LateJourneyer
Rising Star
Through the generosity of a friend, I was recently able to take my first DMT journey. Here are some of my impressions and recollections of the experience.
I was comfortably seated in my friend's living room, looking out a front window across the street toward a large tree in front of a nearby house. My friend was seated nearby, and was helping me get started. The method of administration was by smoking (or more precisely, vaporizing) over a bed of inert leaf material. The first "hit" (pardon me if that term is incorrect or inappropriate, but I don't know another one at the moment) caused a bit of a coughing spell, so I didn't get too much from it. Presumably as a result, it didn't seem to do much, although the tree across the street did start to look a
little "cartoonish". I was able to hold the second "hit" for longer, and a few seconds thereafter, things got started in earnest. With eyes open, things started to take on a sort of a "planar" look; that is, things that were normally three-dimensional started to look like they were on two-dimensional vertical planes, arrayed from front to back. Shapes took on almost a "cubist" look; in particular, the leaves on the tree across the street started to take on very angular outline, sort of like the geometric patterns you find in Native American weavings from the desert southwest. I lost all track of time at
this point; my friend was preparing a third hit for me, and it seemed like there had been a very long time between the second and third ones, although I expect it was probably under a minute. I was barely functional enough at this point to be able to take the pipe and take in the third hit. Open-eye visuals became increasingly angular, and the tree across the street almost began to look vaguely menacing, although I was sure it would not become actually so unless I tried to approach it. I did not, however, experience much in the line of closed-eye visuals. The most I got there was some faint, horizontal colored
bars, and an elongated bluish triangle with its base near the bottom of my visual field, and its point closer to the top. It looked like I was above a very straight river, from beneath me and extending outward to the horizon. The visual experiences stayed in this general theme throughout until near the end, when I started to see things as though I were looking through a screen or a grid, and with closed eyes started to see a couple of slow-moving vortex-like shapes. Those I could "stir" a bit with my hands, but they didn't change much.
What I didn't see, or feel any presence of, were any entities, such as I have seen described in other accounts. The only presences I was aware of were my own (but a bit more on that later) and my friend's.
What I noticed mostly, though, was a change in my sense of self. It felt as though the boundary between self and non-self was becoming very tenuous and vague. This I found very unnerving, and a bit frightening, although not so much that it was a great problem. I felt as though I had to resist this, but resistance was largely futile; it was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not. After a bit, I quit trying to resist and just let happen whatever was going to happen, which actually made things less unsettling. In retrospect, I wonder if this wasn't at least the beginnings of the "ego death" that I've
seen described.
As I mentioned over in my introductory essay (thread title "A later in life novice would like to introduce himself" ), I began to get a very definite impression of a "this far, and no farther" condition. This was not of my doing, it seemed to arise from the experience itself. This sensation actually took on a physical aspect; I stood up and took a few steps forward and got the same "no farther" feeling, so I returned to my chair. In retrospect, I wonder if the mental impression might not have been an indication, either from myself of from the experience, that I was probably not ready to go farther.
After I sat back down and as I was starting to come out of the journey, I got a real impression of a sort of turning inward, like I was being drawn to look inside myself. When I did so, I got a very hard-to-describe sense of a sort of inner connectedness that I had not really felt before. This was a very peaceful and comfortable thing; it felt like the inner examination of myself was something very beneficial. In fact, even now, more than a week after, I still get the same feeling of inward connectedness and wholeness that was somehow missing before.
The rest of the journey was uneventful -- a gradual return of objects' normal appearances (especially the tree) and a return to pre-journey consciousness.
I hope soon to repeat the experience; I would like very much to see if the next time I can go beyond the "no farther" point.
I was comfortably seated in my friend's living room, looking out a front window across the street toward a large tree in front of a nearby house. My friend was seated nearby, and was helping me get started. The method of administration was by smoking (or more precisely, vaporizing) over a bed of inert leaf material. The first "hit" (pardon me if that term is incorrect or inappropriate, but I don't know another one at the moment) caused a bit of a coughing spell, so I didn't get too much from it. Presumably as a result, it didn't seem to do much, although the tree across the street did start to look a
little "cartoonish". I was able to hold the second "hit" for longer, and a few seconds thereafter, things got started in earnest. With eyes open, things started to take on a sort of a "planar" look; that is, things that were normally three-dimensional started to look like they were on two-dimensional vertical planes, arrayed from front to back. Shapes took on almost a "cubist" look; in particular, the leaves on the tree across the street started to take on very angular outline, sort of like the geometric patterns you find in Native American weavings from the desert southwest. I lost all track of time at
this point; my friend was preparing a third hit for me, and it seemed like there had been a very long time between the second and third ones, although I expect it was probably under a minute. I was barely functional enough at this point to be able to take the pipe and take in the third hit. Open-eye visuals became increasingly angular, and the tree across the street almost began to look vaguely menacing, although I was sure it would not become actually so unless I tried to approach it. I did not, however, experience much in the line of closed-eye visuals. The most I got there was some faint, horizontal colored
bars, and an elongated bluish triangle with its base near the bottom of my visual field, and its point closer to the top. It looked like I was above a very straight river, from beneath me and extending outward to the horizon. The visual experiences stayed in this general theme throughout until near the end, when I started to see things as though I were looking through a screen or a grid, and with closed eyes started to see a couple of slow-moving vortex-like shapes. Those I could "stir" a bit with my hands, but they didn't change much.
What I didn't see, or feel any presence of, were any entities, such as I have seen described in other accounts. The only presences I was aware of were my own (but a bit more on that later) and my friend's.
What I noticed mostly, though, was a change in my sense of self. It felt as though the boundary between self and non-self was becoming very tenuous and vague. This I found very unnerving, and a bit frightening, although not so much that it was a great problem. I felt as though I had to resist this, but resistance was largely futile; it was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not. After a bit, I quit trying to resist and just let happen whatever was going to happen, which actually made things less unsettling. In retrospect, I wonder if this wasn't at least the beginnings of the "ego death" that I've
seen described.
As I mentioned over in my introductory essay (thread title "A later in life novice would like to introduce himself" ), I began to get a very definite impression of a "this far, and no farther" condition. This was not of my doing, it seemed to arise from the experience itself. This sensation actually took on a physical aspect; I stood up and took a few steps forward and got the same "no farther" feeling, so I returned to my chair. In retrospect, I wonder if the mental impression might not have been an indication, either from myself of from the experience, that I was probably not ready to go farther.
After I sat back down and as I was starting to come out of the journey, I got a real impression of a sort of turning inward, like I was being drawn to look inside myself. When I did so, I got a very hard-to-describe sense of a sort of inner connectedness that I had not really felt before. This was a very peaceful and comfortable thing; it felt like the inner examination of myself was something very beneficial. In fact, even now, more than a week after, I still get the same feeling of inward connectedness and wholeness that was somehow missing before.
The rest of the journey was uneventful -- a gradual return of objects' normal appearances (especially the tree) and a return to pre-journey consciousness.
I hope soon to repeat the experience; I would like very much to see if the next time I can go beyond the "no farther" point.
