iksaxophone
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jul 6, 2015
- Messages
- 201
January 28th, 2020
Today I ate 3.5 grams of dried psilocybin mushrooms with my lunch, beginning around 12:30. I gave up the unfinished beef heart and shroom stew around forty-five minutes later when they began to hit and the mild nausea stopped me. While I was eating the soup I chatted with the landlady C, who was fixing a couple things in my cottage. As soon as she left I felt relieved: I could drop the sober facade and let go. First I hopped in the shower and spent god knows how long in there, soaking in the hot water and orienting myself towards the trip. By the time I got out my legs were noodles. I dried myself hastily, stumbled towards the bed, and collapsed into the pillowy comforter.
From then on, the journey was almost entirely inside my own head. It has been ages since I was able to trip without distraction. The cottage was reasonably tidy. I was clean, and fed too. My girlfriend R was at work so her energetic writing and darting about was confined to her coffee shop for the time being. After a few moments just enjoying the soft bed I slipped a sleep-mask on and settled in for the ride.
One of the first things I noticed was how much my posture affected my mood. On my side, I was plagued by and vulnerable to anxious, crawling entities. On my back, with my arms behind me head, I was protected. Much is lost to the mushy mists of memory, but I remember grappling with some fears and grasping at comfort. I thought of Rachelle. I wanted her to tell me she loved me, and that everything was okay.
However, I quickly realized that wasn’t the right path. R loves me and would never hesitate to say so, but in my gut I knew that wouldn’t ease my discomfort (not least because she was completely inaccessible for the time being). I then thought of my various friends, and what they might or might not say to me. I thought of my family too. None of that helped.
Slowly I began to understand that I had to provide that loving acceptance to myself, from my self. Only I knew what I needed and was there to give it. This catalyzed a shift in perspective and began an internal dialogue. I started to talk to That Which Was Afraid as if it were another human being. Various entities materialized, taking myriad forms and constituting the majority of my visual activity for the rest of the trip. I started telling the entities I loved them (recognizing them as part of myself, or myself as part of their larger consciousness- I suspect the distinction is pedantic).
Those boundaries eventually dissolved entirely, in a process which culminated in a terribly vivid image and ego-death. First I started beating around the bush and trying not to tell myself, “I love you.” I said everything but. I became more persistent, and my ego became more resistant, until all of a sudden I found myself looking at what seemed to be a piece of art:
On a background of off-white (possibly bone) were drawn two figures, in deep red ink. On the right of the “canvas” a tall warrior stood, sword drawn. Beneath him a body was slumped against a tree or stump. The warrior said, “I love you” and meant it, for that body belonged to his friend. My self, which was the slumped body, had fought me each time I declared my affection until finally it lay slain and loved, dead and cherished, though it wished to be alive and alone.
The remainder of the afternoon was spent in bed with my eyes closed. I got up three or four times, approximately on the hour. Each time I sat up with a groan, took a sip of tea, stumbled to the bathroom, and returned to my task: carefully attending to each and every entity/element of psyche that manifested. Most appeared fearsome at first but I unrelentingly communicated my love to every one of them until they transformed. One was an old forest hermit. One was a scruffy mutt with grey and brown hair (it must be noted this mutt wasn’t really in the shape of a dog. It was pretty amorphous. But the feeling of being snuggled by a raggedy old mutt was unmistakable). Another, most vividly of all, was some kind of skeletal hell-pig that slouched menacingly into my awareness. It snarled, baring its teeth, and sniffed at its surroundings. It’s eyes glowered at me and it felt as though it was hunting, although I don’t believe it was hunting me. At first I was scared of its attention. Then I remembered my task, and told the hell-pig I loved it, and thanked it for protecting me. I had some comprehension that its psychological role was connected to jealousy and paranoia, hence the hunting.
As soon as I began speaking kind words to it, my perception shifted dramatically and I saw that far from being menacing the thing was starving. It was leathery skin draped over knobby hip bones and skinny ribs. I understood that rather than being afraid of it, I needed to nourish it (with affection and attention. My corporeal diet is exceedingly rich and nutritious). From now on I am keeping my eye out for the Paranoid Hell-Pig, and whenever it enters my psychological playing field I will do the same as I did before- comfort it, feed it, and heal it so that in its sickness it does no more damage to my life.
Tagged by Xorkoth
substancecode_mushrooms
substancecode_tryptamines
explevel_experienced
exptype_positive
exptype_difficult
roacode_oral
Today I ate 3.5 grams of dried psilocybin mushrooms with my lunch, beginning around 12:30. I gave up the unfinished beef heart and shroom stew around forty-five minutes later when they began to hit and the mild nausea stopped me. While I was eating the soup I chatted with the landlady C, who was fixing a couple things in my cottage. As soon as she left I felt relieved: I could drop the sober facade and let go. First I hopped in the shower and spent god knows how long in there, soaking in the hot water and orienting myself towards the trip. By the time I got out my legs were noodles. I dried myself hastily, stumbled towards the bed, and collapsed into the pillowy comforter.
From then on, the journey was almost entirely inside my own head. It has been ages since I was able to trip without distraction. The cottage was reasonably tidy. I was clean, and fed too. My girlfriend R was at work so her energetic writing and darting about was confined to her coffee shop for the time being. After a few moments just enjoying the soft bed I slipped a sleep-mask on and settled in for the ride.
One of the first things I noticed was how much my posture affected my mood. On my side, I was plagued by and vulnerable to anxious, crawling entities. On my back, with my arms behind me head, I was protected. Much is lost to the mushy mists of memory, but I remember grappling with some fears and grasping at comfort. I thought of Rachelle. I wanted her to tell me she loved me, and that everything was okay.
However, I quickly realized that wasn’t the right path. R loves me and would never hesitate to say so, but in my gut I knew that wouldn’t ease my discomfort (not least because she was completely inaccessible for the time being). I then thought of my various friends, and what they might or might not say to me. I thought of my family too. None of that helped.
Slowly I began to understand that I had to provide that loving acceptance to myself, from my self. Only I knew what I needed and was there to give it. This catalyzed a shift in perspective and began an internal dialogue. I started to talk to That Which Was Afraid as if it were another human being. Various entities materialized, taking myriad forms and constituting the majority of my visual activity for the rest of the trip. I started telling the entities I loved them (recognizing them as part of myself, or myself as part of their larger consciousness- I suspect the distinction is pedantic).
Those boundaries eventually dissolved entirely, in a process which culminated in a terribly vivid image and ego-death. First I started beating around the bush and trying not to tell myself, “I love you.” I said everything but. I became more persistent, and my ego became more resistant, until all of a sudden I found myself looking at what seemed to be a piece of art:
On a background of off-white (possibly bone) were drawn two figures, in deep red ink. On the right of the “canvas” a tall warrior stood, sword drawn. Beneath him a body was slumped against a tree or stump. The warrior said, “I love you” and meant it, for that body belonged to his friend. My self, which was the slumped body, had fought me each time I declared my affection until finally it lay slain and loved, dead and cherished, though it wished to be alive and alone.
The remainder of the afternoon was spent in bed with my eyes closed. I got up three or four times, approximately on the hour. Each time I sat up with a groan, took a sip of tea, stumbled to the bathroom, and returned to my task: carefully attending to each and every entity/element of psyche that manifested. Most appeared fearsome at first but I unrelentingly communicated my love to every one of them until they transformed. One was an old forest hermit. One was a scruffy mutt with grey and brown hair (it must be noted this mutt wasn’t really in the shape of a dog. It was pretty amorphous. But the feeling of being snuggled by a raggedy old mutt was unmistakable). Another, most vividly of all, was some kind of skeletal hell-pig that slouched menacingly into my awareness. It snarled, baring its teeth, and sniffed at its surroundings. It’s eyes glowered at me and it felt as though it was hunting, although I don’t believe it was hunting me. At first I was scared of its attention. Then I remembered my task, and told the hell-pig I loved it, and thanked it for protecting me. I had some comprehension that its psychological role was connected to jealousy and paranoia, hence the hunting.
As soon as I began speaking kind words to it, my perception shifted dramatically and I saw that far from being menacing the thing was starving. It was leathery skin draped over knobby hip bones and skinny ribs. I understood that rather than being afraid of it, I needed to nourish it (with affection and attention. My corporeal diet is exceedingly rich and nutritious). From now on I am keeping my eye out for the Paranoid Hell-Pig, and whenever it enters my psychological playing field I will do the same as I did before- comfort it, feed it, and heal it so that in its sickness it does no more damage to my life.
Tagged by Xorkoth
substancecode_mushrooms
substancecode_tryptamines
explevel_experienced
exptype_positive
exptype_difficult
roacode_oral
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I've had a similar sort of experience on 2C-T-2, where it seems almost as if my ego had fragmented as I lay down with my eyes closed and music playing, and I experienced them as separate entities which I realized were part of myself. Viewing them externally helped me to understand them better and the whole process increased my ability to work together with those aspects of myself. The trip kicked me out of a depressive rut in fact.