Satisfied with my extracted spice I carefully load my VG with a mound of beautiful fluffy white crystals. I am excited, but at the same time at peace.
I clean my room and prepare a peaceful setting for my first voyage into hyperspace. I pause momentarily to consider why travelers call it hyperspace - whatever, I'm sure I'll learn soon enough.
With my preparations complete I set the loaded VG on my bed and begin a series of vipassana breathing exercises to calm my mind. Overcome with excitement I'm unable to finish - its time to travel.
I turn the lights out, fire the torch and begin a long, slow pull.
The smoke is absolutely awful. Harsh, I think, is a generous understatement. Nevertheless I remind myself to, "hold it in as long as you... *COUGH*"
*COUGH*
*COUGH*
I begin to hack and cough uncontrollably. Before the wretched, god awful smoke even clears the air, I hear it...
"KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
The sound rushes into me and completely occupies my entire auditory field. There is only the sound...
In an act which I can only now see was driven by greed, I hastily take another pull from my VG. The arc of the torch is a burning blue obelisk in an otherwise completely dark space. I would like to consider its beauty but I'm overcome with the desire for more spice and the DMT is now demanding the surrender of my vision. I resist only long enough for one more pull.
The second pull is equally awful. This time I am not afforded the luxury of exhaling. Instead, I forcibly hack the smoke from my lungs.
Enter the fetal position...
Regret begins to arise before it is quickly extinguished by a tsunami of geometric visuals.
"This must be the veil" I tell myself.
I try and tell myself to surrender to the Clear Light, but I am still consumed by the most intense coughing fit. "No intention, no expectation." I try to form these thoughts but am still completely consumed by my body's coughing and physical upheaval.
I observe this "veil;" it operates free from my influence.
At this point everything is coming at me so fast my thoughts feel light years away from the observations they seek to address... the genesis of every piece of pre-columbian South American art and architecture is now abundantly clear.
In an instant I am confronted with my own death. In an instant it arises and falls.
It's all happening so fast that I realize that my participation in this event is irrelevant... my desire to participate is childish and not well taken.
The high pitched "KKKNNNNEEEE" audio transforms into what I can only describe as a psychedelic "whip it." Overcome by the "waa-waa's" the visceral portions of my mind scream death - but somehow I have an understanding that the DMT is joking. When my mind laughs the DMT echos the laughter and abandons its ploy of death. Somehow we (i.e. the DMT and I) agree that the death game was funny.
The visuals of humanities forgotten past violently assault me in a strange but mutual understanding that this is all just a joke (albeit at my expense).
Then it stops... From light speed to rest - instantly.
I open my eyes, turn on the lights, and consensus reality begins to return. My drapes resist this consensus and continue to wave and waffle against the walls.
"What the fuck was that!?" I think.
"What the FUCK was that?!"
I look at the chronograph I set - seven minutes have past.
AFTER THOUGHTS: DMT is not what I thought. The paradox of trying to match a DMT experience with thoughts now seems comically futile to me. Everything happens so fast that I cannot imagine gaining any useful knowledge from this goliath. But perhaps I'm wrong. Post DMT my imagination feels small and inept relative to the "nuclear cannon" of DMT. I need to go back.
I clean my room and prepare a peaceful setting for my first voyage into hyperspace. I pause momentarily to consider why travelers call it hyperspace - whatever, I'm sure I'll learn soon enough.
With my preparations complete I set the loaded VG on my bed and begin a series of vipassana breathing exercises to calm my mind. Overcome with excitement I'm unable to finish - its time to travel.
I turn the lights out, fire the torch and begin a long, slow pull.
The smoke is absolutely awful. Harsh, I think, is a generous understatement. Nevertheless I remind myself to, "hold it in as long as you... *COUGH*"
*COUGH*
*COUGH*
I begin to hack and cough uncontrollably. Before the wretched, god awful smoke even clears the air, I hear it...
"KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
The sound rushes into me and completely occupies my entire auditory field. There is only the sound...
In an act which I can only now see was driven by greed, I hastily take another pull from my VG. The arc of the torch is a burning blue obelisk in an otherwise completely dark space. I would like to consider its beauty but I'm overcome with the desire for more spice and the DMT is now demanding the surrender of my vision. I resist only long enough for one more pull.
The second pull is equally awful. This time I am not afforded the luxury of exhaling. Instead, I forcibly hack the smoke from my lungs.
Enter the fetal position...
Regret begins to arise before it is quickly extinguished by a tsunami of geometric visuals.
"This must be the veil" I tell myself.
I try and tell myself to surrender to the Clear Light, but I am still consumed by the most intense coughing fit. "No intention, no expectation." I try to form these thoughts but am still completely consumed by my body's coughing and physical upheaval.
I observe this "veil;" it operates free from my influence.
At this point everything is coming at me so fast my thoughts feel light years away from the observations they seek to address... the genesis of every piece of pre-columbian South American art and architecture is now abundantly clear.
In an instant I am confronted with my own death. In an instant it arises and falls.
It's all happening so fast that I realize that my participation in this event is irrelevant... my desire to participate is childish and not well taken.
The high pitched "KKKNNNNEEEE" audio transforms into what I can only describe as a psychedelic "whip it." Overcome by the "waa-waa's" the visceral portions of my mind scream death - but somehow I have an understanding that the DMT is joking. When my mind laughs the DMT echos the laughter and abandons its ploy of death. Somehow we (i.e. the DMT and I) agree that the death game was funny.
The visuals of humanities forgotten past violently assault me in a strange but mutual understanding that this is all just a joke (albeit at my expense).
Then it stops... From light speed to rest - instantly.
I open my eyes, turn on the lights, and consensus reality begins to return. My drapes resist this consensus and continue to wave and waffle against the walls.
"What the fuck was that!?" I think.
"What the FUCK was that?!"
I look at the chronograph I set - seven minutes have past.
AFTER THOUGHTS: DMT is not what I thought. The paradox of trying to match a DMT experience with thoughts now seems comically futile to me. Everything happens so fast that I cannot imagine gaining any useful knowledge from this goliath. But perhaps I'm wrong. Post DMT my imagination feels small and inept relative to the "nuclear cannon" of DMT. I need to go back.
