I hadn't smoked DMT in a few weeks since I got a new job recently and hadn't really found time to sleep yet. Last night was the first night in over a week that I'd slept for more than 6 hours, so it seemed appropriate to follow the high, of having slept in, with DMT. I got in position quickly before realising that I had major pre-flight anxiety. I took about 10 minutes to relax and calm my body before taking the biggest hit I could. Unfortunately, this hit wasn't very big since the machine hadn't been charged in a while. I charged the machine with a heaping pile of DMT. I promised myself to try really hard to take a second hit. I told myself that this would be the breakthrough trip. I took a gigantic rip from the machine and held my breath.
As the effects were coming on, I was thinking about my promise to take a second hit. And then, when the trip reached a certain intensity, I realised that I couldn't care less about "breakthough" doses. What I could tell was about to happen to me was exactly what I wanted. I set down the machine and laid back. I realised that I've been focussing too much on "breaking through". As the effects really started to pile on, I realised that words like "breakthrough", "hyperspace", "abstract" and even "indescribable" are absurd in that we think we can use them to describe this, when this is clearly something that defies description. It also defies memory, and as I was coming down from the trip, I realised that the experiences were fading from memory. I remembered all the other times that my memory had been wiped of such wonderful experiences, and I was sad that my normal mind could not retain memory of the thing I had just experienced. Even though I could not really remember the beauty of the experience, I remembered how beautiful it seemed, and I then realised that there were tears on my face, and I began to laugh hysterically.
I probably spent less time in the experience than I spent thinking about the experience after it was over. My main realisation, in the aftermath of the experience, was that trying to describe or even remember the DMT experience is pointless and that any memory I have of what DMT is like is foolishly deceptive in that all I have to go on, in remembering the experience, are dull shadows of what actually occurred. As a consequence, I develop this idea of my trips not being adequate because, from what I can remember, they're not that incredible. In reality, I can only remember 1% of what happened during the trip. The other 99% is a secret that is revealed to me when I smoke DMT, and which will inevitably be forgotten once again. The funny part is that I continue to pursue the DMT experience again and again, even though my excitement and anticipation are based solely on the mere 1% of the memories that I've managed to maintain from past trips.
As the effects were coming on, I was thinking about my promise to take a second hit. And then, when the trip reached a certain intensity, I realised that I couldn't care less about "breakthough" doses. What I could tell was about to happen to me was exactly what I wanted. I set down the machine and laid back. I realised that I've been focussing too much on "breaking through". As the effects really started to pile on, I realised that words like "breakthrough", "hyperspace", "abstract" and even "indescribable" are absurd in that we think we can use them to describe this, when this is clearly something that defies description. It also defies memory, and as I was coming down from the trip, I realised that the experiences were fading from memory. I remembered all the other times that my memory had been wiped of such wonderful experiences, and I was sad that my normal mind could not retain memory of the thing I had just experienced. Even though I could not really remember the beauty of the experience, I remembered how beautiful it seemed, and I then realised that there were tears on my face, and I began to laugh hysterically.
I probably spent less time in the experience than I spent thinking about the experience after it was over. My main realisation, in the aftermath of the experience, was that trying to describe or even remember the DMT experience is pointless and that any memory I have of what DMT is like is foolishly deceptive in that all I have to go on, in remembering the experience, are dull shadows of what actually occurred. As a consequence, I develop this idea of my trips not being adequate because, from what I can remember, they're not that incredible. In reality, I can only remember 1% of what happened during the trip. The other 99% is a secret that is revealed to me when I smoke DMT, and which will inevitably be forgotten once again. The funny part is that I continue to pursue the DMT experience again and again, even though my excitement and anticipation are based solely on the mere 1% of the memories that I've managed to maintain from past trips.
