Psilocybe tampanensis - moderately experienced - 'God is not alone'

[experience_alone]

2025.08.22. - God is not alone​

Substance: Psilocybe tampanensis sclerotium​

Dose: unknown
Subjective intensity: 1/5
User: 42 M 95kg

Clouds are rare phenomena on calm summer nights, and when the moon is hiding under the horizon, the sky turns into a vast black ocean, broader and deeper than what the eyes can handle. This is when man can experience how small and insignificant he really is in this world. A gray dust particle among glowing stars, these burning orbs of fire screaming white energy into the void. All in vain, as they are separated by somuch space, that by the time their voices reach us, each fades to a mere speck of ghostly shimmer, their roaring power reduced to whispers. Separation, that's the curse of this lonely universe! So little stuff, divided by so much distance. Such is also the fate of human hearts, lost in the maze of pointless hopes, never finding a path to love.

Lately it became my habit to go out to the garden at night, and stare blankly up into the sky for hours, hunting for shooting stars and thinking about issues such as this. A sole awareness observing in silence while the world sleeps. Insomnia put to good use.​

The hours after midnight are always calm, and my chain of pondering is only occasionally interrupted by a stray thought: Is she asleep? Surely by now. I wish I could be there and watch... Tender fragility not perceived by anyone is wasted beauty. The universe craves to experience through my eyes, but like silent tears, my desire falls to despair. I'm too weak to act.

Another bright summer day subsided into a warm evening. On this night I decided to finally embrace my loneliness, and cry my eyes out underthe stars if I have to. If that's what it takes to realize that she was not meant for me. This night I was about to let my sorrow out into the black void, unheard and forgotten like the stars above. They say, in space no one can hear you cry.

My brain has been craving serotonin for a while, or any of its analogs, and finally here was an opportunity to answer the calling. I accurately measured out 4g of P. tampanensis truffles, put them in a cup, and poured hot water over them to boil away that sour taste. While the tea cooled to room temperature, I took a shower and put on warm clothes. There has been a cold spell lately, and though the days were still hot, the nights tended to get quite chilly.

Returning to the kitchen, I drank the mushroomy tasting tea at 21:30, and started chewing the truffles one by one. However something was off. I already felt comeup discomfort, that unpleasant feeling of an uninvited force taking over my mind, while the cup still had a lot of truffles in it. In fact it seemed to have the exact same amount of truffles, without any missing. Oh no, I really messed up this time!​

My method of growing truffles involves slow cultivation for up to 6-9 months, while the grain medium gradually desiccates, and the mycelium saves all of its life force and potency into the storage organs. On top of this, these truffles have been harvested weeks before, and while I was waiting for the occasion to eat them, being out of the jar they dried out even more. They were near completely dry, but started absorbing water from the hot tea, swelling to several times the irinitial size and weight. By the time I realized this, there was only one larger piece left in the cup, which now measured over 3g on its own. I had no idea how much the whole lot would have weighed if fully hydrated. I had no idea what dose I took.

Too late... The effects were coming on so fast, that I barely had time to grab a blanket and headphones, start a playlist, and without a flashlight rush to my chair in the garden, stumbling through the cold wet grass in the darkness. Minutes later I was wrapped in the blanket, staring up at the sky.​

It crossed my mind how Terrence McKenna used to claim that psilocybin increases visual acuity. Such bullshit! My vision was a blur. I couldn't focuson any star in the swirling swarm. The blackness and the white dots merged to a uniform gray. Only one star stood out enticing my attention. It glowed like a white beacon, many times brighter than any other I have ever seen. I admired it in amazement, and while I watched, its light faded gradually. Finally it became so dim that I couldn't keep focusing and lost it. The spot where it once shone was black and empty. This made no sense.

I gave up and closed my eyes. As soon as I did, imagination took over, and my mind was compelled to create. It felt like translating between languages. I understood the music, the melody, the rhythm, and could translate them directly into patterns, colors and movement. Countless fractal landscapes opened up, rearranged and transformed.​

The music I started hastily wasn't one of my curated trip playlists. It was a folder of Bryan Ferry and Roxy Music, including a live recording from 1982. Accordingly, the fractals were replaced by visions of the concert: an emotionally heated crowd cheering, clapping and whistling in ecstatic excitement. I saw people jumping in the air, tears running down happy faces, black silhouettes swaying against golden light. The air was hot from all the body heat. I didn't experience the event as a participant though. I was the place where this happened. I was the concert hall, but still aware and observing.

This somehow reminded me of the guy in the garden. He's sitting there all alone in the cold darkness, his socks slowly soaking up night dew from the grass. There's nobody to watch over and guard him. I must not forget. His safety is the highest importance, as all this experience only exists through him. Everything is in his mind. Remember the guy in the garden!​

I could return to my body at will to be me again, though it took some mental effort. The body was safe. Wrapped in a warm blanket, rigid and near comatose in a trance state, but with the happiest grin of his life, stretching from ear to ear... He's OK. Back to the concert!

The crowd was roaring with joy as one melodic love song followed another. How many young couples shared this pleasure! How many connections were formed or strengthened through mutual experience. How many unforgettable memories recorded. And I, as a bowl of happy souls and sweaty bodies, was holding all of them in my embrace.​

How smart the universe is, having divided its mind into countless sparks, so that they may despair, seek, and experience joy in finding each other! How clever desire is, that it programmed our minds with thirst and hunger, with longing for emotional connection and the touch of bare flesh, so we may achieve comfort in fulfillment. The One was split into parts, so that they can become whole again. Man and woman. Two halves, one reproductive unit. That is the law of nature. One reality, a million points of view; million eyes and ears perceiving. One concert hall, a thousand ecstatic minds having the time of their lives together. One universe, an infinity of fractal branches, each branch a soul and mind of its own. We are separate, so we can be together. Separation is the greatest blessing of the universe! One is plural, and God is not alone! There is no such thing as alone.

Somewhere a guy is sitting in his garden, wrapped in a warm blanket under black starry sky. For about an hour now he had the broadest spastic grin stuck on his face, because tonight he's not alone. He's together in all the completeness of self and other. Though he may not fully understand it, he feels that he's together. And when the last song begins, his grin finally fades, and he bursts out in tears.

By 22:50 I was more or less back to reality, and continued the listening experience with beautiful ambient and neoclassical music. I went to bed, but couldn't sleep, so I returned to the kitchen and prepared the best guacamole ever. A feast after midnight. Insomnia put to good use again.
​

 

[grapple]

Man, this was awesome to read. I grinned when you finally remembered the guy in the garden.