cactophage
Rising Star
When one takes a lot of psychedelic drugs, one is likely to experience things incompatible with the view of the world one previously held. Sometimes these experiences seem to support one another; seem to suggest there are dimensions of truthful, objectively real experience which are open and available to us through drugs (or whatever mechanism) - experiences that hint at things normally hidden from us, but just as "real" as the screen you're reading these words from. This feeling is made all the more compelling by just how saturated with meaning, with emotion and innate, radiant intensity these experiences can be.
And perhaps there is a grain of truth in that kind of thinking.
But perhaps many miss the point, the real lesson of those experiences - not that we can touch and comprehend alien truths hidden from most; but that we have the chance to see the daily "reality" of our perceptions as the continuous fabrication, the elaborate and dazzling sleight of hand that they are. Once the magician has revealed his tricks, playing ordinary poker against him is never quite the same again.
No matter what we do, it's only ever through a thickly warped stained glass window we can hope to glimpse reality at all. Crude, dim, warped, and coloured as this lens may be, it is yet a very rare person who can learn to treat their own perceptions with the appropriate degree of mistrust, no matter what lies they may have seen unravelled.
We are blind to our own blind spots. It's a human failing so universal, and so at the core of our nature, that we will inevitably take it into hyperspace with us. But if you ever come back from hyperspace with complete certainty in the objective truth of - well, just about anything - you might want to take that as a warning sign.
And perhaps there is a grain of truth in that kind of thinking.
But perhaps many miss the point, the real lesson of those experiences - not that we can touch and comprehend alien truths hidden from most; but that we have the chance to see the daily "reality" of our perceptions as the continuous fabrication, the elaborate and dazzling sleight of hand that they are. Once the magician has revealed his tricks, playing ordinary poker against him is never quite the same again.
No matter what we do, it's only ever through a thickly warped stained glass window we can hope to glimpse reality at all. Crude, dim, warped, and coloured as this lens may be, it is yet a very rare person who can learn to treat their own perceptions with the appropriate degree of mistrust, no matter what lies they may have seen unravelled.
We are blind to our own blind spots. It's a human failing so universal, and so at the core of our nature, that we will inevitably take it into hyperspace with us. But if you ever come back from hyperspace with complete certainty in the objective truth of - well, just about anything - you might want to take that as a warning sign.