TheAppleCore
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jul 14, 2007
- Messages
- 5,510
Setting: my bedroom, on a grey and drizzly Monday morning. I wake up early, discover that I'm off work, and spontaneously decide to dose.
Substance(s): 35 mg insufflated methoxetamine, and a bit of smoked cannabis.
After much battling with complete and utter dissociated confusion, I discover the secret weapon. The weak point of my abstract enemy is finally revealed. It's completely inexplicable. That was one of the tallest hurdles to pass -- accepting that the key to a state of inner harmony cannot be understood by concepts that can be conveyed by language. Accepting that I could not possibly conceive of the path to a peaceful state.
I sit and marvel at the perfection of my discovery, grinning with pride. For, as soon as the weapon is in my hand, I am infallible. Nothing can possibly throw me off balance. Even a sudden downturn into the most excruciating chaos and anxiety can't mar the glowing, loving energy that I have cultivated, simply because I realize that it's all love in disguise. Everything is woven seamlessly into a massive web of positive vibration. It's only when I lose sight of the big picture, and my tunnel vision narrows in on a tiny portion of this web, that things appear to be flawed. Only when my mind tears off a little chunk of the web, in the attempt to analyze reality piece by piece, do I see jagged edges.
Go ahead. Refuse this offering of truce, this golden opportunity suddenly awakened in the midst of endless suffering. Continue your pointless fighting and hatred, I command myself, provokingly. Of course, I'm just kidding myself -- I know, deep down inside, that fighting and hatred is impossible. Harmony and never-ending delight is the nature of all things, even if I forget it.
This state of mind quickly begins to manifest in what I can best describe as a fascinating, poignant silence. The bedroom in which I'm experiencing this high is silent, save for the occasional car passing through my street, but that's only half the story. I couldn't have possibly appreciated the rich beauty of this quiet room, if not for the void of the dissociated state. I slowly whisper a few words to myself -- I just barely eke them out of my throat, as gently as I possibly can. But the auditory space of the room is so delicate that it's instantly shattered by the whisper. I am almost startled by the roar of my voice.
The utter calm and simplicity of my consciousness is projected out into my environment, such that my bedroom takes on the playful and almost comical feel of a room in a "toy world". Everything is a miniature version of what it should be, including me, and all of the chaotic, organic detail is replaced by the crude but sensible and orderly features of a tiny replica. Instead of my attention drifting toward the endlessly complex wood grain in a piece of furniture, I am more intrigued simply by the bold, straight-edged outline of a dresser and its rectangular drawers, and perhaps its circular knobs. The simple, important and functional characteristics of all the articles of everyday living are simply adorable, in an itty-bitty way.
But this effect is not just fun and interesting -- it is deeply soothing. It's a complete fulfillment of the fundamental human desire for relaxation, to such a deep and thorough extent as to seem preposterous, only possible in a fairy tale. The closest association I have with this feeling is the distant memory of being coddled in my mother's arms, being hushed and there-there'd to stop my crying -- the faith that I am in the hands of an all-powerful and loving maternal being whom will protect me from all the world's evils.
I retrieve a banana, a jar of peanut butter, and a knife from the kitchen. I had never considered doing this in the past, but something compelled me to slink off to my bedroom to consume the snack in my own magical, twisted drug-lair. I sit down on my floor, peel open the fruit, and dab a cautious amount of the nut butter on my banana. I nibble ever so delicately, and chew ever so slowly. It only seems fitting that I take itty-bitty bites in an itty-bitty world. And my, is it a wonderful way of eating a snack! By comparison, in sobriety I eat like I'm in an awful hurry! You don't have to stuff the food down as quickly as you can, silly. Your snack doesn't have a pair of legs, and it's not going to leap off your plate if you don't eat it soon enough. (I talk to myself a lot.)
I find that the sensations and pleasures of eating do not directly surface within my conscious attention, as they normally would. Rather than appearing in-and-of-themselves, they act as modulators of perception, conductors of consciousness. Like the difference between putting your ear to the bow of a violin and plucking the bow itself to hear a sound, and instead choosing to use it to create audible energy in a less direct, but much more interesting way: exciting the strings of a violin into vibration! Each bite of my snack triggers a cascading influx of sensuous pleasure. By the time the initial taste of peanut butter and banana finishes elaborating itself in the fractal pathways of my imagination, it's something of a character completely its own.
I chuckle to myself at the end of the meal, so satisfied. With what will this weird and wondrous world surprise me next? I wonder.
Substance(s): 35 mg insufflated methoxetamine, and a bit of smoked cannabis.
After much battling with complete and utter dissociated confusion, I discover the secret weapon. The weak point of my abstract enemy is finally revealed. It's completely inexplicable. That was one of the tallest hurdles to pass -- accepting that the key to a state of inner harmony cannot be understood by concepts that can be conveyed by language. Accepting that I could not possibly conceive of the path to a peaceful state.
I sit and marvel at the perfection of my discovery, grinning with pride. For, as soon as the weapon is in my hand, I am infallible. Nothing can possibly throw me off balance. Even a sudden downturn into the most excruciating chaos and anxiety can't mar the glowing, loving energy that I have cultivated, simply because I realize that it's all love in disguise. Everything is woven seamlessly into a massive web of positive vibration. It's only when I lose sight of the big picture, and my tunnel vision narrows in on a tiny portion of this web, that things appear to be flawed. Only when my mind tears off a little chunk of the web, in the attempt to analyze reality piece by piece, do I see jagged edges.
Go ahead. Refuse this offering of truce, this golden opportunity suddenly awakened in the midst of endless suffering. Continue your pointless fighting and hatred, I command myself, provokingly. Of course, I'm just kidding myself -- I know, deep down inside, that fighting and hatred is impossible. Harmony and never-ending delight is the nature of all things, even if I forget it.
This state of mind quickly begins to manifest in what I can best describe as a fascinating, poignant silence. The bedroom in which I'm experiencing this high is silent, save for the occasional car passing through my street, but that's only half the story. I couldn't have possibly appreciated the rich beauty of this quiet room, if not for the void of the dissociated state. I slowly whisper a few words to myself -- I just barely eke them out of my throat, as gently as I possibly can. But the auditory space of the room is so delicate that it's instantly shattered by the whisper. I am almost startled by the roar of my voice.
The utter calm and simplicity of my consciousness is projected out into my environment, such that my bedroom takes on the playful and almost comical feel of a room in a "toy world". Everything is a miniature version of what it should be, including me, and all of the chaotic, organic detail is replaced by the crude but sensible and orderly features of a tiny replica. Instead of my attention drifting toward the endlessly complex wood grain in a piece of furniture, I am more intrigued simply by the bold, straight-edged outline of a dresser and its rectangular drawers, and perhaps its circular knobs. The simple, important and functional characteristics of all the articles of everyday living are simply adorable, in an itty-bitty way.
But this effect is not just fun and interesting -- it is deeply soothing. It's a complete fulfillment of the fundamental human desire for relaxation, to such a deep and thorough extent as to seem preposterous, only possible in a fairy tale. The closest association I have with this feeling is the distant memory of being coddled in my mother's arms, being hushed and there-there'd to stop my crying -- the faith that I am in the hands of an all-powerful and loving maternal being whom will protect me from all the world's evils.
I retrieve a banana, a jar of peanut butter, and a knife from the kitchen. I had never considered doing this in the past, but something compelled me to slink off to my bedroom to consume the snack in my own magical, twisted drug-lair. I sit down on my floor, peel open the fruit, and dab a cautious amount of the nut butter on my banana. I nibble ever so delicately, and chew ever so slowly. It only seems fitting that I take itty-bitty bites in an itty-bitty world. And my, is it a wonderful way of eating a snack! By comparison, in sobriety I eat like I'm in an awful hurry! You don't have to stuff the food down as quickly as you can, silly. Your snack doesn't have a pair of legs, and it's not going to leap off your plate if you don't eat it soon enough. (I talk to myself a lot.)
I find that the sensations and pleasures of eating do not directly surface within my conscious attention, as they normally would. Rather than appearing in-and-of-themselves, they act as modulators of perception, conductors of consciousness. Like the difference between putting your ear to the bow of a violin and plucking the bow itself to hear a sound, and instead choosing to use it to create audible energy in a less direct, but much more interesting way: exciting the strings of a violin into vibration! Each bite of my snack triggers a cascading influx of sensuous pleasure. By the time the initial taste of peanut butter and banana finishes elaborating itself in the fractal pathways of my imagination, it's something of a character completely its own.
I chuckle to myself at the end of the meal, so satisfied. With what will this weird and wondrous world surprise me next? I wonder.
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