Last night before going to bed, I performed a scrying exercise. To describe this scrying technique simply, I stared at a Tibetan "Om" mandala that was displayed on a computer screen until it was burned into my retinas. This took about 5 minutes.
Then, in a dark room, I sat in the seiza position (kneeling asana) and gazed at the color-reversed image that appeared behind my eyelids. Actually, the colors were correct, because I had previously reversed the colors of the original image to their complements using GIMP image editing software.
I concentrated on the image and began to manipulate it. I moved my viewpoint through the glowing mandala, as though it were a kind of gate way. Behind the mandala was a face made of the glowing phosphenes. The face was not in the original mandala. It was made of millions of bluish green jewels spinning in the strange, whirling kaloidoscopic symmetry of the vision processing columns of the occipital cortex. It was the First Shaman. He/she had a grinning Harlequin face. The face soon melted away, and I went to bed.
Late morning, around 6 am, I dreamed of entering a tunnel. Dark. On foot. Maybe I had to crawl a ways. It was a passage built of concrete, and it went under a road or some urban area. It opened into an auditorium-sized chamber underground. There was an amphitheater here. I sat on one of the concrete seats among the rows. On stage was a cast of dozens of singers and performers in old fashioned costumes. They were performing some kind of operetta. I don't have a musical background and lack the vocabulary to describe it well, but presently, they were singing a strange but cheerful tune. The lyrics were comedic. In structure, there was a group of main singers and several answering choruses of singers. It was a catchy tune and I found myself humming it for much of the morning after I woke up. It's frustrating not to know how to put on paper the strange music I dream about sometimes.
I feel that the following is now safe to put in my blog because the Fentanyl is now gone. After my father died of combined pancreatic, liver, stomach, duodenum, and jejunum cancer several years ago, he left behind cases of Fentanyl patches he had been issued by the VA hospital. In those cases were thousands of unused patches of varying dosages of fentanyl ranging from 12.5 micrograms per hour to 100 micrograms per hour released. Each one lasts roughly 72 hours.
Fentanyl is a synthetic opioid that is effective at 50 to 100 ng/kg putting its potency at 100 times that of morphine. Thus, 100 micrograms is roughly equivalent to 10 milligrams of morphine for analgesia, according to Wikipedia. The LD_sub_50 is 0.03 mg/kg in monkeys, so assuming my body processes it similarly to the way a monkey does, 100kg*0.03mg/kg and the chance of dying is 50% with 3 mg in my system. Not that I would take that much at once, but that would be 30 100 mcg/hr patches in one hour to overdose without a tolerance. So taking only a few at a time should be safe. Any excess would metabolise before it could build up to toxic levels.
Being fascinated with opiates, I couldn't resist the temptation to try one. My first one was a 25, and after waiting no less than 3 hours without any noticeable effect, I added several more to my arms and chest. Finally, I felt something. Their effect was OK for an opioid. Not as good as heroin or Demerol (my favorites) but much better than vicodin or codeine.
At the time my father died, I was in college and was only using heroin once every few months. Ingesting more frequently I decided was too risky and could affect my grades and job prospects. So back onto the subject of Fentanyl. After getting a taste of it by using a few patches every day for a few weeks immediately after my father's death, I quit. I didn't suffer any serious withdrawal symptoms except for one sleepless night and a day of nausea and diarrhea, if I remember correctly.
Having decided that they were worth keeping and weren't terribly habit forming (which is horribly wrong I have come to realize), I stashed them all away for later. They remained hidden until June of 2012.
At my last job, I was getting fed up, mainly with the limited opportunity for advancement under the current politico-economic climate. This is the "Lost Decade" for early career research scientists, and I am among the lost. Not only that, but as I've become more politically and culturally aware, I've been overwhelmed by the sick sinking feeling accompanying a realization: that I am an adult stuck in a world run by children with enormous material power, playing obsessive games with money and power. And nobody around me seems to be aware of it, or if they are, they aren't willing and capable of doing anything about it.
So, things have changed with me in these ways. I have sort of hardened psychically. I don't mean that I've completely lost all sense of compassion for other human beings, I just wish I never had to deal with anyone ever again. I have lost all hope for and confidence in the human race (with a very few exceptions), and have begun to wonder if what the world really needs is another mass extinction event, for instance something on the scale of the KT meteorite (the Cretaceous-Tertiary extinction event), the asteroid impact in what is now the Yucatan Peninsula that is believed to have wiped out the dinosaurs 66 million years ago. I would probably die in it too, but it's just as well, given the fact that I have no future in this country.
I looked for something to take my mind off of these things, whatever their cause. I decided to recover my stash. I dug it out and everything was OK. I didn't worry about developing a habit because I believed that I had an unlimited supply (but now it is gone) already in my possession. So every day since June 6 2012, I have ingested some fentanyl. I started small, figuring that 1 25 mcg/hr patch would keep me feeling good for 3 days. At that rate, they should last me longer than 50 years if I took 1 every 3 days as prescribed. I must have forgotten about my earlier experience, because one 25 didn't do anything. So I put on 3 more and had a good effect. Soon, almost daily, I was sticking at least one of the small ones and a couple of big ones onto my chest and biceps. I never removed them, but instead, I let them fall off on their own after a few days. Eventually, I had 10 or so at any given time. Boy was I wrong about having a 50 year supply.
Then, in a dark room, I sat in the seiza position (kneeling asana) and gazed at the color-reversed image that appeared behind my eyelids. Actually, the colors were correct, because I had previously reversed the colors of the original image to their complements using GIMP image editing software.
I concentrated on the image and began to manipulate it. I moved my viewpoint through the glowing mandala, as though it were a kind of gate way. Behind the mandala was a face made of the glowing phosphenes. The face was not in the original mandala. It was made of millions of bluish green jewels spinning in the strange, whirling kaloidoscopic symmetry of the vision processing columns of the occipital cortex. It was the First Shaman. He/she had a grinning Harlequin face. The face soon melted away, and I went to bed.
Late morning, around 6 am, I dreamed of entering a tunnel. Dark. On foot. Maybe I had to crawl a ways. It was a passage built of concrete, and it went under a road or some urban area. It opened into an auditorium-sized chamber underground. There was an amphitheater here. I sat on one of the concrete seats among the rows. On stage was a cast of dozens of singers and performers in old fashioned costumes. They were performing some kind of operetta. I don't have a musical background and lack the vocabulary to describe it well, but presently, they were singing a strange but cheerful tune. The lyrics were comedic. In structure, there was a group of main singers and several answering choruses of singers. It was a catchy tune and I found myself humming it for much of the morning after I woke up. It's frustrating not to know how to put on paper the strange music I dream about sometimes.
I feel that the following is now safe to put in my blog because the Fentanyl is now gone. After my father died of combined pancreatic, liver, stomach, duodenum, and jejunum cancer several years ago, he left behind cases of Fentanyl patches he had been issued by the VA hospital. In those cases were thousands of unused patches of varying dosages of fentanyl ranging from 12.5 micrograms per hour to 100 micrograms per hour released. Each one lasts roughly 72 hours.
Fentanyl is a synthetic opioid that is effective at 50 to 100 ng/kg putting its potency at 100 times that of morphine. Thus, 100 micrograms is roughly equivalent to 10 milligrams of morphine for analgesia, according to Wikipedia. The LD_sub_50 is 0.03 mg/kg in monkeys, so assuming my body processes it similarly to the way a monkey does, 100kg*0.03mg/kg and the chance of dying is 50% with 3 mg in my system. Not that I would take that much at once, but that would be 30 100 mcg/hr patches in one hour to overdose without a tolerance. So taking only a few at a time should be safe. Any excess would metabolise before it could build up to toxic levels.
Being fascinated with opiates, I couldn't resist the temptation to try one. My first one was a 25, and after waiting no less than 3 hours without any noticeable effect, I added several more to my arms and chest. Finally, I felt something. Their effect was OK for an opioid. Not as good as heroin or Demerol (my favorites) but much better than vicodin or codeine.
At the time my father died, I was in college and was only using heroin once every few months. Ingesting more frequently I decided was too risky and could affect my grades and job prospects. So back onto the subject of Fentanyl. After getting a taste of it by using a few patches every day for a few weeks immediately after my father's death, I quit. I didn't suffer any serious withdrawal symptoms except for one sleepless night and a day of nausea and diarrhea, if I remember correctly.
Having decided that they were worth keeping and weren't terribly habit forming (which is horribly wrong I have come to realize), I stashed them all away for later. They remained hidden until June of 2012.
At my last job, I was getting fed up, mainly with the limited opportunity for advancement under the current politico-economic climate. This is the "Lost Decade" for early career research scientists, and I am among the lost. Not only that, but as I've become more politically and culturally aware, I've been overwhelmed by the sick sinking feeling accompanying a realization: that I am an adult stuck in a world run by children with enormous material power, playing obsessive games with money and power. And nobody around me seems to be aware of it, or if they are, they aren't willing and capable of doing anything about it.
So, things have changed with me in these ways. I have sort of hardened psychically. I don't mean that I've completely lost all sense of compassion for other human beings, I just wish I never had to deal with anyone ever again. I have lost all hope for and confidence in the human race (with a very few exceptions), and have begun to wonder if what the world really needs is another mass extinction event, for instance something on the scale of the KT meteorite (the Cretaceous-Tertiary extinction event), the asteroid impact in what is now the Yucatan Peninsula that is believed to have wiped out the dinosaurs 66 million years ago. I would probably die in it too, but it's just as well, given the fact that I have no future in this country.
I looked for something to take my mind off of these things, whatever their cause. I decided to recover my stash. I dug it out and everything was OK. I didn't worry about developing a habit because I believed that I had an unlimited supply (but now it is gone) already in my possession. So every day since June 6 2012, I have ingested some fentanyl. I started small, figuring that 1 25 mcg/hr patch would keep me feeling good for 3 days. At that rate, they should last me longer than 50 years if I took 1 every 3 days as prescribed. I must have forgotten about my earlier experience, because one 25 didn't do anything. So I put on 3 more and had a good effect. Soon, almost daily, I was sticking at least one of the small ones and a couple of big ones onto my chest and biceps. I never removed them, but instead, I let them fall off on their own after a few days. Eventually, I had 10 or so at any given time. Boy was I wrong about having a 50 year supply.
