88
Rising Star
I won't lie to you – most of my journeys are punishing and difficult; but at this point this is not something I am afraid of, because they are helping to break down cycles of destructive behaviour and thought patterns that had led to a point of deep unhappiness. That's why I took the spice route - to fix myself through deeper truth.
Last week I went for some deep medicine – Changahuasca. Caapi leaf tea followed by Blue lotus/Calea changa. And whenever I go Inside with the intention of looking for healing, it's usually a rough ride, because they show me the poison and dark engines hidden within my psyche. This journey turned out to be a bit of a monster that way.
The jimjam world came at me very hard. All at once, telling me, “all is futile. Life is pointless. Why bother." I was horrified – I begged it to show me some light, some redemption, some purpose. But there was none. It was a truly terrible moment.
Leaving the spice dimension, I found myself - as I often do with Caapi - in a vine dimension, a blue cathedral of vines, where I was able to unpack this deep despair and despondency with Madre Aya.
I became a small child, terrified. My most fundamental fear was laid bare, experienced with total vulnerability; a fear I have never realised I had. I was afraid of dying. Deeply, deeply afraid. I have considered and thought about death a great deal, and thought that I was able to face it; but it seemed in that blue lotus cathedral of vines, I was not. My deepest fear was uncovered.
I lay back and begged Madre Aya to heal me. She explained that, sure, she could fix my body – but that was not the problem; that was minor (this while my body was being sliced open painlessly, dissected, cut up in autopsy) The real problem was my psyche, and my soul. She removed a long glass shard from behind my eye. It is here that the problem lies.
There was much more to the journey; more dialogue; more visions. It went on for close to an hour. I was broken and distressed by the time I was able to come up for air.
I spoke to my dear brother, ghostman. Agreed to lay off for a bit and integrate the experience. See how it worked itself out. So for the next few days, I stayed away from Withinity (I usually go in about 3 or 4 times a week)
Previous journeys came to mind – I'd been told very clearly by them that they could show me my problems, but it was up to me to do something about it. I was advised to read the Upanishads, and address the unresolved problems in my life.
So I set about doing just this. I spent a day sorting out paperwork, dealing with some niggling problems I hadn't sorted – a parking fine, finding my car insurance documents, getting my banking in order, that kind of thing. Cleaned the house to within an inch of it's life. Put things in their proper place. Phoned my brother who I hadn't spoken to in ages. And then I started reading Hindu sacred texts, the Upanishads and Vedas.
I contemplated the Changahuasca vision of futility in life, and fear of death. Considered it very deeply, and came to a point where I accepted the inevitability of my own passing.
I also became aware of my recursive loops.
What I mean by “recursive loops” is programmed complex behaviour patterns. For the computer people amongst you, we could call them 'sub-routines'. I can probably get through a whole day on automatic pilot. My actions and behaviours are often nothing more than sub-routines in my mind, programmed at some point and stuck in a loop. Sometimes I have a few going at the same time – a smoking subroutine, driving programme, and the self-righteous anger loop all going at the same time. And I began to wonder where I was while my brain was running on automatic.
It became apparent that it is necessary to focus and choose our actions, thoughts and decisions. To choose our experience of reality with clear intent; otherwise, the autopilot takes the controls, and we become passengers in our own life.
Eventually, with clean house, organised life and realistic acceptance of death in place, I went back Inside.
No surprise, given my reading list, but I was shot into a world of Hindu deities. Gods At War. Ganesh, Shiva, I don't know what … it was intense, complicated, and I begged to be allowed to remember something of it. So, momentarily, I was a blue elephant god. That kind of made it stick a bit, but the story of what was happening was just too complicated, intense, multi-layered and jsust too damned fast for me to remember much more than that.
Usually with Changa, when I came out of the jim jam, I have a long period within the plant's world/consciousness. And usually, I am prone on my pilot's chair when this happens.
Today, ten minutes after lift-off, I was upside down against a wall doing yoga. Now, I am interested in learning yoga, but I've never done it … so it was strange to find my body being twisted into shapes I wouldn't have believed it was capable of.
Then I sat back with my freshly cut daffodils. Dead, in that they were cut, futile in that they would not be able to germinate or be pollinated while stuck in a glass vase in my house; and yet they had to open, move, grow and die. They had to live. Because that is what living things do, regardless. They live.
The rest of the afternoon was spectacular and humbling. I spent most of the day walking through parks, seeing trees, birds, dogs and people, living beautiful futile lives like me. All of us an expression of life; all of us the same in our different forms. All of us living because that is just what life does.
Today, I stopped striving, questioning, doing. Today, I was simply being.
Last week I went for some deep medicine – Changahuasca. Caapi leaf tea followed by Blue lotus/Calea changa. And whenever I go Inside with the intention of looking for healing, it's usually a rough ride, because they show me the poison and dark engines hidden within my psyche. This journey turned out to be a bit of a monster that way.
The jimjam world came at me very hard. All at once, telling me, “all is futile. Life is pointless. Why bother." I was horrified – I begged it to show me some light, some redemption, some purpose. But there was none. It was a truly terrible moment.
Leaving the spice dimension, I found myself - as I often do with Caapi - in a vine dimension, a blue cathedral of vines, where I was able to unpack this deep despair and despondency with Madre Aya.
I became a small child, terrified. My most fundamental fear was laid bare, experienced with total vulnerability; a fear I have never realised I had. I was afraid of dying. Deeply, deeply afraid. I have considered and thought about death a great deal, and thought that I was able to face it; but it seemed in that blue lotus cathedral of vines, I was not. My deepest fear was uncovered.
I lay back and begged Madre Aya to heal me. She explained that, sure, she could fix my body – but that was not the problem; that was minor (this while my body was being sliced open painlessly, dissected, cut up in autopsy) The real problem was my psyche, and my soul. She removed a long glass shard from behind my eye. It is here that the problem lies.
There was much more to the journey; more dialogue; more visions. It went on for close to an hour. I was broken and distressed by the time I was able to come up for air.
I spoke to my dear brother, ghostman. Agreed to lay off for a bit and integrate the experience. See how it worked itself out. So for the next few days, I stayed away from Withinity (I usually go in about 3 or 4 times a week)
Previous journeys came to mind – I'd been told very clearly by them that they could show me my problems, but it was up to me to do something about it. I was advised to read the Upanishads, and address the unresolved problems in my life.
So I set about doing just this. I spent a day sorting out paperwork, dealing with some niggling problems I hadn't sorted – a parking fine, finding my car insurance documents, getting my banking in order, that kind of thing. Cleaned the house to within an inch of it's life. Put things in their proper place. Phoned my brother who I hadn't spoken to in ages. And then I started reading Hindu sacred texts, the Upanishads and Vedas.
I contemplated the Changahuasca vision of futility in life, and fear of death. Considered it very deeply, and came to a point where I accepted the inevitability of my own passing.
I also became aware of my recursive loops.
What I mean by “recursive loops” is programmed complex behaviour patterns. For the computer people amongst you, we could call them 'sub-routines'. I can probably get through a whole day on automatic pilot. My actions and behaviours are often nothing more than sub-routines in my mind, programmed at some point and stuck in a loop. Sometimes I have a few going at the same time – a smoking subroutine, driving programme, and the self-righteous anger loop all going at the same time. And I began to wonder where I was while my brain was running on automatic.
It became apparent that it is necessary to focus and choose our actions, thoughts and decisions. To choose our experience of reality with clear intent; otherwise, the autopilot takes the controls, and we become passengers in our own life.
Eventually, with clean house, organised life and realistic acceptance of death in place, I went back Inside.
No surprise, given my reading list, but I was shot into a world of Hindu deities. Gods At War. Ganesh, Shiva, I don't know what … it was intense, complicated, and I begged to be allowed to remember something of it. So, momentarily, I was a blue elephant god. That kind of made it stick a bit, but the story of what was happening was just too complicated, intense, multi-layered and jsust too damned fast for me to remember much more than that.
Usually with Changa, when I came out of the jim jam, I have a long period within the plant's world/consciousness. And usually, I am prone on my pilot's chair when this happens.
Today, ten minutes after lift-off, I was upside down against a wall doing yoga. Now, I am interested in learning yoga, but I've never done it … so it was strange to find my body being twisted into shapes I wouldn't have believed it was capable of.
Then I sat back with my freshly cut daffodils. Dead, in that they were cut, futile in that they would not be able to germinate or be pollinated while stuck in a glass vase in my house; and yet they had to open, move, grow and die. They had to live. Because that is what living things do, regardless. They live.
The rest of the afternoon was spectacular and humbling. I spent most of the day walking through parks, seeing trees, birds, dogs and people, living beautiful futile lives like me. All of us an expression of life; all of us the same in our different forms. All of us living because that is just what life does.
Today, I stopped striving, questioning, doing. Today, I was simply being.
