. "Reality" too?
10:02 pm: Another glug-a-lug of the green stuff. One large sip left--after I urinate.
10:09 pm: Grooving unnapoligtically to "Come Together" as XXX piddle-paddles around the
kitchen. I'm going to down the rest of this tea and take an awe-inspiring shower. God, Buddha,
Allah, Allen Ginsberg, let me tell you: 'I feel great.'
10:29 pm: Waves of come-up-intensity undulate as is typical of mescaline. XXX's nauseous
sausage crackles and pops in the heavy-bottomed pan. The sweet smell of the fat cooking makes me
want to vomit. In the shower I didn't get the normal "oh man, this water is hitting me" feeling;
instead, I started thinking about XXX for some reason--specifically the time we drank mushroom-
orange-juice-tea. The day: absolutely brilliant 65*, slightly breezy. Location: some hippie
dream-land in the depths of XXX, NY. This place was literally a fucking maze of trails, trees,
open fields (just large enough for like 100 of the strangest, coolest, most amazing people to
lounge comfortably and within decent proximity of each other). Really, you wouldn't believe it
if you've ever been to XXX, NY. Digression aside- the day is beautiful. Furthermore, this event
takes place like a week after XXX breaks up with her long-time boyfriend so that she can fuck
around with me. We've had this connection ever since we met a few years prior. Like a... soul-
mate type of connection. Sounds cheesy as fuck, but it was something straight out of the movies.
So, anyway, we decide the first thing we'll do together is ingest mushrooms and camp for 3 of
the most beautiful days of our lives. We walk down this path, people playing bongos, flower
children running everywhere (I shit you not), and we plop down in this small clearing. A man-
again, I shit you not- that looks just like Jerry Garcia is sitting here with a large vessel
full of home-brewed mushroom tea. A bunch of us sit around in a circle and he starts playing the
fucking bongos and doing this free-association poetry jam thing. He goes on for 10 minutes about
Anasi the spider and a monkey and how they played around and created the earth and shit. Amazing
stuff. Some dude takes over on bongos. Some guy on guitar. What a fucking vibe. There were like
ten of us just grooving the shit out of each other in the sun. Great vibrations. He pulls out
the juice and some waxy-plastic cups. Everybody is wowed. Dude is like a God- and I shit you
not- he says something to the effect of, "So, how much do you want?" I sit there in awe of this
Jerry Garcia reincarnate asking me how much psychedelic tea I'd prefer. I inquire as to and
where-forth the intensity of the tea, to which he says, "It's good stuff, man." More than
convinced, I take 3/4 of a cup and gulp it ohhh-sooo quickly. XXX, gorgeously blond, scantily
clad in some Daisy Duke shorts and I- don't-know-what-top, takes 1/2 a cup and sips it down
relatively quickly. And here is where the story reaches its climax, its crescendo: lounging in
the grass, surrounded by a group of like 9 of the coolest mother-fuckers on the planet (that'd
I'd only met minutes before), with the late-summer sun beaming down on my body with immense,
immense intensity, sitting with my hand resting on the hand of the most beautiful woman I'd ever
seen, knowing that tonight I am going to sleep with this unbelievably gorgeous woman; I look over
into her eyes and she's looking at me: her eyes are the greenest VERDE I've ever seen. The
color, while impressive, isn't the point here: the look in her eyes, is. I look at her, sun
beating down on our bodies, feeling the energetic vibration of the mushroom's psiloycibin
cubensis rushing through our veins and across the blood brain barrier, and she's looking at me
with the most vulnerable, excited look I've ever seen somebody look before. I mean, this is the
pinnacle of my life, happening at the age of 22. If you asked me today what moment I'd like to
revisit most in my life, it was that span of like 30 seconds. I look, she looks, and it was like
our souls met somewhere in between the foot that separated her cornea from mine. There was nothing
more for us to achieve as a couple after that moment. Maybe that extends to my life in general.
That loving, vulnerable, excited look- that look that embodied every possible outcome of our
relation as two human beings- that was it.
I just realized that I'm off the fucking deep-end here. My stomach is rumbling of-so-close to
vomitatious levels.
I just wrote for 20 minutes straight.
Laying down now.
11:02 pm: Holy shit. I've been Shpongle'd.
12:27 pm: Just (somehow) went to breakfast with XXX. Ate pancakes, tasted bad. Girls walking
by said: "OMG what's he wearing? Hehehe."
Didn't feel embarrassed, contempt, or anger. Simply observed and passed on by. I thought"I'm
pretty fucking comfortable right now. I'm very comfortable being me right now. You? You're
wearing next to nothing and running scared to the watering hole to drown your insecurities and
maybe find a breadwinner." I didn't really think that because I had no contempt towards them, I
simply thought that I COULD think that. It was possible, but there was no need. I am you. You
three or seven girls are me. I'm you, you're me. We. How beautiful. Each step is me. Each finger
tap here is like a direct pouring of my brain onto the sheet of paper in front of me. I don't
look at the words as they come onto the page. They simply fly out of my fingers. Pink Floyd. A
new appreciation. A renewed look. A new look. Head, face, fingers, body, neck, computer, all one
thing. A big old blob of me and you and it is all perceived through the scope of these eyes. A
universal observation of singularity. This green shirt is mountainous.
My god.
It's like I stored the energy and trip and awareness of the time I spent with XXX and just
released it instantly into everything. I didn't feel like this for two hours, now I do. I had
total reign of the conversation. XXX's thoughts were three steps behind what I knew he was going
to say. A great empathy between XXX and I. A sort of universal truth (most of the times)
emanates from XXX's mouth. Sometimes a little wishy-washy but generally understands what this
thing is all about.
Pink Floyds.. not even one pink, many. ALL.
Oh man. Echoes turned into screams. I had to fast forward. Does that make me a bad person. No, I
just want this thing to go the right way. Song's second half is gaining steam. My fingers type
at the rate of the music. My brain is directly tied to the music coming from the thing
(speaker). The music is being created in the speaker, in my head, my fingers follow where the
music goes. I can't type fast enough for the words to be created. Extreme accuracy with the
keyboard-- this is amazing. I haven't looked up at the keyboard for a good hour so I don't know
if anything is actually coming out but I've typed all this in the matter of seconds. I'm going
to shut the eyes and allow me to witness IT right now!
Writing is my conduit to the word. I don't speak that well. I can't verbalize my ideas that
well. I have to pass them from fingers to brain (or the other way around) to the paper. This is
the point of my life. Maybe not the point but the direction. The limits. So called limits. In
this place and time there are no limits. But, when sober, I need-- I MUST -- transport my ideas
from brain to fingers to paper. This is how I express. Is there an audience? Does it matter.
The green mountainous shirt is back.
It trembles.
Earth quake.
Body quake. The heart produces rumbles in the depths of the green shirt mountains. The fingers
loom over everything; typing away without even being told what to type. I'm spilling forth. No
vanity. no ego. no ego. no ego. ego yes. I IIIIIII I am putting this on the paper.
Coming down a bit from this high now. I have an ego. A few minutes ago: no EGO.
Social action is meaningless. Every act is itself a social action. Each expression is false.
False, but is that a negative false? Every act is an expression. Desperation. Expressing
yourself for fear or losing yourself. Projecting yourself onto another perceived self. Someone
that you believe to be just like you. Another you, but in a socially acceptable way, a you that
you would fuck. Sexual desire gone = ego destruction. Ego destruction = crumbling of all
society.
IS EGO DESTRUCTION GOOD? GOOD IN ALL SENSE THAT GOOD COULD MEAN GOOD??????
Destroy all ego = destruction of humanity = end of everything from this perception = BAD(?)
what have I stumbled upon.
is this true
this moment, I thought it, it was true. the destruction of the ego is bad. the destruction of
the ego is bad. Buddhism = bad(?)
Buddhism = bad(?) can this be?
I want to live forever. I can't.
fucking christ pink floyd screams
FUCKKKKKKKKKKK
how loud is this music
man I can't take that shit anymore, fuck.
STOP THINKING SO DEEP
12:49 am ^
12:50 am: taking a piss.
12:51 am: I am done with mind-altering drugs. I may need to abandon Buddhism for a while. I'd
like to withdraw into myself and only come out once I know what I think and feel. This is sort
of scary. Not in a bad trip sort of way, but in a I've-seen-things-as-they-really-are-and-I've-been-wrong-for-so-long-kind-of-way.
Is anybody right?
That isn't it.
I transcended the boundary between life and death. I just felt what it felt like to be dead. I
looked back on my (everybody's) life and felt miserable, loathsome pity and sadness. Isolation and utter
sadness. Finite time expressed in a instant, but infinitely. Must put on some more positive
music.
It wasn't life and death. It was everything. EVERYTHING just flashed through my perception. All
knowledge, all ignorance, everything. The collective consciousness flashed before me.
This is mind blowing. I can hardly comprehend this. My life almost seems not worth living right
now. I only hope this feeling doesn't persist into tomorrow when (if?) I wake up.
1:25 am: Buddhism means nothing. absolutely nothing. No religion can describe anything with any
accuracy. I, in this state, realize that meditation and all that bullshit is a fucking
illusion.
??? am: Never take these drugs again. If I ever leave this mind-state, never return to it. EVER. Live life as if I was never here. None of this makes sense.
Next day reflections:
What I observed last night was beyond mind blowing. For a span of one or two hours (I have no idea how long, actually, since time is nothing under the influence of mescaline), I was legitimately insane (by society's standards). My thought process was stuck in a so-called Loop. Whereas the normal person looks at something and says something related—or—thinks of something totally random from the memory of his brain, it seemed to me that I had access to every thought ever thought. As if this isn't unbelievable enough: for every thought that I had access to, it seemed I had a infinite amount of sub-thoughts branching off of the original thought.
For example: I was able to empathize with the entire human race for the span of maybe an hour. I felt like going outside and hugging every drunk idiot that walked by, even if they'd just punch me in the face for acting outside the bounds of society's definite of normalcy. I was totally convinced (and maybe everybody should be), that human life is an amazingly beautiful phenomenon; the common bond of human life is enough to bring one to tears on mescaline. Really, if everyone appreciated each other this way while sober, we'd be living in an infinitely more advanced world.
I also (seemed) to have the ability to “read” a person in an instant. By observing things that seem so obvious when tripping (a person's body language, the look in their eyes, and the way they say something), I was able to know what somebody was going to say before they even thought it. XXX walked into the room at like 3 am and I knew what he was thinking. His body language was defeated, his eyes were solemn. He said something to the extent of, “I hate this school,” and walked off to bed.
As I was coming down from this trip, I needed something to remind me that I wasn't insane (I truly thought that I was going to be in this “advanced mental state” forever). I stood up and stared at something for a minute (at first), then I walked around the room in a circle to reacquaint myself with my physical body. Then I tried to eat something. I opened my container of rice and lentils and was terrified by the weight and texture of the things. The weight of the rice was disgusting in some way. I put a lentil in my mouth and my mouth's recognition of the lentil was other-worldly. I separated the lentil from it's thin casing, then split the bean in two with my tongue. My mouth felt like... maybe how your mouth would feel if it was shot to the Moon, covered in radio-active sludge, and then blessed by Gautama. Anyway, the concept of food or sustenance was too hard to comprehend. Strangely enough, just hours before, I had had a craving for pancakes that ended as soon as I placed them in my mouth. The idea of eating a steaming hot pancake in the cold November air was delightful, but once I put it in my mouth, I felt like I'd made a mistake. After eating to remind myself that I wasn't insane, I urinated. I washed my hands and looked into the mirror (never a good idea under the influence of psychedelics). My face was an expressionless blob. I could barely strain my muscles hard enough to fake a smile or a frown. I was simply blank. I continued this cycle of familiar acts until I finally began to feel like I was coming down. I put on some mindless music (The Shins) and warmed myself with my sleeping bag. Soon after, I found this quote from Huxley's Doors of perception:
This quotation totally and utterly explains and defines what I experienced on the night of November 22, 2009 AD. The mescaline eliminates the so-called filter on Experience: it allows everything to rush in in an instant. The totality of the Universe—or what my “[narrow], individual mind regard as complete […] picture of reality,” was shown to me, and it caused me to panic. The feeling of insanity was totally rational, as the human brain (in its current evolution) is not prepared to experience such wonder. I felt morbidly saddened, as if I had just been given the key the to Universe (and I had), and given free reign. The implication: that life after that experience wouldn't be worth living. Only now, after a number of hours of sleep and sobriety, can I say that the experience was indeed positive. In the past, I felt as if I had experienced something mind-blowing; something like “ego-destruction.” I was wrong... oh so wrong. With this trip, my Doors of Perception have been opened wider than before. I can choose to use this information in a number of ways, but the most beneficial way forward seems obvious: celebrate the connection of human life while still in this physical body; regard the world with as much wonder and openness as I did while under the influence of mescaline; use my (seeming) knowledge of a “higher consciousness” in ways that benefit both me and others; explore the possibility that there is indeed nothing (and/or something) after physical death of the body; etc... The possibilities are really endless.
The quote also confirms the feelings that I haven't been able to appropriately articulate (for what seems to be my entire life): human society has really just adapted to this limited trickle of information by creating systems to categorize everything. Letters, the sound of letters, the formation of letters into words, the development of entire languages: these thing are built to make everyone feel safe and secure in their space—when, in reality, the people were willing to explore the true depths on their mind and the Universe/Consciousness around them, they'd be just as terrified (and simultaneously delighted) as I was last night. Laws, rules, governments, societal casts, social norms, commerce, individualism (the propping up of the ego): all these things are in place to shield the human mind from the awe-inspiring reality of Nature.
Furthermore, what I found so amazingly contradictory was the feeling that I had total control over my life. I went onto an internet forum that I sometimes visit, and started talking with people about what I was feeling. These other people were articulating the exact feelings and emotions that I was, and this terrified me for some reason. The empathy between us was scary. I'm just realizing this now, but it really may have shown that “Everything is Everything.” We are tied into one universal consciousness that isn't just us as human beings, but everything: the earth, this couch, you and I, our emotions, that tree, EVERYTHING. Seeing this play out (through the filter of empathetic internet-based-communication) was really amazing. Anyway, I realized that I can make happen whatever I want to happen. This may sound arbitrary or obvious, but this was (and is) an amazing thing. I can say: “I've had this trip. I saw things that amazed me. I believe, as a result of this trip, that I should devote my life to Jesus,” and it would happen. I have that power. If I want to improve my position socially, I can seek out a job, work my way up the ladder, and die with a large stash of cash. I may not want to do this, but in theory I could. That was a really mind-blowing thing at the time.
I am going to need more time to think about the implications of this trip, but I feel like there is so much more to be discovered now.
substancecode_mescaline
9:24 pm: I've reduced the mescaline to a (slightly more than) reasonable amount. Just brewed a
pot of ginger tea, sweetened slightly by some honey. I have eaten more than I should have today:
oats/jaggery/honey/milk x 2, three eggs (thanks XXX), 2 slices of bread (thanks XXX), and a few
bits of lentil. I don't think it will negatively influence the trip, however. I have also gotten
things around a bit later than I would have liked, but my sleep schedule is somewhere between
Cloud 9 and Islamabad, so I'm not really concerned (I rose from bed at noon today-- an
ambitious hour lately). I'm going to defecate quickly.
9:37 pm: I just emerged from the bathroom where I took--and this is hardly related to the action
at hand-- the largest shit in the history of my life. Perhaps the smell that is lingering in my
nostrils will cover up the vile potion's own horrid stench?
9:40 pm: Just found a strainer in the plethora of kitchen utensils. Strained a deceptively large
amount of cactus pulp from the brew. There is exactly 1/2 a cup of mescaline-baring goodness
here. Down the hatch it begins to go.
9:42 pm: Pinched the nose and gulped down about 1/4 of it. I think the nose pinching really
helps. This stuff is infinitely more concentrated than my previous two brews-- the consistency is
even thicker. Goose-bump-producing and hair-raisingly-horrible-after-taste still strongly in
tact.
9:45 pm: Another series of gulps sees the cup's level at just 1/4 capacity. I think I better
slow down, as quickly shocking the system with hyper-potent mind altering alkaloids could have
dangerously projectory implications.
9:50 pm: This is happening sort of swiftly, but I feel very energized (like after drinking a pot
of coffee), and my scalp is sort of tingling. I think I drank the brew too quickly. At least
there is still 1/4 left. Maybe 1/3. This could be a wild ride.
9:58 pm: George Harrison's voice already sounds like a fucking conduit to Heaven. Again: my
definition of a mescaline trip WILL be redefined tonight. "Reality" too?
10:02 pm: Another glug-a-lug of the green stuff. One large sip left--after I urinate.
10:09 pm: Grooving unnapoligtically to "Come Together" as XXX piddle-paddles around the
kitchen. I'm going to down the rest of this tea and take an awe-inspiring shower. God, Buddha,
Allah, Allen Ginsberg, let me tell you: 'I feel great.'
10:29 pm: Waves of come-up-intensity undulate as is typical of mescaline. XXX's nauseous
sausage crackles and pops in the heavy-bottomed pan. The sweet smell of the fat cooking makes me
want to vomit. In the shower I didn't get the normal "oh man, this water is hitting me" feeling;
instead, I started thinking about XXX for some reason--specifically the time we drank mushroom-
orange-juice-tea. The day: absolutely brilliant 65*, slightly breezy. Location: some hippie
dream-land in the depths of XXX, NY. This place was literally a fucking maze of trails, trees,
open fields (just large enough for like 100 of the strangest, coolest, most amazing people to
lounge comfortably and within decent proximity of each other). Really, you wouldn't believe it
if you've ever been to XXX, NY. Digression aside- the day is beautiful. Furthermore, this event
takes place like a week after XXX breaks up with her long-time boyfriend so that she can fuck
around with me. We've had this connection ever since we met a few years prior. Like a... soul-
mate type of connection. Sounds cheesy as fuck, but it was something straight out of the movies.
So, anyway, we decide the first thing we'll do together is ingest mushrooms and camp for 3 of
the most beautiful days of our lives. We walk down this path, people playing bongos, flower
children running everywhere (I shit you not), and we plop down in this small clearing. A man-
again, I shit you not- that looks just like Jerry Garcia is sitting here with a large vessel
full of home-brewed mushroom tea. A bunch of us sit around in a circle and he starts playing the
fucking bongos and doing this free-association poetry jam thing. He goes on for 10 minutes about
Anasi the spider and a monkey and how they played around and created the earth and shit. Amazing
stuff. Some dude takes over on bongos. Some guy on guitar. What a fucking vibe. There were like
ten of us just grooving the shit out of each other in the sun. Great vibrations. He pulls out
the juice and some waxy-plastic cups. Everybody is wowed. Dude is like a God- and I shit you
not- he says something to the effect of, "So, how much do you want?" I sit there in awe of this
Jerry Garcia reincarnate asking me how much psychedelic tea I'd prefer. I inquire as to and
where-forth the intensity of the tea, to which he says, "It's good stuff, man." More than
convinced, I take 3/4 of a cup and gulp it ohhh-sooo quickly. XXX, gorgeously blond, scantily
clad in some Daisy Duke shorts and I- don't-know-what-top, takes 1/2 a cup and sips it down
relatively quickly. And here is where the story reaches its climax, its crescendo: lounging in
the grass, surrounded by a group of like 9 of the coolest mother-fuckers on the planet (that'd
I'd only met minutes before), with the late-summer sun beaming down on my body with immense,
immense intensity, sitting with my hand resting on the hand of the most beautiful woman I'd ever
seen, knowing that tonight I am going to sleep with this unbelievably gorgeous woman; I look over
into her eyes and she's looking at me: her eyes are the greenest VERDE I've ever seen. The
color, while impressive, isn't the point here: the look in her eyes, is. I look at her, sun
beating down on our bodies, feeling the energetic vibration of the mushroom's psiloycibin
cubensis rushing through our veins and across the blood brain barrier, and she's looking at me
with the most vulnerable, excited look I've ever seen somebody look before. I mean, this is the
pinnacle of my life, happening at the age of 22. If you asked me today what moment I'd like to
revisit most in my life, it was that span of like 30 seconds. I look, she looks, and it was like
our souls met somewhere in between the foot that separated her cornea from mine. There was nothing
more for us to achieve as a couple after that moment. Maybe that extends to my life in general.
That loving, vulnerable, excited look- that look that embodied every possible outcome of our
relation as two human beings- that was it.
I just realized that I'm off the fucking deep-end here. My stomach is rumbling of-so-close to
vomitatious levels.
I just wrote for 20 minutes straight.
Laying down now.
11:02 pm: Holy shit. I've been Shpongle'd.
12:27 pm: Just (somehow) went to breakfast with XXX. Ate pancakes, tasted bad. Girls walking
by said: "OMG what's he wearing? Hehehe."
Didn't feel embarrassed, contempt, or anger. Simply observed and passed on by. I thought"I'm
pretty fucking comfortable right now. I'm very comfortable being me right now. You? You're
wearing next to nothing and running scared to the watering hole to drown your insecurities and
maybe find a breadwinner." I didn't really think that because I had no contempt towards them, I
simply thought that I COULD think that. It was possible, but there was no need. I am you. You
three or seven girls are me. I'm you, you're me. We. How beautiful. Each step is me. Each finger
tap here is like a direct pouring of my brain onto the sheet of paper in front of me. I don't
look at the words as they come onto the page. They simply fly out of my fingers. Pink Floyd. A
new appreciation. A renewed look. A new look. Head, face, fingers, body, neck, computer, all one
thing. A big old blob of me and you and it is all perceived through the scope of these eyes. A
universal observation of singularity. This green shirt is mountainous.
My god.
It's like I stored the energy and trip and awareness of the time I spent with XXX and just
released it instantly into everything. I didn't feel like this for two hours, now I do. I had
total reign of the conversation. XXX's thoughts were three steps behind what I knew he was going
to say. A great empathy between XXX and I. A sort of universal truth (most of the times)
emanates from XXX's mouth. Sometimes a little wishy-washy but generally understands what this
thing is all about.
Pink Floyds.. not even one pink, many. ALL.
Oh man. Echoes turned into screams. I had to fast forward. Does that make me a bad person. No, I
just want this thing to go the right way. Song's second half is gaining steam. My fingers type
at the rate of the music. My brain is directly tied to the music coming from the thing
(speaker). The music is being created in the speaker, in my head, my fingers follow where the
music goes. I can't type fast enough for the words to be created. Extreme accuracy with the
keyboard-- this is amazing. I haven't looked up at the keyboard for a good hour so I don't know
if anything is actually coming out but I've typed all this in the matter of seconds. I'm going
to shut the eyes and allow me to witness IT right now!
Writing is my conduit to the word. I don't speak that well. I can't verbalize my ideas that
well. I have to pass them from fingers to brain (or the other way around) to the paper. This is
the point of my life. Maybe not the point but the direction. The limits. So called limits. In
this place and time there are no limits. But, when sober, I need-- I MUST -- transport my ideas
from brain to fingers to paper. This is how I express. Is there an audience? Does it matter.
The green mountainous shirt is back.
It trembles.
Earth quake.
Body quake. The heart produces rumbles in the depths of the green shirt mountains. The fingers
loom over everything; typing away without even being told what to type. I'm spilling forth. No
vanity. no ego. no ego. no ego. ego yes. I IIIIIII I am putting this on the paper.
Coming down a bit from this high now. I have an ego. A few minutes ago: no EGO.
Social action is meaningless. Every act is itself a social action. Each expression is false.
False, but is that a negative false? Every act is an expression. Desperation. Expressing
yourself for fear or losing yourself. Projecting yourself onto another perceived self. Someone
that you believe to be just like you. Another you, but in a socially acceptable way, a you that
you would fuck. Sexual desire gone = ego destruction. Ego destruction = crumbling of all
society.
IS EGO DESTRUCTION GOOD? GOOD IN ALL SENSE THAT GOOD COULD MEAN GOOD??????
Destroy all ego = destruction of humanity = end of everything from this perception = BAD(?)
what have I stumbled upon.
is this true
this moment, I thought it, it was true. the destruction of the ego is bad. the destruction of
the ego is bad. Buddhism = bad(?)
Buddhism = bad(?) can this be?
I want to live forever. I can't.
fucking christ pink floyd screams
FUCKKKKKKKKKKK
how loud is this music
man I can't take that shit anymore, fuck.
STOP THINKING SO DEEP
12:49 am ^
12:50 am: taking a piss.
12:51 am: I am done with mind-altering drugs. I may need to abandon Buddhism for a while. I'd
like to withdraw into myself and only come out once I know what I think and feel. This is sort
of scary. Not in a bad trip sort of way, but in a I've-seen-things-as-they-really-are-and-I've-been-wrong-for-so-long-kind-of-way.
Is anybody right?
That isn't it.
I transcended the boundary between life and death. I just felt what it felt like to be dead. I
looked back on my (everybody's) life and felt miserable, loathsome pity and sadness. Isolation and utter
sadness. Finite time expressed in a instant, but infinitely. Must put on some more positive
music.
It wasn't life and death. It was everything. EVERYTHING just flashed through my perception. All
knowledge, all ignorance, everything. The collective consciousness flashed before me.
This is mind blowing. I can hardly comprehend this. My life almost seems not worth living right
now. I only hope this feeling doesn't persist into tomorrow when (if?) I wake up.
1:25 am: Buddhism means nothing. absolutely nothing. No religion can describe anything with any
accuracy. I, in this state, realize that meditation and all that bullshit is a fucking
illusion.
??? am: Never take these drugs again. If I ever leave this mind-state, never return to it. EVER. Live life as if I was never here. None of this makes sense.
Next day reflections:
What I observed last night was beyond mind blowing. For a span of one or two hours (I have no idea how long, actually, since time is nothing under the influence of mescaline), I was legitimately insane (by society's standards). My thought process was stuck in a so-called Loop. Whereas the normal person looks at something and says something related—or—thinks of something totally random from the memory of his brain, it seemed to me that I had access to every thought ever thought. As if this isn't unbelievable enough: for every thought that I had access to, it seemed I had a infinite amount of sub-thoughts branching off of the original thought.
For example: I was able to empathize with the entire human race for the span of maybe an hour. I felt like going outside and hugging every drunk idiot that walked by, even if they'd just punch me in the face for acting outside the bounds of society's definite of normalcy. I was totally convinced (and maybe everybody should be), that human life is an amazingly beautiful phenomenon; the common bond of human life is enough to bring one to tears on mescaline. Really, if everyone appreciated each other this way while sober, we'd be living in an infinitely more advanced world.
I also (seemed) to have the ability to “read” a person in an instant. By observing things that seem so obvious when tripping (a person's body language, the look in their eyes, and the way they say something), I was able to know what somebody was going to say before they even thought it. XXX walked into the room at like 3 am and I knew what he was thinking. His body language was defeated, his eyes were solemn. He said something to the extent of, “I hate this school,” and walked off to bed.
As I was coming down from this trip, I needed something to remind me that I wasn't insane (I truly thought that I was going to be in this “advanced mental state” forever). I stood up and stared at something for a minute (at first), then I walked around the room in a circle to reacquaint myself with my physical body. Then I tried to eat something. I opened my container of rice and lentils and was terrified by the weight and texture of the things. The weight of the rice was disgusting in some way. I put a lentil in my mouth and my mouth's recognition of the lentil was other-worldly. I separated the lentil from it's thin casing, then split the bean in two with my tongue. My mouth felt like... maybe how your mouth would feel if it was shot to the Moon, covered in radio-active sludge, and then blessed by Gautama. Anyway, the concept of food or sustenance was too hard to comprehend. Strangely enough, just hours before, I had had a craving for pancakes that ended as soon as I placed them in my mouth. The idea of eating a steaming hot pancake in the cold November air was delightful, but once I put it in my mouth, I felt like I'd made a mistake. After eating to remind myself that I wasn't insane, I urinated. I washed my hands and looked into the mirror (never a good idea under the influence of psychedelics). My face was an expressionless blob. I could barely strain my muscles hard enough to fake a smile or a frown. I was simply blank. I continued this cycle of familiar acts until I finally began to feel like I was coming down. I put on some mindless music (The Shins) and warmed myself with my sleeping bag. Soon after, I found this quote from Huxley's Doors of perception:
This quotation totally and utterly explains and defines what I experienced on the night of November 22, 2009 AD. The mescaline eliminates the so-called filter on Experience: it allows everything to rush in in an instant. The totality of the Universe—or what my “[narrow], individual mind regard
The quote also confirms the feelings that I haven't been able to appropriately articulate (for what seems to be my entire life): human society has really just adapted to this limited trickle of information by creating systems to categorize everything. Letters, the sound of letters, the formation of letters into words, the development of entire languages: these thing are built to make everyone feel safe and secure in their space—when, in reality, the people were willing to explore the true depths on their mind and the Universe/Consciousness around them, they'd be just as terrified (and simultaneously delighted) as I was last night. Laws, rules, governments, societal casts, social norms, commerce, individualism (the propping up of the ego): all these things are in place to shield the human mind from the awe-inspiring reality of Nature.
Furthermore, what I found so amazingly contradictory was the feeling that I had total control over my life. I went onto an internet forum that I sometimes visit, and started talking with people about what I was feeling. These other people were articulating the exact feelings and emotions that I was, and this terrified me for some reason. The empathy between us was scary. I'm just realizing this now, but it really may have shown that “Everything is Everything.” We are tied into one universal consciousness that isn't just us as human beings, but everything: the earth, this couch, you and I, our emotions, that tree, EVERYTHING. Seeing this play out (through the filter of empathetic internet-based-communication) was really amazing. Anyway, I realized that I can make happen whatever I want to happen. This may sound arbitrary or obvious, but this was (and is) an amazing thing. I can say: “I've had this trip. I saw things that amazed me. I believe, as a result of this trip, that I should devote my life to Jesus,” and it would happen. I have that power. If I want to improve my position socially, I can seek out a job, work my way up the ladder, and die with a large stash of cash. I may not want to do this, but in theory I could. That was a really mind-blowing thing at the time.
I am going to need more time to think about the implications of this trip, but I feel like there is so much more to be discovered now.
substancecode_mescaline
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