Pariah Leviticus
Rising Star
A collection of my writings just after return from DMT space. Not all of these are necessarily trip reports, but they were all when directly after return. Most of these were "typed" on my phone or my tablet, but a few are voice to text. All have errors and weird grammar, due to the time they were written and the fact that I often rushed to get as much as I could written down before it evaporated.
It buffets at you. You can feel the physical pressure of that other place. As you come back to your body, you can feel the winds of DMT buffeting you almost as if you were falling back into this realm. It is so very different, but I'm nearly certain that the very placeness of it is significant.
What is it that I learn there in a realm of no language spoken by man's tongue, no structure of man's proportion, and no movement of man's capability? I divest myself of myself, my will, my ego and am burned and crushed down to an essential ichor of bright, spanging motes afloat, awash, and amix with the all that the realm itself comprises... Humility? Yes, I believe so, for in the face of such unfathomable complexity I am but a single bit amidst the vast sea of code.
Why is it always geometry? Do our minds naturally form geometry? That seems absurd... I would think that whatever our minds "made up," would be just so much human natural curves and wet, but no -- we see within the DMT space largely creations of geometry and tessellated fractals. Is that then the core of our beings? And if no, then is that space, the DMT space a real and separate place from that which is within our minds? And, further, does that distinction matter? Is a place any less of a place because it is conjured by us with the equipment given, or any more assuming it lay without?
They laughed and jeared at me tonight, those things that live within the DMT space, and with good reason. How absurd we are at our cores, infinitesimal motes, spatters on the cloak of the universe. So small. So very small. And yet, our purpose so very grand: to live and witness that which is our conscious demesne, to view it in all it's iterations and report back, inevitably, to our central "self," that which we have taken in and thereby grow in understanding. They laughed at my smallness, but I felt what lay within their mirth, an anxious jealousy for that self same ability to grow, learn, and change. Many who have gone on this journey report beings of absolute knowledge and infinite wisdom, but I'm more inclined to feel them as beings lacking the capabilities that we have, and infinitely, inextricably bound to us through their own need to understand.
I decorate my headset as I see fit. Tattoos, piercings, scars... They are all akin to the stickers, baubles, and mods I add to my quest 3. I look down at this skin, this vessel, the host that my conscious rides within and the the marks of age, the marks of ink, the marks of belief. On my left shoulder rides Leviathan, the beast, the holder and keeper of all knowledge. I marvel at what my skin has become, a roadmap of my life. This, my body, my headset, my avatar, for this experience is a beautiful creation of my own. The one thing that is mine. Or, the one "physical" thing that is mine, because the me inside, the me that thinks this reality into being is my only, fully independent possession. Only I own me. Only I control me. I can do anything I want. And as I've said before, the only thing of actual note, is the price.
They mistakenly let me see the headset tonight. Tripping hard I coughed and saw my physical body in it's whole, head, body, arms, legs... I saw them separate from the viewpoint I had, a somewhat plasticine wrap around, 360 degree illusion.
I am entirely separate from my body now I can make my hands move pick up that drink hold it to my lips but it is a separate piece it is a machine that I drive it isn't the real me The real me lives inside this fragile bone encasement inside this 8 lb of meat but does it does it really live in there or does it live elsewhere and is this just an interpreter is this brain that lives inside the skull that lives inside this meat body machine robot tool is it just a receiver is it just a signal coming from somewhere out there some vast consciousness sending out a tendril so that it can see itself against the rest of the universe
Everything everything flowing flowing into it's going now it's it's escaping me but the memory won't I was there I was at the edge of a vast white wall of amazing light and it was broken up with so many colors so many fractals and little faces little faces of the entities maybe that spoke to me and they welcomed me when they were so happy that I was there and I said thank you thank you so much I set it out loud I said I I own this mouth I can I can say these words and the entities I I couldn't see there their bodies really just little sparkling moats that I knew were them were there centers I guess they they welcomed me and then I asked them asked him if I could see mother the mother of the universe the mother of all and they started to fade so I hit again because I didn't want to leave and I begged them not to make or not to let me go time is time is fleeting and they said that that I could come back or maybe I'm making that up right now I don't know if they said that last bit but I didn't get to see mother I tripped a little bit more for a while with some beautiful fractal visions but nothing to compare to how wonderful that first vision was
You know, it's not so much the launch into DMT space that's rough... Hell, it's so fast I barely have time to register it as a fact before it's accomplished. But leaving? Fuck. Leaving can be a beast. I often find myself in a place, a time, a mindset that I don't want to leave behind. The infernal grinding gears, the high pitched drones, the tasselated fractal landscapes, the voices therein -- in that unknown tongue, the warbling mess of communication, that is gibberish low and the highest order of logic both --, are panacea to my heart mind and soul though they sound as if they should be anything but. I don't want to leave that. I want to stay, to learn, to grow within, but the ending always comes. The ocellating music grows steadily lower and slower as the fall begins, the visions darken as I fall away from the brilliant light and spectacle, and the winds buffet my body, pulling at my clothes, my hair, throbbing in my ears.
"The return trip is always the hardest," I mouth as I watch my essence reintegrating into my meat, vibrating, forcing it's way between the atoms that make up this physical form, slamming back down into the body. It's uncomfortable, and at times frightful, though not frightening. When the fall is complete and the winds have ceased, I always feel the tears on my cheeks, and it ends the same. I open my eyes, me again, the me I've always known, the me that drives this vehicle of flesh and bone and blood, the me made up of all the experiences that the consciousness has witnessed. I sit up. I lovingly rub my hands over my face, reintegrating with my residual self image. I stretch, and reach for the lights. I'm back in the now, in the "real," thankful, so very thankful for this wonderful gift, this molecule that shows.
The air there was rarified and sweet where I stood, hands held out like the giving of manna. There were thousands, nay millions of tiny phosphorus beings around my feet. They frightened me at first with their clamoring supplication, I thought they were taking from me, stealing energy, vamporizing my very essence, but then, suddenly, I saw the truth of it and opened my arms wide, giving freely and we all grew and vibrated our way up through the levels my mind and body stretching like taffy, my mouth agape, until, as my supplicants fell away, I found myself in a wooded place, inside a tree it seemed. I took a deep breath, my mouth wide and my lungs filled completely with the sweetest coldest air I've ever known. The wood father looked on over me but let me know that this kingdom was mine and mine alone. And, oh but the air was so fine and pure and I continued to breath it in deeply and greedily. It filled me with such light as I have never known. Filled me up. Made me complete and thought the air was cold, I was warm and safe as I sank back down into my body.
I don't know from bad trip... I know that sometimes it is uncomfortable. Sometimes it feels as if my body is moving a certain way, or there are forces that work against my comfort as it were. Pressures from outside pushing in on me and or a heavy weight on my chest that makes it hard to breath, though I'm not convinced that I need to take the whooping breaths that my mind seems to believe I need to during that time. This especially considering my own normal incredibly low respiration rate. With my body at rest I barely breath. Also, this feels more and more like how my dreams go. Set and setting are important. My own mental state and what I hope to get out of the trip are important. Yes. But in the end, sometimes it's still a bad dream. And sometimes it's a nightmare. Sometimes it feels like death. Sometimes like rebirth. Both are valid experiences in my estimation, and both I consciously seek out.
One, the DMT allows the dream space, our connection to it whether we imbibe or it occurs naturally while we drift in sleep or death presumably
Two the thing(s) that make the vision are like some odd deep sea thing, fleshy and undulating, like the tentacle of an octopus but more detailed. They resemble the Guild highlighters from the original dune movie. Their fleshy bits shape and create the visions we see in the dream scape.
A tight white hallway, I'm looking down at an angle. Millions of beings made to look like perfect spheres, like pool balls, glassine slick and multi colored pulsing with light and life, each an eye with a crazily pulsating pupil, they swarm around each other in repeating fractile waves. It was overwhelming for a moment, then another being came in, or more accurately I became aware of it. It was made of the same smaller beings, the spheres, but now formed into an anthropomorphic form more akin to a tall willowy human, but with wide strong shoulders, and with grand sweeping gestures it proudly displayed the smaller beings as they pulsed and flowed through the hallway in a never ending cascade of brilliant light and color. There were words and thoughts but they were in a strange oft repeating language that I could both understand and not understand at the same time. In retrospect it seems to indicate that life in general and consciousness in specific lies in chains of endless consciousnesses, tiny and less defined that when chained together form a more cohesive more defined consciousness that theoretically, in turn, could combine with it's like to make even more defined and cohesive consciousnesses, ad in finitum. Join the smaller together to make the bigger, then the bigger to make even bigger, repeat repeat repeat until ... God? The universe? Truth? Are they one and the same? Wasn't it Carl Sagan who said we're all stardust?
It buffets at you. You can feel the physical pressure of that other place. As you come back to your body, you can feel the winds of DMT buffeting you almost as if you were falling back into this realm. It is so very different, but I'm nearly certain that the very placeness of it is significant.
What is it that I learn there in a realm of no language spoken by man's tongue, no structure of man's proportion, and no movement of man's capability? I divest myself of myself, my will, my ego and am burned and crushed down to an essential ichor of bright, spanging motes afloat, awash, and amix with the all that the realm itself comprises... Humility? Yes, I believe so, for in the face of such unfathomable complexity I am but a single bit amidst the vast sea of code.
Why is it always geometry? Do our minds naturally form geometry? That seems absurd... I would think that whatever our minds "made up," would be just so much human natural curves and wet, but no -- we see within the DMT space largely creations of geometry and tessellated fractals. Is that then the core of our beings? And if no, then is that space, the DMT space a real and separate place from that which is within our minds? And, further, does that distinction matter? Is a place any less of a place because it is conjured by us with the equipment given, or any more assuming it lay without?
They laughed and jeared at me tonight, those things that live within the DMT space, and with good reason. How absurd we are at our cores, infinitesimal motes, spatters on the cloak of the universe. So small. So very small. And yet, our purpose so very grand: to live and witness that which is our conscious demesne, to view it in all it's iterations and report back, inevitably, to our central "self," that which we have taken in and thereby grow in understanding. They laughed at my smallness, but I felt what lay within their mirth, an anxious jealousy for that self same ability to grow, learn, and change. Many who have gone on this journey report beings of absolute knowledge and infinite wisdom, but I'm more inclined to feel them as beings lacking the capabilities that we have, and infinitely, inextricably bound to us through their own need to understand.
I decorate my headset as I see fit. Tattoos, piercings, scars... They are all akin to the stickers, baubles, and mods I add to my quest 3. I look down at this skin, this vessel, the host that my conscious rides within and the the marks of age, the marks of ink, the marks of belief. On my left shoulder rides Leviathan, the beast, the holder and keeper of all knowledge. I marvel at what my skin has become, a roadmap of my life. This, my body, my headset, my avatar, for this experience is a beautiful creation of my own. The one thing that is mine. Or, the one "physical" thing that is mine, because the me inside, the me that thinks this reality into being is my only, fully independent possession. Only I own me. Only I control me. I can do anything I want. And as I've said before, the only thing of actual note, is the price.
They mistakenly let me see the headset tonight. Tripping hard I coughed and saw my physical body in it's whole, head, body, arms, legs... I saw them separate from the viewpoint I had, a somewhat plasticine wrap around, 360 degree illusion.
I am entirely separate from my body now I can make my hands move pick up that drink hold it to my lips but it is a separate piece it is a machine that I drive it isn't the real me The real me lives inside this fragile bone encasement inside this 8 lb of meat but does it does it really live in there or does it live elsewhere and is this just an interpreter is this brain that lives inside the skull that lives inside this meat body machine robot tool is it just a receiver is it just a signal coming from somewhere out there some vast consciousness sending out a tendril so that it can see itself against the rest of the universe
Everything everything flowing flowing into it's going now it's it's escaping me but the memory won't I was there I was at the edge of a vast white wall of amazing light and it was broken up with so many colors so many fractals and little faces little faces of the entities maybe that spoke to me and they welcomed me when they were so happy that I was there and I said thank you thank you so much I set it out loud I said I I own this mouth I can I can say these words and the entities I I couldn't see there their bodies really just little sparkling moats that I knew were them were there centers I guess they they welcomed me and then I asked them asked him if I could see mother the mother of the universe the mother of all and they started to fade so I hit again because I didn't want to leave and I begged them not to make or not to let me go time is time is fleeting and they said that that I could come back or maybe I'm making that up right now I don't know if they said that last bit but I didn't get to see mother I tripped a little bit more for a while with some beautiful fractal visions but nothing to compare to how wonderful that first vision was
You know, it's not so much the launch into DMT space that's rough... Hell, it's so fast I barely have time to register it as a fact before it's accomplished. But leaving? Fuck. Leaving can be a beast. I often find myself in a place, a time, a mindset that I don't want to leave behind. The infernal grinding gears, the high pitched drones, the tasselated fractal landscapes, the voices therein -- in that unknown tongue, the warbling mess of communication, that is gibberish low and the highest order of logic both --, are panacea to my heart mind and soul though they sound as if they should be anything but. I don't want to leave that. I want to stay, to learn, to grow within, but the ending always comes. The ocellating music grows steadily lower and slower as the fall begins, the visions darken as I fall away from the brilliant light and spectacle, and the winds buffet my body, pulling at my clothes, my hair, throbbing in my ears.
"The return trip is always the hardest," I mouth as I watch my essence reintegrating into my meat, vibrating, forcing it's way between the atoms that make up this physical form, slamming back down into the body. It's uncomfortable, and at times frightful, though not frightening. When the fall is complete and the winds have ceased, I always feel the tears on my cheeks, and it ends the same. I open my eyes, me again, the me I've always known, the me that drives this vehicle of flesh and bone and blood, the me made up of all the experiences that the consciousness has witnessed. I sit up. I lovingly rub my hands over my face, reintegrating with my residual self image. I stretch, and reach for the lights. I'm back in the now, in the "real," thankful, so very thankful for this wonderful gift, this molecule that shows.
The air there was rarified and sweet where I stood, hands held out like the giving of manna. There were thousands, nay millions of tiny phosphorus beings around my feet. They frightened me at first with their clamoring supplication, I thought they were taking from me, stealing energy, vamporizing my very essence, but then, suddenly, I saw the truth of it and opened my arms wide, giving freely and we all grew and vibrated our way up through the levels my mind and body stretching like taffy, my mouth agape, until, as my supplicants fell away, I found myself in a wooded place, inside a tree it seemed. I took a deep breath, my mouth wide and my lungs filled completely with the sweetest coldest air I've ever known. The wood father looked on over me but let me know that this kingdom was mine and mine alone. And, oh but the air was so fine and pure and I continued to breath it in deeply and greedily. It filled me with such light as I have never known. Filled me up. Made me complete and thought the air was cold, I was warm and safe as I sank back down into my body.
I don't know from bad trip... I know that sometimes it is uncomfortable. Sometimes it feels as if my body is moving a certain way, or there are forces that work against my comfort as it were. Pressures from outside pushing in on me and or a heavy weight on my chest that makes it hard to breath, though I'm not convinced that I need to take the whooping breaths that my mind seems to believe I need to during that time. This especially considering my own normal incredibly low respiration rate. With my body at rest I barely breath. Also, this feels more and more like how my dreams go. Set and setting are important. My own mental state and what I hope to get out of the trip are important. Yes. But in the end, sometimes it's still a bad dream. And sometimes it's a nightmare. Sometimes it feels like death. Sometimes like rebirth. Both are valid experiences in my estimation, and both I consciously seek out.
One, the DMT allows the dream space, our connection to it whether we imbibe or it occurs naturally while we drift in sleep or death presumably
Two the thing(s) that make the vision are like some odd deep sea thing, fleshy and undulating, like the tentacle of an octopus but more detailed. They resemble the Guild highlighters from the original dune movie. Their fleshy bits shape and create the visions we see in the dream scape.
A tight white hallway, I'm looking down at an angle. Millions of beings made to look like perfect spheres, like pool balls, glassine slick and multi colored pulsing with light and life, each an eye with a crazily pulsating pupil, they swarm around each other in repeating fractile waves. It was overwhelming for a moment, then another being came in, or more accurately I became aware of it. It was made of the same smaller beings, the spheres, but now formed into an anthropomorphic form more akin to a tall willowy human, but with wide strong shoulders, and with grand sweeping gestures it proudly displayed the smaller beings as they pulsed and flowed through the hallway in a never ending cascade of brilliant light and color. There were words and thoughts but they were in a strange oft repeating language that I could both understand and not understand at the same time. In retrospect it seems to indicate that life in general and consciousness in specific lies in chains of endless consciousnesses, tiny and less defined that when chained together form a more cohesive more defined consciousness that theoretically, in turn, could combine with it's like to make even more defined and cohesive consciousnesses, ad in finitum. Join the smaller together to make the bigger, then the bigger to make even bigger, repeat repeat repeat until ... God? The universe? Truth? Are they one and the same? Wasn't it Carl Sagan who said we're all stardust?