ephedra
Esteemed member
The trip began with great pressure in the mind that brutally stunned all the incoming and outgoing sound. Confusion. The fungus has reached the torrent. Burst. The journey begins.
The places where we travel always give us something of their personality throughout the journey. Especially if it is a somewhat familiar place, or one that has been traveled through other endless nights. My trip was marked by the following mystical keys:
First clue: there is something stuck there. I need to tell you something important.
Second key: the call arrives, but it is no longer me who should answer it this time. For some reason I am the executing phone that must pass the message to someone else.
Third key: the bird in the tree, spy?
Fourth key: I want to fly, scape, but I don't know where.
Fifth key: it is a symphony and you have to finish composing it. The points of the melody are connected, but only at the end, with the unity of the parts.
I meditate, therefore I am
I am part of all this again. I did this mushroom trip, after attending a Vipassana retreat. I was actually there for only two days. But for some peculiar reason, I began to reflect on something that had been echoing in my mind from there. And that has to do, in part, with a message I heard. What this message said is the following "we come into the world with a seed inside... that we must wake up and make the spiritual seed grow...". It is a message that always sounds old to me, like, from another life, although, from time to time, it always needs new meaning revisions.
Life for me always turned out like this seed waking up, spreading its principles on wanderings and travels. Disruptions, inclinations towards exotic trends. All kinds of mysteries found only on the way.
Cure the glitch
Loneliness. Distress. What gets stuck is the anguish, again. Not being understood. Never feeling understood, but as a failure, and the world sometimes appears as a great hospital, with its indifferent mask and patetic shadows. Most of us have a hard time understanding complexities. But sometimes I don't know when it was that this got stuck and stuck without being able to be expelled into the world, in what way could I express it? I had something to tell you. Because I guess we all have something important to say in moments of despair. I called you more than twenty times and you didn't answer. I thought I had gone crazy and I despaired. Indifference feels so cold. Moments of despair. Lawrence Durrell, that wandering bohemian traveler, used to say that youth is the age of despair. So I think I'm still young.
The dream again
“No, I dream not, since I know
What I am and what I've been.”
― Pedro Calderón de la Barca, Life is a Dream
This feeling of realizing that I am dreaming always returns, that I am getting out of the traps of the evil genius. How to capture all the brilliance of that glow of reason, of light, that settles in front of my eyes, in front of what I see when I really see it? When I see all my life go by and I see it clearly but I feel alone in that understanding? Only one can know oneself. The path becomes fruitful, the keys become confused. I would like to find the truth, because I was deceived by traps. I needed to understand. I thought you could understand me awake and I had to go away from that need to want to be understood by someone who is blind to the things I say. What do I want to show you? Nothing anymore. They were futile attempts. The call goes away, cuts off and the ice burns me. There is no message anymore, more than for me. Only I can understand that spiritual seed. What does it have to do with my path, accepting the loneliness and anguish of the path. The path is narrow and when we try to carry with us more than we can fit on that narrow path, we get stuck. Don't cheat, said the bird, because I spy on you, I watch you. So I dared to cross it alone again. To wake up and repeat to myself "that when even in the soft light of day, everything becomes dark, you should know how to pray your own inner mantra to yourself and find the roots of your authentic seed." You have grown and you have walked. And only what you want to make sense, will, if you mean to. But don't try again in the places you know wrong for your deeper intuition. Keep walking and spread your roots in peace, with gratitude.
Escape
"I see planes go from one place to the other every day, where are they going, I wonder."
That was something I thought insistentely, since I was a girl, apart from the recurring dreams in which I went with a backpack to unknown places. Always, for me, escaping was a fantasy. Luckily I was able to achieve it with some trips. Although now I don't travel as much physically anymore. Partly out of fear, from some not so pleasant experiences I had. But escaping, the verb, is something that always presents itself to me and attracts me as a concept. Escape, escape, escape. You can even escape by drawing. But that is not the point. But this hidden desire that I felt on the trip of mushrooms. To go. To escape. Maybe it's just a momentary and fleeting imagination, it's true. Maybe it's just a way of thinking that it could be different. That something could change. Maybe I'm fooling myself into thinking that by escaping everything, I could be better off. That I could feel less alone or more understood.
In this symphony that I'm playing, the parts are disconnected and all I have to do is search for the pieces through time and space. I don't know when, but one day I will find what I need to complete it and understand it. I don't know how, but I know that deep down I know her very well. And if I listen closely, the bird spies on me, approaches me, until I realize that it is looking at me. I already know the joke. But the bird doesn't have to know that I do know the joke of this whole trap.
The places where we travel always give us something of their personality throughout the journey. Especially if it is a somewhat familiar place, or one that has been traveled through other endless nights. My trip was marked by the following mystical keys:
First clue: there is something stuck there. I need to tell you something important.
Second key: the call arrives, but it is no longer me who should answer it this time. For some reason I am the executing phone that must pass the message to someone else.
Third key: the bird in the tree, spy?
Fourth key: I want to fly, scape, but I don't know where.
Fifth key: it is a symphony and you have to finish composing it. The points of the melody are connected, but only at the end, with the unity of the parts.
I meditate, therefore I am
I am part of all this again. I did this mushroom trip, after attending a Vipassana retreat. I was actually there for only two days. But for some peculiar reason, I began to reflect on something that had been echoing in my mind from there. And that has to do, in part, with a message I heard. What this message said is the following "we come into the world with a seed inside... that we must wake up and make the spiritual seed grow...". It is a message that always sounds old to me, like, from another life, although, from time to time, it always needs new meaning revisions.
Life for me always turned out like this seed waking up, spreading its principles on wanderings and travels. Disruptions, inclinations towards exotic trends. All kinds of mysteries found only on the way.
Cure the glitch
Loneliness. Distress. What gets stuck is the anguish, again. Not being understood. Never feeling understood, but as a failure, and the world sometimes appears as a great hospital, with its indifferent mask and patetic shadows. Most of us have a hard time understanding complexities. But sometimes I don't know when it was that this got stuck and stuck without being able to be expelled into the world, in what way could I express it? I had something to tell you. Because I guess we all have something important to say in moments of despair. I called you more than twenty times and you didn't answer. I thought I had gone crazy and I despaired. Indifference feels so cold. Moments of despair. Lawrence Durrell, that wandering bohemian traveler, used to say that youth is the age of despair. So I think I'm still young.
The dream again
“No, I dream not, since I know
What I am and what I've been.”
― Pedro Calderón de la Barca, Life is a Dream
This feeling of realizing that I am dreaming always returns, that I am getting out of the traps of the evil genius. How to capture all the brilliance of that glow of reason, of light, that settles in front of my eyes, in front of what I see when I really see it? When I see all my life go by and I see it clearly but I feel alone in that understanding? Only one can know oneself. The path becomes fruitful, the keys become confused. I would like to find the truth, because I was deceived by traps. I needed to understand. I thought you could understand me awake and I had to go away from that need to want to be understood by someone who is blind to the things I say. What do I want to show you? Nothing anymore. They were futile attempts. The call goes away, cuts off and the ice burns me. There is no message anymore, more than for me. Only I can understand that spiritual seed. What does it have to do with my path, accepting the loneliness and anguish of the path. The path is narrow and when we try to carry with us more than we can fit on that narrow path, we get stuck. Don't cheat, said the bird, because I spy on you, I watch you. So I dared to cross it alone again. To wake up and repeat to myself "that when even in the soft light of day, everything becomes dark, you should know how to pray your own inner mantra to yourself and find the roots of your authentic seed." You have grown and you have walked. And only what you want to make sense, will, if you mean to. But don't try again in the places you know wrong for your deeper intuition. Keep walking and spread your roots in peace, with gratitude.
Escape
"I see planes go from one place to the other every day, where are they going, I wonder."
That was something I thought insistentely, since I was a girl, apart from the recurring dreams in which I went with a backpack to unknown places. Always, for me, escaping was a fantasy. Luckily I was able to achieve it with some trips. Although now I don't travel as much physically anymore. Partly out of fear, from some not so pleasant experiences I had. But escaping, the verb, is something that always presents itself to me and attracts me as a concept. Escape, escape, escape. You can even escape by drawing. But that is not the point. But this hidden desire that I felt on the trip of mushrooms. To go. To escape. Maybe it's just a momentary and fleeting imagination, it's true. Maybe it's just a way of thinking that it could be different. That something could change. Maybe I'm fooling myself into thinking that by escaping everything, I could be better off. That I could feel less alone or more understood.
In this symphony that I'm playing, the parts are disconnected and all I have to do is search for the pieces through time and space. I don't know when, but one day I will find what I need to complete it and understand it. I don't know how, but I know that deep down I know her very well. And if I listen closely, the bird spies on me, approaches me, until I realize that it is looking at me. I already know the joke. But the bird doesn't have to know that I do know the joke of this whole trap.
