One day he arrived at my door. He had chosen that my time had come. I had met him before, in dreams, never in person, just as that distant shape far down the endless stairwell of deep conciousness. He is that figure, dressed in a torn coat, endlessly riding his horse driven coach, nobody knows what he looks like, as his rugged hat always shades his face, and he travels in nothing but darkness, and nobody would ever want to know either, because whoever has a look at what is hidden under the shade of the hat, has no option of ever returning.
He had come to me, those two small white pills lying on my desk was his carriage in the physical world, and he needed a traveller to introduce to the world as he knew it. The urge of adventuring and enlightment drove me, I accepted his offer, but thinking back, I had no choice. Suddenly, the two pills were not at the desk anymore, it was just a matter of time, or something else, as time was non existant at that point, until I felt him entering me. Deep down, I could feel him riding his cart, slowly climbing the stairwell, getting closer to my shallower levels of conciousness. I felt fear inside, for every step his cursed horse took, the fear escalated, and as he got closer, it grew into pure dread. If I would've been awake, I would've blacked out, but there was no escape. He had arrived. The wagon stopped, and in my terrored state of mind I climbed up on it. The air was cold and bruised my skin, and the winds were wicked. The terror slowly subsided. I studied the coachman, this man that I forever had known, but never had dared facing. The symbol of dread which I knew that if faced, could take me to distant places no one else had ever been to. The shape that since being a newborn child had scared me to death, but I had known that as long as it was respected, there was nothing to fear.
As I sat in the coach and the horse, hardly visible in the darkness, brought us aforth. I knew that the horse was heading down the endless stairwell of my mind, to levels never previously explored. All my life I had been thinking in the realms of the most shallow level, and now I was being brought deeper and deeper. I felt that allthough the terror had subsided, it would instantly return if I happened to do or think anything which the coachman wasn't in favor of. I knew in my mind how to psychologically behave to not upset him. And I managed to keep my calm.
He took me to distant places, showed me things my eyes had never seen, overpowered me with feelings I thought were not possible, extended my minds borders beyond imagination. And finally he faded away back into the deep conciousness he once came from. He had reached his destination, I had aided him in reaching it, and he released me.
I don't know if I would ever dare attempting to face him again, it is a question that future will have to determine the answer to. However, I know he's still there, and when he calls, if ever, I don't believe I will have any choice but obeying his will and demands.
I got inspired to write something now, 4 at night, I get these creative impulses when it gets late.. this is not an actual trip report, just something I made up in my mind.. however I believe people can probably relate their own experiences with psychedelics to some of the metaphors in my story. I didn't try any psychedelics, but I read lots of tripreports.. I thought of a few different endings, something painting the poster getting stuck inside the trip forever, and things like that, but then it wouldn't look actual as being a trip report
.. Tell me what you think of my story, I'll be happy for feedback. 
He had come to me, those two small white pills lying on my desk was his carriage in the physical world, and he needed a traveller to introduce to the world as he knew it. The urge of adventuring and enlightment drove me, I accepted his offer, but thinking back, I had no choice. Suddenly, the two pills were not at the desk anymore, it was just a matter of time, or something else, as time was non existant at that point, until I felt him entering me. Deep down, I could feel him riding his cart, slowly climbing the stairwell, getting closer to my shallower levels of conciousness. I felt fear inside, for every step his cursed horse took, the fear escalated, and as he got closer, it grew into pure dread. If I would've been awake, I would've blacked out, but there was no escape. He had arrived. The wagon stopped, and in my terrored state of mind I climbed up on it. The air was cold and bruised my skin, and the winds were wicked. The terror slowly subsided. I studied the coachman, this man that I forever had known, but never had dared facing. The symbol of dread which I knew that if faced, could take me to distant places no one else had ever been to. The shape that since being a newborn child had scared me to death, but I had known that as long as it was respected, there was nothing to fear.
As I sat in the coach and the horse, hardly visible in the darkness, brought us aforth. I knew that the horse was heading down the endless stairwell of my mind, to levels never previously explored. All my life I had been thinking in the realms of the most shallow level, and now I was being brought deeper and deeper. I felt that allthough the terror had subsided, it would instantly return if I happened to do or think anything which the coachman wasn't in favor of. I knew in my mind how to psychologically behave to not upset him. And I managed to keep my calm.
He took me to distant places, showed me things my eyes had never seen, overpowered me with feelings I thought were not possible, extended my minds borders beyond imagination. And finally he faded away back into the deep conciousness he once came from. He had reached his destination, I had aided him in reaching it, and he released me.
I don't know if I would ever dare attempting to face him again, it is a question that future will have to determine the answer to. However, I know he's still there, and when he calls, if ever, I don't believe I will have any choice but obeying his will and demands.
I got inspired to write something now, 4 at night, I get these creative impulses when it gets late.. this is not an actual trip report, just something I made up in my mind.. however I believe people can probably relate their own experiences with psychedelics to some of the metaphors in my story. I didn't try any psychedelics, but I read lots of tripreports.. I thought of a few different endings, something painting the poster getting stuck inside the trip forever, and things like that, but then it wouldn't look actual as being a trip report
.. Tell me what you think of my story, I'll be happy for feedback. 
