From the hour that follows I can take nothing. In some ways it has been the most phenomenal experience of my life, yet it is without memories or insights. I learn nothing and can’t accept that that is so. I decide I will endure the doubt again--wherein all self-reference and control has evaporated and I can hope for nothing but that these rhythms of my body will at some distant time carry me back to myself--before I will accept that. As soon as I am minimally able to I prepare ~40mg of DMT and another 25mg of ketamine for injection. I hope that by approaching the experience from a different perceptual angle I can see SOMETHING.
It begins promisingly. The largely involuntary idiomotor movements don’t seem to be coming back, perhaps I can maintain perspective if my body is not in the thrall of the experience. Then, in the course of a few seconds, I’m gripped in the coils of the DMT-steel-constrictor, its brilliant razor scales shredding me into bloody rivers of sensation, each following its own torturous course forever away from understanding or any bearing of coherent perception. Something behind my face melts, gurgles, and runs down my throat. A few centimeters above my head I feel the impossible tactile sensations of tiny explosions of hot sand. The particles rain down onto my face and into my eyes where they are rapidly absorbed and can be felt pumping through my veins. I ask myself to describe it, to peak my head above the surface of this process for just a second so I can look down at its water and know that that is why I’m wet. But I can’t get beyond the textures of the experience itself. The manifold lenses of my working memory have collapsed into a single frame that magnifies this one channel of experience to the exclusion of all others. It’s the same intractable situation I was in during the trip an hour ago. And in my despair the same vision I had then recurs now:
I see and feel myself sitting cross-legged in a shallow pool, my own viscera spilled out of my body, draping onto my legs through my fingers. I am frantically inspecting my digestive system, searching for something to eat. I recognize what I’m being mercifully shown, and consequently the futility of my pursuit to understand what’s been happening. The vision has a purpose, its subconscious designer has an imbued it with an undeniable wisdom, and I can trust from that wisdom that at some consciously impenetrable level my experience has been comprehended, and that I am complete.

