DMT, Psilocin, and Ketamine
samadhi_smiles said:
i was considering blasting off with some psilocin, ketamine, and DMT tonight
Did you do this last night? I ended up staying in, and the idea grew more and more compelling until I finally gave in.
I start out with just 10mg of an insufflated mixture of psilocin and 4-AcO-DMT, followed less than two hours later by 5mg of psilocin and 50mg of K, both IM. Everything is going as normal. But I suddenly feel as though I am floating limp deep beneath the surface of a tepid pool. Then a fantastic pressure pushes on my chest as an invisible column plunges me deeper and deeper into the depths. I tumble through the skunk works of perception and am ejected into a space of overbearing stillness, a theater where I am to be the passive observer of a deep biological act, but also the stage on which it occurs.
I feel my legs part and my back arch. My head tilts nearly perpendicular to my spine and my eyes rolled back into my skull. My tongue presses against the back of my dilated throat while I cough, gag and belch. Heat, distortion, and confusion ensue, and I’m left frantically feeling my bed sheet for wetness. This can’t be happening. I’m covered in a warm, wet film that feels absolutely real. There’s wetness between my legs too, and I reach down worried that I’ve pissed myself. Somehow these drugs have activated the female birthing process and memory in me. I can only guess that it’s mediated by some ontogenic atavism, a basic system of birth process bio-relays that must still exist in inchoate form even in males. Simultaneously the drugs have awakened the memory of the birth trauma. Here at the bottom of perception and memory and primal being, I birth, and am born from, myself. And it is all so familiar.
From the hour that follows I can take nothing. In some ways it has been one of the most phenomenal experiences of my life, yet it is uniquely barren of memories or insights I can extend beyond the time of its occurrence. 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 this time I can see SOMETHING.
It begins promisingly. The largely involuntary idiomotor movements don’t seem to be coming back, perhaps, I think, 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 what I see is why I’m wet. But I can’t feel 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 that might give it definition. 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 and draping over my legs and 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 that has grasped what I could not. And I can trust from that wisdom that at some consciously impenetrable level my experience has been comprehended, and that I am complete.