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Last seen: 2 years, 9 months Crafter of the SilmarilsRegistered: 05/07/06Loc: TexasLast seen: 2 years, 9 months The DMT Chronicles: Parmenides, Plato, and the Psychedelic - Published by The Translinguistic Press 3

#6447044 - 01/10/07 11:02 PM (13 years, 8 months ago) Edit Reply Quote Quick Reply

The DMT Chronicles: Parmenides, Plato, and the Psychedelic has been published by The Translinguistic Press.



Here's a link to the book:



http://www.amazon.com/DMT-Chroni cles-Parmenides-Plato-Psychedelic /dp/0982730209/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8 &s=books&qid=1283473426&sr=8-1



If you are interested, these first few chapters may be taken by anyone and published on any website.



Updated 9/04/09



Ch. 1 - The DMT Chronicles



For a good reason, I am going to keep my authentically legal name a secret; however, I will reveal somewhat personal information about myself. Currently, I am a senior at a Texas university, majoring in Psychology and minoring in Philosophy. This is my seventh semester of college and my last. I, alas, am going to graduate soon.

It was Terence McKenna who once said that psychedelics are to Psychology as telescopes were to Astronomy. Indeed, this was a statement that I placed a tremendous amount of emphasis upon, having allowed it to dictate what my major at my school would be; after all, I have always been fascinated with the psychedelic experience, and I will always be utterly and irrevocably in love with it.

I have amassed over 300 psychedelic experiences with variously different psychedelic substances. I started tripping when I was sixteen, and since then, I have fluently been immersing myself in the psychedelic terrain. I am now 21, and the thing that has pertinently weighed the most in my life is DMT. When I first began to use DMT, I started a post on the Shroomery, a psychedelic message board. The thread was entitled The DMT Chronicles: Traversing beyond the Psychedelic.

The DMT Chronicles: Traversing beyond the Psychedelic ended up attaining somewhat of a following, having accumulated over 30,000 views. After I finished The DMT Chronicles: Traversing beyond the Psychedelic, I was shortly contacted by Krystle Cole, the former wife of Gordon Todd Skinner, an infamous LSD chemist; along with William Leonard Pickard, he produced 90% of the world’s supply of LSD. Krystle Cole wanted to know if she could publish The DMT Chronicles in NeuroSoup: Yearly Review 2008. I readily agreed to the request, for I had believed that The DMT Chronicles: Traversing beyond the Psychedelic was finalized; unfortunately, I was extremely wrong.

There is much that is absent in The DMT Chronicles: Traversing beyond the Psychedelic, which is a rough sketch of what is later to come. Many times I would write the trip report right after having done DMT, and I wouldn’t even write what dosage I took. There, too, are a handful of trip reports on DMT that are not present, including an anal injection of 500 milligrams. Also, I left out a lot of pertinent information about my personal life. For instance, I was a psychedelic chemist, having made many psychedelic substances, such as Psilocybin, Psilocin, Mescaline, and DMT. In addition, I neglected to write about other psychedelic substances that I have taken, which is a task I will strive to accomplish in this book.

Most importantly, this book will have imbedded into it a significantly amplified account of my DMT trips. I say that these trip reports are amplified for one reason. Finally, I have unquestioningly come to comprehend exactly what they mean. For instance, in my trip reports, you will hear me speak quite a lot about meetings with an Elf Goddess; however, you will notice that I unwisely neglected to include these preposterously stunning accounts in The DMT Chronicles: Traversing beyond the Psychedelic, and the reason as to why I left them out was because I quite simply and utterly didn’t understand what they had meant! I had been absolutely, wholly, and totally befuddled as to what this Elf Goddess was benevolently telling me. Yes, I knew she was telling me something, but I just didn’t know what that something was. After around three years, I have finally come to understand what she was saying.

Also, in this account of my DMT experiences, with the exception of my first few DMT trips, I will primarily be excluding those DMT ventures that I did not have bewitchingly and philosophically intriguing Breakthroughs on.

It’s interestingly peculiar how I and many others immediately tend to write out their trip report right after having come down from their trip; that way, we figure, we won’t forget anything, material that very well may perhaps dissipate with the undulating progression of unending time. Finally, I have come to the realization that sometimes, when you sit on things for a periodically elongated period of time, you will come to a specific conclusion in relation to your psychedelic experiences.

I never spoke about how all of my psychedelic ingestion has affected me. I never spoke about how a massive DMT synthesis I had begun drove me into developing an astronomically gargantuan surge of insanity. Lastly and most importantly, I never talked about two remarkably fascinating guys, beings who are just as psychedelic as McKenna. I never talked once about the two people I undoubtedly think are the most renowned and prodigious philosophers of all time. These two exceptionally notable individuals are Parmenides and Plato.

I will be rigorously, circumspectly, and conscientiously analyzing Platonic Forms, and towards the end of the book, I will propose a way by which one can save the Forms; yes, the question that is brought up in Plato’s Parmenides of how to save the Forms will be hopefully and elaborately answered in this book. I see an enormous similarity between Plato’s Forms and the psychedelic experience, and it is these similarities that I will strive to transparently enact in this book. Also, I believe that Plato's Parmenides reveals the greatest secret to the psychedelic experience. Through means of dialectic, I will not only attempt to make this secret clear, but I will, too, attempt to provide logical evidence that comfortably embraces this notion.

Although this book is richly psychedelic at heart, it is also predominantly philosophical in nature, emphasizing a synergistic blend of both psychedelia and philosophy, sumptuously producing a uniquely contrived and singular study. The philosophy of both Parmenides and Plato will be abundantly enshrined with a psychedelic feel that will hopefully concoct a lavish mergence of the two fascinating fields.

I remember when I was in an Introduction to Philosophy class over at school. I thought it would be fairly interesting. Little did I know that the lecture the professor was going over was going to evolve into something that I, without a doubt, could form a sophisticated and intellectual parallel with to the psychedelic experience. He, of course, was talking about Plato. I found this speech to be intriguingly and captivatingly appealing to my heightened senses. It was a start, I thought, a start to a new beginning of thought for me. Although this professor didn’t have dealings whatsoever to the psychedelic experience, I knew that there had to be others that had been pleasingly grabbed and hooked by Plato’s views and the psychedelic experience.

Suddenly, after a long search for somebody with a similarly pulled mindset, I found him, staring at the middle of an intersection, effectively appearing to be completely unabridged at what was going on around him; I knew that I was meant to find this guy, an absurdly and outrageously intelligent man. I had found him in Houston. He asked me to call him Mithrandir. It was this individual who showed me that Terence McKenna was actually wrong about one thing; psychedelics weren’t to Psychology as telescopes were to Astronomy, but psychedelics were to Philosophy as telescopes were to Astronomy. I shortly became his apprentice, and he became my teacher. A modern day don Juan with a voluptuously abundant amount of knowledge on Greek Philosophy was what he was.

If you are a philosopher and feel that the psychedelic experience is an abundantly insidious quality of life that beguiles one from virtue, then I want to make it extensively clear that my intention with this book is not at all to degenerate and consistently corrupt your field. I simply see it as my duty to highlight the strikingly similar parallels that exist between Parmenides, Plato, and the psychedelic experience. My intention, I believe, is a virtuous one, so take pity on me if the result of this book turns out to unfortunately be nonvirtuous.

I would like to conclude this chapter by telling you that some have called me smart, while others have called me a raving lunatic, a merely preposterous person with a rather absurd and insidious outlook on life. I think that I am an ignorant person, one that is never sure whether something is right or wrong. Plato says that wisdom is to know that one does not know what one does not know. Indeed, I think that I am wise, for I know that I am ignorant, and I accept this instead of attempting to camouflage it by saying that I know everything when I truly don’t.

Therefore, when you immerse yourself inside this book, I beg you to take heed, understanding and comprehending that what I am about to say may very well not be the truth. Without much further talk, I invite you to indulge yourself in The DMT Chronicles: Parmenides, Plato, and the Psychedelic.



Ch. 2 – Mushrooms, the Eleusinian Mysteries, and the Psychedelic







When I was seventeen, I went mushroom hunting for my first time in Katy, Texas. Luck permitted me to ensnare a handful of Psilocybe Cubensis mushrooms. I was overwhelmed with an irrational amount of joy for having procured these mushrooms. As a matter of fact, I was so excited about my find to where I ate the mushrooms upon arriving back at my house, only to embark on one of the most fascinating expeditions of my life.

I remember lying on my bed with my chest faced upwards, watching purple and blue traces creep up on my ceiling and all over my walls. What a magnificent sight to behold! I remember the fairly unique thought process that had erupted inside of my head. This thought process was controlled by a foreign voice that I had never heard before; the voice was the psychedelic. I remember the contorted look on my mother’s face, as she spontaneously appeared in my room to ask me what I wanted for dinner. I remember feeling a heavily profound sense of alien reasoning. I remember landing safely down on the smooth runway, as my trip came to an unanticipated finalization.

That was it; I was hooked. I had found something that was more real than the reality I had perceived prior to my trip. I had discovered the greatest secret of life: I had undoubtedly found the psychedelic experience. Actually, as many like to say, I didn’t find it, but it found me. For once in my life, I was honestly interested and curios about something, for this something was so bizarre, so utterly against everything I had been taught, and so absurdly contrary to all the scientific principles I had been engrained with from school. The psychedelic experience contrasted every little piece of knowledge I had ever assimilated, and it was this reason, along with the fact that it can drive one quite literally insane, as to why I found it so enticing.

I quickly dabbled and immersed myself in all of the psychedelic literature I could find. I readily took a huge liking to Terence McKenna, Dennis McKenna, D.M. Turner, and Alexander Shulgin. After reading all of McKenna’s writings, I, of course, heard about the Eleusinian Mysteries, Greek ceremonies that were performed in honor of the goddess Demeter and her daughter Persephone. Now, if you are familiar with the Eleusinian Mysteries and do not believe that some kind of psychedelic agent was used during the ceremonies, then you must be particularly unreceptive; the evidence that people ingested psychedelics during the Eleusinian Mysteries is incontrovertible, I think.

Most people believe that LSA was the psychedelic chemical that was taken. Due to my personal experiences with LSA, I do not think that LSA was the substance that caused people from foreign lands to flock to Eleusis to participate in the Eleusinian Mysteries. Instead, I agree with McKenna here. McKenna believed that Psilocybin mushrooms were the active substances that were ingested. Personally, I would like to refine this, saying that instead of eating Psilocybin mushrooms, the participants drank a tea containing both Psilocybin and Psilocin or just Psilocin.

The participants of the Mysteries drank a potion known as the kykeon. There isn’t much information suggesting that the kykeon was a solid food, which disregards the theory that they ate whole Psilocybin mushrooms. However, they could’ve easily extracted the active agents from the Psilocybin mushrooms, for Psilocybin and Psilocin are readily soluble in H2O. Through the use of heat as a catalyst, the extracted Psilocybin could’ve been easily converted to Psilocin via the cleaving of its Phosphorus atom. This, I think, is what they drank: Synthesized Psilocin. It could have been produced in massive quantities through simple techniques that were most likely known to the Greeks.

I have thought long and hard about whether Socrates took part in the Eleusinian Mysteries, and I have to say that I think Plato wanted to tell his audience that Socrates did participate in the Eleusinian Mysteries.

I say this for three reasons.

Firstly, in The Symposium, Diotima says, “even you, Socrates, could probably come to be initiated into these rites of love.” Initiated means myetheies, which is related to the word, myesis, the first level of initiation into the Eleusinian mysteries.

I think that Plato is clearly making a reference here to the Eleusinian Mysteries, drawing a parallel between love and the Mysteries. Therefore, if Socrates could have participated, just as any Greek could have, the odds are that he most likely did participate, especially considering that Plato, his pupil, was involved. Plato could have partaken in the Mysteries simply to follow in his teacher’s wake. I don’t see why Plato would make a reference here to the Mysteries if Socrates did not participate in them. I think Plato is trying to hint to the reader that Socrates actually did partake.

Secondly and more importantly, in Meno, Plato has Socrates making a reference to the Mysteries, explaining to Meno that if he could stay for the initiations next week, he would then be able to better understand Socrates’ answers. If Socrates did not partake in the Mysteries, then how could he possibly know whether or not the initiations would better help Meno comprehend his answers? He necessarily would have had to have partaken in the Mysteries in order to know whether or not the initiations would be beneficial to Meno. On another note, this also implies that Socrates was going to attend the Mysteries next week, so even if he had not participated in the past, he would partake in the future.

Thirdly and most importantly, Socrates is described by Plato as being a revealer of The Eleusinian Mysteries in Phaedrus. Therefore, I knew that these two philosophers, Socrates and Plato, were of significance to the psychedelic experience. If anybody revealed the secrets of the Eleusinian Mysteries, then they were subject to execution. What was the secret? The secret was that the participants ingested a psychedelic, I believe.

There were a few individuals that revealed the secret of the Eleusinian Mysteries, and these people were punished harshly through execution. Was Socrates one of these individuals? Without a doubt, I definitely think so.

Plato writes that Socrates was persecuted by Meletus for corrupting the youth, inventing new gods, and disregarding those gods that existed. Now, if that doesn’t intricately parallel psychedelic intake, then I don’t know what does. Why, though, did Plato write that Socrates was being persecuted for corrupting the youth, inventing new gods, and disregarding those gods that existed, instead of saying that Socrates was persecuted for taking and promoting the psychedelic that was central to the Eleusinian Mysteries? Well, Plato wrote this, because if he truly wrote that Socrates was being persecuted for taking psychedelics, then he would have been at risk for execution, for he would have been revealing and unraveling to the public the secret of The Eleusinian Mysteries.

Socrates is one of the few philosophers in his ring that looked forward to death. Indeed, all of the other people present at Socrates’ execution were in hysterics. This suggests that perhaps Plato, too, would have seen death as something one wishes to postpone, thereby resulting in him camouflaging the reason as to why Socrates was persecuted. Plato gave us hints, however, as to why Socrates was executed, and it’s these hints, I believe, that he intended us to use in order to decipher the truth.

I joined the most superior psychedelic message board on the Internet: The Shroomery. Through the Shroomery, I ended up meeting my first psychedelic mentor. His name was Yessup, and he was an amazing mushroom hunter, one of the best in Texas. Like me, he was a regular Cannabis user, having smoked Cannabis for most of his life. He was twenty years older than me, had three kids, and a wife. He knew of the best mushroom hunting grounds in the state of Texas, including the renowned Aria 51, a secret area discovered solely by him.

Aria 51 was on government owned property, meaning that we could not get arrested for trespassing. To be on the safe side, we would regularly bring fishing poles in case we were seen, for there was a river in Aria 51. Aria 51 held a rather abundant array of cattle, meaning that there was a ton of cow poop, a particularly fine substrate for mushrooms to grow on. Every single Psilocybin containing mushroom that is native to Texas can be found at this one spot. There are enormous Psilocybe Cubensis mushrooms, Copelandia Cyanescens mushrooms, Panaeolus Subbalteatus mushrooms, and Gymnopilus Spectabilis mushrooms. There also are numerous poisonous mushrooms, such as Chlorophyllum Molybdites, and there are also numerous edible mushrooms, such as Chanterelles. The two of us would take many trips to Aria 51, capturing numerous psychedelic and edible mushrooms.

Here is a photo of me in Aria 51.



Thus, I began to repeatedly use psychedelic mushrooms around once every week and a half to two weeks. There are many trips that I had in which the psychedelic profusely rambled on with intuitions. Here follows a conversation that I had with the psychedelic that I recorded.

“Let us begin,” said the psychedelic without further ado, cracking her fingers. “I am going to need you to think back ten thousand years ago, the time in which the Agricultural Revolution took place. As civilization tried to erupt out of the Earth, chaos and mayhem were everywhere. Suddenly, one wise man stepped forward and made himself the leader, dubbing himself The Apogeic Man. He established the government, which thereby pacified all of the unruliness. This allowed civilization to blossom beautifully. There was a certain creation that was made by The Apogeic Man. This creation indirectly coerced people to sway their will to the strict will of the government, to the will of The Apogeic Man. The greatest attribute about this creation is that people are unaware of its mind controlling powers, for The Apogeic Man created it ever so slyly and carefully. He did a superb job.”

The psychedelic took a small pause. My head was held high in rapt attention, soaking in every one of the psychedelic’s words.

“You need to understand two things,” said the psychedelic. “You need to understand how The Apogeic Man created this creation, and you need to understand what this creation is. The Apogeic Man, through his psychedelic use, discovered the creation that would keep civilization structured, ordered, and stable. Psychedelics allowed him to discover doors that were invisible to the ordinary eye. Eventually, he was able to unlock these doors and gain the vast secrets that they held deep in their abyss.”

“Ok,” I hungrily said, wanting to hear more.

“Therefore,” said the psychedelic, continuing, “in general, psychedelics allowed The Apogeic Man to study humans. Psychedelics taught him what he needed to know to stop all of the chaos that ran amuck right after the Agricultural Revolution occurred. The Apogeic Man knew that there needed to be a form of rule, a government. Thus, he established one. In order to run his government properly, he needed the creation. The creation was based upon a principle.”

The psychedelic stopped for a moment. She was feeling rather parched, so she took a couple of sips of some deliciously wet water. Impatiently, I tapped my fingers on my thighs; I was eager to hear the principle. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I carelessly broke the silence.

“Do carry on,” I said rapidly.

“Sorry,” the psychedelic apologized. “The Apogeic Man made a profound discovery, and this is what he found: Every human being has an unconscious, inherent need to alter their consciousness. Notice how I did not say that every human being has an inherent desire to alter their consciousness. No, it’s not a desire; it’s a need. If this need is not met, then the human body, both physiologically and psychologically, will be unable to function. If a human being does not fulfill this need, then the human will die.”

The psychedelic paused. Eventually, she started back up again.

“This unconscious, inherent need is met on different levels in certain people. For some people, the need will be fulfilled on this level, and for other people, the need will be met on that level,” the psychedelic said, waving her hands sporadically in the air. “No two individuals are the same or even remotely like each other. Humanity is extremely diverse, and although humans are similar in some ways, they are far different in more ways than they are similar.”

“The simplest of people,” the psychedelic said, carrying on, “have this need met through sleep, which is truly a psychedelic experience. Becoming exhausted from conscious awareness, naturally, the body induces sleep, and thereby alters the consciousness of the individual. Through sleep, the altering of one’s consciousness, the body has its biological need met and becomes fully recharged.

“Interesting,” I said truthfully, smiling.

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” said the psychedelic, meeting my smile with a smile of her own. “The people above the simplest of people will not fulfill their unconscious, inherent need merely by sleeping. No, they need something else. Therefore, they manipulate themselves into altered states of consciousness through the use of drugs. A drug is a mechanism that triggers an individual into accepting their culture. A drug makes one fit into the puzzle. A drug is a conditioner. Thus, you have some people whose need is fulfilled simply through the process of sleep, and you have others whose need is fulfilled through the process of sleep combined with the use of drugs. Now, that leaves us with one more class of people.”

“Okay,” I said excitedly.

“This last group of people alters their consciousness through means of psychedelic substances,” said the psychedelic importantly. “These people don’t simply have their unconscious, inherent need met through sleep or drug use. Their need is met through the use of psychedelics. What is a psychedelic? A psychedelic is a mechanism that triggers an individual into questioning their culture. A psychedelic makes one not fit into the puzzle. A psychedelic is a deconditioner. A psychedelic also produces a profound and revelational experience that has the potential of shattering one’ Ego.”

“I said earlier,” said the psychedelic, “that if the need of altering one’s consciousness is not met, then the psychological mind and the biological body will not be able to properly function, resulting in death. Let us think about this. What happens if a person does not sleep for one reason or another?”

Without the slightest sign of waiting, the psychedelic continued.

“If a person does not get sleep, then their need is not being met. If the human can not meet the need voluntarily through the use of their own free will, then the human body eventually coerces the human to enter into altered states of consciousness. Involuntarily, devoid of free will, the human body transforms one’s state of consciousness. If you can’t meet your need, then your body will for you. Now, let’s return to my original question. What happens if a person does not sleep for one reason or another?”

“Oh!” I said suddenly, slapping my forehead, as a light switch turned on. “If a person can not sleep, then they are forced to hallucinate. Since the human is voluntarily unable to do so, the body meets the need for them.”

“Well done,” said the psychedelic contentedly. “If a human can not alter their consciousness out of their own accord, then they are tossed into a psychedelic trip by their body. They have no choice; since they have a need that needs to be met, they are forced to trip. That goes to show you just how significant this need is. If this need is not met, then a person can not survive. If one does not get sleep, and if one’s body is incapable of biologically inducing a psychedelic trip, then that human will not be able to function. Eventually, this inability to fulfill the inherent, unconscious need results in the destruction of the person.”

“Why is the need inherent?” I asked promptly.

“Well,” answered the psychedelic softly, “the need is inherent, for it is a permanent, absolutely inseparable element that exists in each and every human. There is no one human being who can survive by not having their consciousness altered on a regular basis. On the simplest of terms, have you ever heard of a human who didn’t sleep?”

“No,” I answered honestly.

“Exactly,” answered the psychedelic lightly. “All humans must sleep. The majority of humans must not only sleep, but they must also use drugs. Finally, a minority of people must not only sleep, but they must also use psychedelics. There are, of course, exceptions; for instance, a person who sleeps may also use a combination of drugs and psychedelics.”

“Why is the need unconscious?” I blurted out.

“Well,” answered the psychedelic automatically, “the need is unconscious, for human beings are completely unaware of its presence. Here’s a good way to put it: Have you ever heard of somebody say, “Oh, I have to go to sleep, because if I don’t, I will be forced to trip.”?”

“Nope,” I answered with relish.

“That’s right. You haven’t,” said the psychedelic rapidly, “because all people, at first, are unaware of the fact that if they don’t sleep, they will trip. At first, all people are unaware of the fact that they must alter their consciousness in order to survive. However, just like all elements that are unconscious, this unconscious need has the potential of manifesting itself into the domain that holds the conscious; the unconscious can become conscious.”

“How does one make this unconscious need conscious?” I asked curiously.

“Well,” said the psychedelic importantly, “The Apogeic Man was the first person who was able to make this unconscious need conscious, and he did this by taking a lot of psychedelic substances.”

“I see,” I said quietly.

“When you take a psychedelic,” carried on the psychedelic, “some of the elements in the human psyche that dwelled in its depths are going to reach its surface. Some of the elements that floated on the surface are going to sink to the bottom. Some of the elements that were on the surface or in the depths are going to make it to the mid section. Psychedelic intake causes these elements to move around.”

“So this is how The Apogeic Man discovered this secret?” I asked.

“Yes,” the psychedelic said. “This is how. You must understand that the unlocking of this mystery gave The Apogeic Man information he was in much need of. Ten thousand years ago, he was trying to understand human beings; he was trying to figure out a way in which he could create a structured, ordered, and stable society. This principle that he discovered served as an instructional manual for the first creation.”



Updated 9/14/09



Ch. 3 – The Greatest Government Conspiracy







It was at this time that I moved in the heart of Texas for college. I was absolutely enamored by the psychedelic experience, becoming enthralled by virtually every little thing that was intricately related to it. I heard whispers here and there about a psychedelic substance known as Dimethyltryptamine, a molecule that was reputedly understood by many as being the most powerful psychedelic in the World. Whenever I heard somebody speak of DMT, it was always in a manner of reverence and respect, as if they were scared that DMT was going to sporadically annihilate them on the spot; indeed, it became clear to me that many feared DMT.

Suddenly, I heard of it: I heard of DMT: The Spirit Molecule by Rick Strassman. I was utterly delighted at the fairly engaging work. I learned a lot about DMT. I was extremely interested by the fact that DMT is an endogenous drug, signifying that it is encapsulated in our human bodies. Even though Strassman provided some interesting postulations concerning DMT, there are, of course, no theories concerning DMT that are more effortlessly fascinating than those contrived by Terence McKenna.

The whole concept of coming into contact with alien life forms known as Self-Transforming Machine Elves mesmerizingly put me into a state of awe. I was inspired and innovated, bemused and bewildered. The one thing that strikingly surprised me was how little information I could find on these Self-Transforming Machine Elves. Who were these Elves? Other than reading that they were foreign beings one comes into contact with through the use of DMT, I heard of nothing else. No matter how much I searched, I always failed to find out data on the Elves.

Through the help of my best friend, a kind fellow who lived in Humboldt, I began to attain a sufficient supply of some superb LSD. Therefore, I began to use acid quite a few times. I found it to be appealing, and I definitely found it to be a deconditioner. I found the visuals to be enigmatic, and I found the feel to be foreign. However, like McKenna, I noticed that there was something better, something greater, and something far superior that the mushrooms reveal to their users. I noticed that the mushrooms better portrayed the truth. Thus, I went back to using Psilocybin containing mushrooms regularly. I didn’t necessarily stop taking LSD, for I still found it useful.

One thing that I began to notice about the psychedelic experience is that there’s a negative stigma associated with it. The majority of people find that there is no positive benefit one can attain from the psychedelic experience. I find this assertion downright preposterous. Yes, I do agree that the psychedelic experience can be dangerous in the wrong hands; however, in the right hands, the psychedelic experience can concoct an elaborate array of positive results. If this is the truth, which it is, then why do so many people think that the psychedelic experience is such a bad thing?

Plato answered the question for me in Gorgias. In Gorgias, Plato presents an interesting scenario: A medical doctor and a gifted orator argue over a medical topic in front of a crowd of listeners. Who will the crowd of listeners agree with? They, of course, will agree with the gifted orator, for the two of them are ignorant on the topic, while the medical doctor has knowledge on it. Therefore, the truth is not viewed by the crowd as the truth, but that which is false, the word of the orator, is taken as the truth.

In a lot of ways, that’s the way it is with the psychedelic experience. Most of humanity is ignorant when it comes to the psychedelic experience. Therefore, when a person that is fluent in the psychedelic experience argues against a person that is not fluent, the person that is not fluent is going to be seen by the majority as being the truth holder, for the majority is comprised of the people that are ignorant of the psychedelic experience. This is one of the reasons why the majority of people think that Terence McKenna is a nut, while others, like myself, find him to be an absolute genius.

I began to mass produce psychedelic mushrooms in my dormitory. I take great pride in the fact that I never got caught, especially considering the pounds and pounds of P. Cubensis mushrooms I grew. If I would’ve gotten caught, I would have dutifully gone to jail, for I, like Socrates, choose to abide by the consequences that society dishes out. Since I choose to freely live in this society, it would only be right for me to coincide with the consequences that society ordains. After all, what’s a society when the breakers of rules do not follow the consequences to their actions? The society is not a very structured, ordered, and stable one.

Here are a few photos of some mushrooms I grew.











I indulged myself in the fruits of my labor, came yet again into contact with that extraterrestrial voice of the psychedelic, and recorded what bypassed.

“Well,” spoke the psychedelic quietly, “I had not expected you this early.”

“Sorry,” I said apologetically, really meaning it.

“Oh, it’s fine,” said the psychedelic hastily, waving my apology to the side. “Today, my lesson will begin where the last one left off.”

“Anyways,” said the psychedelic ardently, “let us recall what the first principle was that The Apogeic Man discovered. He knew that every human being has an unconscious, inherent need to alter their consciousness, and therefore, he used this principle as an unassailable weapon. This principle, which nobody else discovered before him, served as the instructional manual for his creation.”

The psychedelic took a small break, savoring the sunlight that seeped through the windows and into her room.

“The Apogeic Man lived ten thousand years ago,” recounted the psychedelic absentmindedly. “He was an Agriculturalist, a rebel in accordance to the Hunter-Gathering way of life. He used to be a Hunter-Gatherer; however, he decided to put down his spear and pick up the plow, for he felt the Agricultural way of life was far superior. Thus, he chose to destroy the Hunter-Gatherers. He knew one important fact that would assist him in this endeavor. He understood that human beings have an unconscious, inherent need to alter their consciousness. He understood that all humans alter their consciousness one way or another, freely or unfreely, and consciously or unconsciously.”

“For a long period of time,” continued the psychedelic genially, “The Apogeic Man studied the history of humanity. Ever piece of writing and every book served as an outlet of information, a glimpse into the past, a way by which to see patterns, draw lines, and connect the dots.”

“The Apogeic Man,” said the psychedelic delicately, “saw that there were primarily two ways by which human beings had altered their consciousness in the past. For one, all humans slept. For another, quite a lot of humans, but not all, took psychedelics, and therefore, they altered their consciousness knowingly. Naturally occurring psychedelic have been on this Earth longer than humans have, and there is plenty of evidence to suggest that they have been continually consumed by humans.”

“The continents in which human life first appeared happen to be the ones with the least amount of naturally occurring psychedelic,” said the psychedelic wisely. “The areas in which human beings later migrated towards happen to have more naturally occurring psychedelics than their former abodes. The search for a more populous supply of psychedelics is the reason as to why our ancestors migrated in the first place. If you look back towards Africa, the first continent inhabited by humans, you will discover what a scanty supply of psychedelics that continent naturally harbors at present in comparison to other continents.”

“Well, The Apogeic Man,” carried on the psychedelic, “knew that human beings have been tripping for ages. He also knew that he happened to be one of these humans. He knew one more important thing. He knew that if he hadn’t taken all of the psychedelics he had in the past, then he would’ve never become an Agriculturalist, and therefore, he would have never rebelled upon his past way of life, the Hunter-Gathering way of life.”

“Since,” reeled on the psychedelic, “The Apogeic Man had made a new way of life, the Agricultural way of life, the one that he wanted all to follow, he saw fit that it was necessary to make sure that all human beings no longer took psychedelics, for if they took psychedelics, then they, like him, might possibly create a new way of life, believing it to be the one right way of life. Thus, they’d do everything in their power, like he did, to force others to succumb to their way of life. That is the power of psychedelics; psychedelics make one question their culture. Psychedelics made The Apogeic Man question his culture, and therefore, they led to his revolutionary manifestations.”

“If there is one thing that could throw into motion a succession of sequences that would result in the overthrow of the Agricultural way of life, then it is psychedelic use!” said the psychedelic knowingly. “The Apogeic Man understood this. Psychedelics served as his insight, and he knew that they could just as easily serve others towards his demolition. Psychedelics have the potential of making one question everything that they have been confronted with prior to their psychedelic use.”

“Therefore,” said the psychedelic somewhat reluctantly, “The Apogeic Man decided that it was best if he stopped people from taking psychedelics. He couldn’t have them questioning his way of life. It was as simple as that. He decided to put an end to anything that served as a threat to his rule, and psychedelics, well, psychedelics just so happened to hold the largest threat.”

“However,” said the psychedelic slowly, “The Apogeic Man knew that he just couldn’t take away psychedelics from humans, for every human being has an unconscious, inherent need to alter their consciousness. Now, since he took away psychedelics, a tool by which many used to alter their consciousness, they would be one instrument short. No longer would they have psychedelics to fulfill their need whenever they wished to.”

“If you take a bag of gold out of a sleeping troll’s hands,” said the psychedelic mildly with a grin, “then you need to replace it with an object similar in feel. That is just what The Apogeic Man did. He took away psychedelics, and he replaced them with the creation. Barely anybody noticed.”

“The first creation,” said the psychedelic prudently, “just like psychedelics, served as a way by which humans could alter their consciousness. This is the only aspect by which psychedelics and the creation are similar. However, unlike psychedelics, the creation contained the power of forcing humans to accept their culture without questioning it a single time. The creation makes one embrace their culture. It stupefied human beings, making them ignorant. It transformed the free will of human beings into the will of The Apogeic Man. All opportunistic potential was annihilated. Culture became a thing that human beings were unconscious of. The creation produced similar minded Agriculturalists who thereby paved the groundwork of Western Civilization as we know it today. The creation made humans, who were once diverse in thought, similar in thought. Very few people knew, and very few people cared, for the Agricultural way of life was finally structured, ordered, and stable. Everybody loved the creation, for through its use, their unconscious, inherent need was being met. They were able to alter their consciousness. Very few people knew that they were being made into robots.”

After she finished saying this, she sat in silence for a while. Eventually, she looked up at me and broke the silence.

“Alcohol is the first creation,” said the psychedelic rigorously.

After hearing this, my facial expression of seriousness broke away, only to revel one of mingled hysterics. I was laughing. All the while, the psychedelic remained the same way she had been prior to the declaration. I couldn’t handle it.

“Alcohol! A government conspiracy?!” I said hysterically, clutching a stitch in my ribs.

“Well, if you want to use that terminology…,” the psychedelic began, but soon stopped, for she was cut off by my interruption.

“I’m sorry,” I said impatiently, “but that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

The psychedelic didn’t appear to be angry. With her legs crossed, she sat there with a smile creasing upon her face.

“It does seem preposterous when you are first confronted with it,” said the psychedelic reminiscently. “The Apogeic Man did a good job.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked shrewdly.

“It means that you have been preconditioned superbly. This statement is just one of those things, one of those things that takes time getting used, for you have to transcend the preconditioning in order to understand it,” answered the psychedelic simply.

“Oh, I see,” I said vaguely.

“Why does this seem like such a preposterous idea to you?” asked the psychedelic.

“Well,” I said, thinking, “alcohol has quite simply been around forever. Practically everybody likes to get drunk. What I’m trying to say, I guess, is that drinking alcohol is normal. If you don’t drink, then you’re weird. To imagine that alcohol is a tool that enslaves humans just doesn’t seem right,” I finished lamely.

“Exactly,” said the psychedelic in triumph. “That’s exactly the way you’re supposed to think. Let us dissect what you have just said. First, you said that alcohol has been around forever. I assure you that it has not been around forever. It has only been around for ten thousand years. Interesting, eh? The Agricultural Revolution occurred ten thousand years ago as well. I’m sure you can put two and two together. However, you and practically everybody else in the world believe that alcohol has been around forever, because you believe that humanity has only been in existence for around ten thousand years. Humanity has been in existence for three million years, so why does everybody seem to think that it’s only been in existence for ten thousand years?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” I said simply.

“Everybody who believes that the world has been in existence for ten thousand years,” said the psychedelic, answering the question, “is an Agriculturalist. Agriculturalism has existed on this earth for ten thousand years. If these Agriculturalists believed that human life has existed on this earth for three million years, then they would be embracing a way of life that isn’t theirs. They deny the truth, because they don’t want to associate themselves with people who live a different way of life. Really, their world, the Agricultural world, has only existed for ten thousand years. However, the Hunter-Gathering world has existed for three million. Agriculturalists try to deny that they aren’t something when they really are that something. Agriculturalists, just like Hunter-Gatherers really are humans.”

“So,” said the psychedelic commandingly, “I assure you that alcohol has not been in the world since the beginning. It was a mere invention that was invented at a certain time to serve a certain purpose. Alcohol has only been in existence for ten thousand years. Agriculturalists, too, have only been in existence for ten thousand years. Alcohol was a byproduct of the Agricultural Revolution. Alcohol was made in order to make individuals support the Agricultural Revolution.”

The psychedelic stopped and thought for a moment.

“Well, naturally,” she started to gently say, “the act of taking psychedelics changes you; it turns your life completely around numerous times. It changes your eyes, for now you have seen more and experienced more than the everyday, ordinary person in society. Psychedelics make you weird. Do you think that you are weird? You, of course, do not. However, the majority of people in society, those that love alcohol, will consider you weird, will perceive you differently than you perceive yourself, for you have experienced something so great, so wonderful, and so amazing, and they, they, have not experienced this; a large part of you is absent in them. The majority of people in society, the alcohol drinkers, will perceive you as being weird, as being an oddball, because you have experienced an experience that they have not experienced. You, however, on the other hand, will perceive them as being weird, as being the oddball, because they have not experienced an experience that you have experienced. Being perceived by the majority as a freak is nothing to be afraid of, for now you are no longer restricted by the natural, mundane mind. If a person who takes psychedelics were to interpret the act of consuming alcohol, then he would interpret the act as not being normal.”

“Drinking alcohol is not normal for me,” emphasized the psychedelic perseveringly.

With that, the psychedelic left me. I thought for a while about what she said. I recalled this one guy I know who absolutely loves getting “fucked up”. He takes every single drug he can get his hands on, and he virtually is never sober a single moment. A good friend of mine mentioned DMT to him, and he responded in a way that the psychedelic said he would. He said, “Dude, I don’t want that shit, man. Have you seen the way those DMT people look? They’re fucking weird.” In a sense, depending on which way you look at it, this is true.

I, therefore, began to trust the psychedelic more, but I still wanted more proof, more hardcore evidence that alcohol truly is a government conspiracy.

“Can you give me an example of alcohol being a government conspiracy?” I asked the psychedelic, hoping she would answer.

“I, of course, can,” she quickly responded. “You’ve heard of Samuel Adams, I take it?”

“Yes,” I answered immediately.

“Well,” the psychedelic said informatively, “Samuel Adams was The Apogeic Man of his time. He knew about the secret of alcohol. Adams didn’t like the way of life he was being forced to live. He didn’t like being oppressed by the British. Therefore, he rebelled, and being the leader of the rebellion, what do you think Samuel Adams gave the colonists?”

“Oh, I see,” I said, clapping a hand to my head. “He gave them alcohol!”

“Very good,” said the psychedelic, winking at me. “Caught on finally, haven’t you? The Boston Tea Party, at the time, was one of the most rebellious acts. Did a bunch of well mannered civilized colonists act this rebellion out? No! Of course not! If you look in the literature, you’ll find that Samuel Adams got a lot of colonists drunk. They were so drunk to where they dressed up like Indians! Adams told them to go board some ships and toss some crates overboard, and they did just that. Alcohol was the primary catalyst.”

“And would you look at that!” I said quietly more to myself than to the psychedelic.

“What?” said the psychedelic enthusiastically.

“Samuel Adams, the beer company!” I said in awe.

“Oh, yes,” said the psychedelic, smiling. “His beer has proven its worth.”

The psychedelic paused.

“Remember when you were having a psychedelic experience over at your friend’s house the other day?” she asked me.

“Yes,” I said slowly.

“Did you see anything that caught your eye?” asked the psychedelic wonderingly.

“Oh! A Benjamin Franklin quote was hung on the wall. It read, “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.” If this isn’t propaganda, then I don’t know what is! He, of course, must have also been an Apogeic Man.”

“Do you know who another Apogeic Man is?” asked the psychedelic persistently.

“Um, not that I can think of,” I answered truthfully.

“The persecutor of Socrates!” blurted out the psychedelic quickly.

“Meletus!” I said rapidly. “Of course! If it follows that Socrates was ingesting psychedelics on a regular basis, then it follows that his way of life was threatening Meletus’ way of life. It was said in Phaedrus that Socrates was a revealer of the Eleusinian Mysteries, and if the secret was psychedelic ingestion, then Socrates undoubtedly urged others to indulge themselves in psychedelics. Socrates was the Terence McKenna of his time. Therefore, Meletus would have wanted him extinguished.”

“Very well said,” said the psychedelic firmly. “Yes, Plato was suggesting that Meletus was either The Apogeic Man of his time or operating under The Apogeic Man of his time. Do you want to know something else that’s interesting about Socrates?”

“Sure,” I rapidly said.

“If you look in The Symposium,” said the psychedelic wisely, “Plato says that Socrates is the only one present at the symposium that did not drink the other day in celebration of Agathon’s tragedy winning in the Lenaean festival. Also, later on, Plato has Alcibiades say, “The most amazing thing of all is that no one has ever seen Socrates drunk.” Plato is providing enormous hints right here.”



Updated 10/31



Ch. 4 - Ego Death and Ego Loss







At college, I ended up securing three close friends. I shared a dorm with one of them. His name was Aaron. He happened to be an alcohol drinker, and it was quite interesting how there evolved a kind of harmonious bond between the two of us. My other two friends were both psychonauts. One of them was named Shaun, and the other was named Rodney. Shaun was very versed and familiar with the psychedelic experience, for he had taken LSD numerous times in his youth; the same goes for Rodney. They were both more experienced than I was.

With one another, we would periodically consume the Psilocybin mushrooms that I would grow. One particular night, Shaun and I ate some dried Psilocybe Cubensis mushrooms, only to embark on one of the most mesmerizingly mysterious adventures of our lives. I took five grams, and Shaun took three. The dose I took was deemed a heroic dose by Terence McKenna, and therefore, I was looking forward to understanding the meaning behind the term. Indeed, I had spent quite an extraneously long time in my past trying to comprehend just what made this dose heroic. Well, I was about to find out.

At the time, we were in Galveston, Texas, exploring the Strand. We were in Shaun’s car, and he was driving quite carefully.

“What do you want to do?” I asked Shaun, feeling the trip come on. “Do you want to get some skittles to eat?”

“Nah,” he said quickly. “I’ve got to deliver some weed to a guy.”

“Evan?” I asked.

“Yep,” said Shaun quietly. “That’s the one.”

Shaun eventually pulled over and parked his car with ease. Upon stepping out, I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

“Look at the atmosphere around us,” I said excitedly, sounding surprised.

Everything just didn’t look right to me. There were so many different kinds of people in so many different places. There were some at restaurants, others at bars. There were even others that were carelessly walking down the Strand. There were streetlights, brightly expressing themselves, as we walked past the various stores. It didn’t look or feel like I was at the Strand.

“Do you notice that blue halo around that green light?” I asked Shaun, as I blankly stared into the light.

“Yes,” he responded without a doubt.

“Interesting,” I said excitedly. “A shared hallucination.”

I remember when it suddenly hit me, smacking me over the head without the faintest trace of simply strewn mildness. I started to forget what things were, such as mushrooms and marijuana. I started to forget.

“Mushroom… Mushroom…,” I mumbled to myself, not taking in what I was saying.

“What is it? What is it?” I continuously asked myself.

I couldn’t figure it out. I didn’t know what a mushroom was, and therefore, I must have consequently forgotten I was tripping.

“Marijuana… Marijuana…,” I whispered in the air.

Once again, I was at a loss as to what I was saying. I didn’t have the faintest idea as to what I was describing. Suddenly, I saw Shaun’s right hand hit another guy’s hand, exchanging a bag of pot in the process.

“That’s what it is!” I said to myself in conquest.

I was dumbfounded at having discovered what marijuana was. This definitely wasn’t feeling like the usual psychedelic experience, for I had forgotten what a mushroom was, and I, too, forgot what marijuana was, although I relearned what it was when Shaun gave Evan his weed. Things just weren’t feeling right. Things were feeling terribly odd, uncharacteristically scary, and downright perilous. I was forgetting everything, yet I was still completely conscious, standing upright, and acting like a normal human being. Nonetheless, I was feeling extremely scared.

“Hey!” Shaun hollered. “Over here!”

I had frozen on the spot, and Shaun was quite a few feet in front of me.

“Come on,” he said.

I struggled with comprehension, as I dabbled with the minute vocabulary juggled in my brain. I was trying to understand what Shaun was telling me. Suddenly, I put one foot in front of the other, and I made my way towards Shaun.

“That’s it,” said Shaun encouragingly.

I had no idea what was going on. Indeed, I felt like I was in a completely dissimilar place than the one I had been in prior to my trip. The feeling of otherness was pervading all throughout my brain, and I, for the first time in my life, truly understood the word foreign. Although I had been to the Strand many times in my life, it was now a foreign place; that’s the power of psychedelics: it can turn a familiar place into a foreign one.

We made our way to a vastly large and systemically shaped house. Shaun apparently knew the owner of the place, so we made our way inside. At this time, I was beginning to forget even more than what I had previously forgotten.

“Welcome,” said a man at the door, letting us in this somewhat creepy looking abode.

I stepped in after Shaun, and this place was a richly detailed building. There were paintings on the walls, downright controversial and odd paintings. There were many people in the nude, some of which were giving oral sex to men, and others of which were giving oral sex to women. There were also tons of women scantily clad, and there were many pairs of people copulating.

“This place used to be a whore house,” said Shaun in my ear, staring at the paintings, too.

Great, I thought. I was beginning to lose my memory, and I was in what used to be an old whore house. Leave it to a psychedelic trip to take you to the most unique and odd places in the world.

I made my way to a sofa, taking a seat, wondering why I was losing my memory. I must have looked absolutely out of it, because the owner of the place stared at me, asking Shaun what was wrong with me.

“He took five grams,” said Shaun simply.

I remember sitting on the sofa, forgetting spontaneously what my name was. This wasn’t good. I was in an old, whore house, and I couldn’t even recall what my name was. I was scared shitless, because I didn’t know virtually anything.

Shaun sat next to me, taking out his piece and loading in it some purple bud.

“Here, you can have greens,” said Shaun kindly, passing the pipe to me.

I held a pipe in my hand, and I held a lighter in the other. For the first time in my life, I held a pipe and lighter in my hand, and I didn’t know what to do. I strained my brain, trying strenuously to remember just what it I was about to do. Instantaneously, I put the pipe to my lips, lit the lighter, burned the bud, and inhaled.

I must have looked extremely weird, because the owner of the place kept on looking at me, noticing that I appeared quite uncomfortable.

“What’s wrong with your friend?” he asked Shaun again.

“He’s having an Ego Death,” replied Shaun automatically.

“Oh, I see,” said the man. “Is it his first time?”

“Yep,” Shaun replied.

“Understandable,” nodded the man.

I was feeling extremely uncomfortable. I felt suicidal. I didn’t know what was going on. I felt as if my brains were fried. It got to the point to where I had no idea who I was, where I was, or what I was. This was a true Ego Death. The one thing I wanted to do more than anything was talk to the psychedelic and find out what was going on. I couldn’t do that here though, for if I did, the others would think I was downright nuts.

After an hour or two, I couldn’t handle it anymore. Everything was bothering me. I couldn’t stand forgetting everything. Shaun noticed how disgruntled I was.

“I think it’s time to go” said Shaun immediately.

We got up, went to Shaun’s car, and got in. Shaun was taking me back to my place.

“Man, these mushrooms have kicked my ass,” I managed to say.

“Yes, it does that to us all,” Shaun said knowingly.

Shaun walked me to my place, helping me get into my room.

“Alright, see you later, Shaun,” I said.

“Bye,” he said, leaving.

The Ego Death was gradually going away. I started to recover my memory and knowledge of things. When I was in my room, I felt safe, concealed, and better. I had to talk to the psychedelic, so I inquired, asking her exactly what just happened to me.

“What happened to me?” I asked her, hoping she would answer.

“Well,” quickly answered the psychedelic, “the most powerful, intense, and potent experience in the world reared itself down upon you, immersing you in the qualitative authority of the animal mind. You lost your Ego. You had an Ego Death. Your Ego, your identification tag that releases reasoning into your thought process in accordance to all of the learning established by culture, was taken away.”

“Did I really experience an Ego Death tonight?” I asked.

“All people, no matter who they are, will always experience an Ego Death the first time their Ego escapes from their self, for the experience is simply too intense for a human to handle, and no individual, no matter what preparation they take, will be able to comfortably experience the absence of their Ego the first time it leaves. After the Ego is taken away, all that is left is the Id, the instinctual self, the animal-like quality that is in all of us. During an Ego Death, which is what you experienced, the Id will struggle with the primary fear of biological dissolution, and therefore, all will fall into widespread chaos and mayhem.”

“How does an Ego Death occur?” I asked.

“An Ego Death occurs,” said the psychedelic smartly, “when a heroic dose of a psychedelic is taken, such as five dried grams of Psilocybe Cubensis. Only after you have experienced an Ego Death, can you experience an Ego Loss, the quenching destruction of the Ego that results in absolute bliss and spiritual satiation of the self. Having experienced an Ego Death, you are now familiar with what occurs once the ego is taken away, and therefore, you can prepare yourself to peacefully engage in the tranquil potential of glorification.”

“Really,” said the psychedelic wisely, “ordinary reality is a kind of chemical habitat, one that says it’s okay to do this and it’s okay to do that; however, when you transcend this restricted realm of reality, then you become immersed in this massive dimension that is filled to the rim with floating opportunity. Those who are experiencing this opportunistic dimension via an Ego Death find this dimension highly frightening. Those who are experiencing this opportunistic dimension via an Ego Loss find this dimension highly beautiful.”

“Aha!” I shouted in conquest. “I know what the psychedelic experience is now.”

“You really think you have me figured out?” asked the psychedelic skeptically.

“Yes, the Ego Loss is the psychedelic experience,” I said confidently.

“I’m going to pretend to be Plato for a second,” said the psychedelic, smiling.

“Okay,” I said wonderingly.

“Now, does everybody who has a psychedelic experience have an Ego Loss?”

“Well, no” I admitted.

“Exactly,” said the psychedelic wisely. “Thus, if not everybody is having an Ego Loss, then an Ego Loss is just one kind of the psychedelic experience, making it an example of the psychedelic experience, not a definition of the psychedelic experience.”

“Well,” I said in retort, “If the Ego Loss isn’t the psychedelic experience, then the Ego Death must be the psychedelic experience”

“No, it can’t be,” said the psychedelic firmly. “An Ego Death is not experienced by everybody, and it’s not experienced all the time. It is experienced sometimes, and because of this, it is another kind of the psychedelic experience; it’s not the definition of the psychedelic experience, because it’s another example of the psychedelic experience.”

“Well,” I said with a fight, “then the ordinary, threshold trip must be the psychedelic experience.”

“Nope,” said the psychedelic quickly. “That’s just another example of the psychedelic experience, because not everybody experiences an ordinary, threshold trip. Some of them will experience an Ego Death, and others will experience an Ego Loss.”

“Then,” I said perseveringly, “the psychedelic experience is an ordinary, psychedelic trip, an Ego Loss, and an Ego Death.”

“Of course,” said the psychedelic solidly, “it isn’t, for you quite simply listed numerous examples of the psychedelic experience, not the psychedelic experience itself.”

“Oh,” I said dumbfounded.

“Trust me,” said the psychedelic warmly. “I don’t even know what I am.”







Edited by Feanor (09/03/10 03:23 PM)



Post Extras: VirgilKane







Registered: 05/17/05

Posts: 1,131

Loc: lowdown Miner for truth and delusionRegistered: 05/17/05Loc: lowdown Re: The DMT Chronicles [Re: Feanor] 1

#6447240 - 01/11/07 12:03 AM (13 years, 8 months ago) Edit Reply Quote Quick Reply

Great report!!



Be sure to keep us updated on any future travels!



--------------------

Absense of evidence is not evidence of absense...



"Religion is a defense against a religious experience"

Carl G. Jung





"So really, ordinary reality is a kind of chemical habit, sanctioned by culture, which says it's okay to use certain drugs, eat certain foods, and have certain sexual behaviors. However, when you transcend all this pre-conditioning by returning to the original wisdom of the animal body, then you discover this immense dimension of opportunity. For some people, it is a frightening risk. To me, that's the psychedelic experience."

Terence McKenna



Post Extras: Feanor







Registered: 05/07/06

Posts: 1,546

Loc: Texas

Last seen: 2 years, 9 months Crafter of the SilmarilsRegistered: 05/07/06Loc: TexasLast seen: 2 years, 9 months Re: The DMT Chronicles [Re: VirgilKane] 1

#6447261 - 01/11/07 12:11 AM (13 years, 8 months ago) Edit Reply Quote Quick Reply

Updated 12/1/2009



Ch. 5 - DMT Bound





I have a story to tell you, but why am I telling this story? Well, I’m telling it for a few distinct reasons. It’s immensely psychotherapeutic; after all, insanity has surged through my brain all too often, and by writing this insanity out, I’m helping myself understand it all. I freely decided to be a lab rat, I guess you could say; I mean, there hasn’t been a specific, well documented case of a single person using DMT around fifty times, taking into consideration each and every trip and the fact that the substance was repeatedly used in a short period of time. I have been asked by lots of people to complete this piece of artwork; in other words, people wanted to make sure that the lab rat’s case was well documented, and I, of course, have no objections.

It happened on a fall day, a fall day that was memorable, because it was one of the first of fall days; the incessantly hot sun here in Texas had given up its rigorous attempt to cook the living shit out of people, and an array of gentle breezes made their appearance. In other words, things felt quite comfortable, as they always do here in Texas during the fall. I had stepped out of my house, only to feel some wind hit my exposed legs. I stretched, got in my car, and drove to Yessup’s house. Yessup was my first psychedelic mentor. I have had another psychedelic mentor, too, and little did I know, at one point, that he was best friends with Yessup. His name was Virgil Kane.

The first time I met Virgil Kane is quite a memorable event in my life. When I met him, we were both hunting for edible, poisonous, and psychedelic mushrooms. Ironically, we were hunting upon the same grounds, the premises of Aria 51. I say this is ironic, because this place that we were at is in the middle of nowhere, and I, at least, was certain that Yessup and I were the only two people that knew of its mushroom growing potential. It was inevitable that Virgil Kane and I were going to meet that day. It was fate; fate brought us together.

“Hey, you!” he yelled at me, after noticing my figure from far away. “What are you doing here?”

I was completely freaked out. My invisible tail shot straight up in the air; I like to at least think that I’m part feline, even though everybody tells me that I’m not. Here I was, having possibly trespassed not only to study poisonous mushrooms and collect edible ones, but to also pick four different strains of psychedelic mushrooms, all of which the government considers scheduled one drugs.

Eventually, I could properly make out the man who yelled at me, for he had walked quite close to where I was standing. The man yelling after me was at least forty. Being very tall, lean, and muscular, his body matched that of a runner’s. His hair was cut short, and he wore a neatly trimmed goatee around his mouth. Dressed like a park ranger, he had on a pair of hiking pants, a brown buttoned-downed polo, and a walking stick clasped in his hand. I was royally fucked. This guy was going to send me to jail.

“I… I..,” I stutteringly began, but he cut me off.

“You’re familiar with Terence McKenna?” he asked knowingly.

I nodded.

“You’re familiar with Alexander Shulgin?” he asked shrewdly.

As my eyes grew in size, I nodded yet again. Was this really happening?

“Would you like some 5-methoxy-diisopropyltryptamine? ” he cunningly asked, winking his left eye at me.

As if I was a dog that wondered what his owner said to him, I turned my head to the side; at the time, I wasn’t quite sure what that was.

“Foxy!” he proclaimed somewhat loudly.

“Oh!” I said, smacking my head with my hand, feeling quite stupid.

“Here you go,” Virgil Kane said quietly, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a little vial with the Foxy in it. “Here’s 50 milligrams of 5-MeO-DiPT. That’s around five doses, depending on how much you decide to take during a go. Use it well, and do your homework,” he said significantly.

“But.. but..,” I stuttered hopelessly.

“How did I know?” Sean asked cleverly.

“Yes,” said I.

“Well,” he began, “dear God, look at you; your brownish hair is pretty damn long, you’ve got a Phish shirt on, and you reek a bit of Cannabis. You remind me a bit of myself when I was your age.”

“Oh, shit,” I thought to myself, smelling my shirt, which I hadn’t washed the night before. I always forget to wash my shirts.

“However,” said Virgil Kane importantly, “the one thing that gave you away were your eyes. Your eyes are telling me that you’ve seen data that others haven’t seen, and that is the mark of a psychonaut.”

“Well, at the least, you are just a hippie and not a police officer or something,” I said with ease.

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Virgil Kane defended himself; a look grew on his face, for he was sizing me up. He knew that he’d have to work on me a bit. “I’m no hippie. I’m a psychonaut; I pursue the psychedelic experience purely for growth, intellectual strengthening, and wisdom. It’s not all about fulfilling hedonistic desires. I get much out of it. Catholics receive the Eucharist; that is their sacrament. My sacraments are psychedelics. They bring me closer to the Divine. I take a very Shamanistic approach to these substances. You’ll only get as much out of them as you put into them.”

He flicked the tiny vial of Foxy in my direction, and I caught it, and that, yes, that is how I met my second psychedelic mentor. It was at that day and time that Virgil Kane decided to take me under his wing and teach me the ways. This man has two children, a delightful house, and a respectable job. He’s easily old enough to be my father, yet we turned out to be the greatest of friends.

If you are not familiar with the psychedelic scene, you may be a bit befuddled, concerning the conversation that took place between Virgil Kane and I. Well, I’ll help you out. Terence McKenna is a fucking genius, the smartest man to have ever walked this Earth. He was an ethnobotanist, mycologist, and psychedelic spokesperson; he was widely respected by many. Alexander Shulgin is a fucking genius, too. He’s a psychedelic chemist who legally invented and synthesized numerously novel and non-novel psychedelic compounds. You can look at him like this – Hofmann created LSD. Shulgin, in a sense, created hundreds of LSD’s; this is a metaphorical analogy, one not to be taken literally, of course. Like McKenna, he is widely respected by many. 5-methoxy-diisopropyltryptamine, which is abbreviated as 5-MeO-DiPT, is a psychedelic tryptamine, one of Shulgin’s creations. It has been nicknamed Foxy Methoxy due to being a renowned psychedelic aphrodisiac.

You may question this meeting; however, I must tell you that if you are a psychonaut, these are usually the kinds of things that happen: synchronistic events. You can either take my word for it or not. I know it sounds bizarre. Eventually, the bizarreness began to become something that I perceived as being normal. What occurred that day was the first of many meaningful coincidences that would later occur in my life.

Now that you are aware of how I met Virgil Kane, I’ll revert back to that fall day in which I was on my way over to Yessup’s house. I had arrived, parked, and stepped outside of my car, only to see Yessup deeply engaged in a conversation with a man, one who appeared to be around Yessup’s same age. Who was this man? I was very curious to find out. Yessup saw me and, by incessantly waving, beckoned me to his side. They were in Yessup’s opened up garage. I went and stood next to my teacher, curiously staring at the man across from us. It was my other teacher. It was Virgil Kane!

“Virgil Kane!” I said, sounding aghast from sheer surprise.

You should have seen the look on both of their faces; they were really living it up, laughing, clapping, hooting, and hollering. Well, I guess that my meeting with Virgil Kane wasn’t pure fate. Yessup must have arranged the meeting, having known that I was going to Aria 51 that day. He wanted to catch me off guard with an unfamiliar person that I would mistake to be a member of authority. Well, he definitely got me. Virgil Kane sure did freak me out upon first sight. I remained particularly surprised, for I was quite shocked to have realized that the two of them knew one another. I allowed them an extensive amount of time to laugh at the look on my face. While they got their share of laughing, I looked at an interestingly detailed mask that was hung on a wall.

“Feanor,” Yessup said regularly, “I’d like you to meet my chemist. His name is Virgil Kane, and yes, I know that is a bit bizarre.”

Virgil Kane held out his hand in my direction, and I, smiling to myself, shook it.

“Well, it is nice to finally meet you, Feanor. Yessup has told me so much about you,” said Virgil Kane enthusiastically with a touch of humor.

I looked in Yessup’s direction, and he nodded at me, implying that everything was fine and that Virgil Kane was a man I could trust.

“You guys knew each other all along,” I said exasperated, “and you decided to tell me by scaring the shit out of me?”

“Well, it was a bit fun,” said Yessup apologetically.

“Yes, it was just a bit of good, honest fun,” said Virgil Kane, taking his turn.

“We both discovered Aria 51 together,” said Yessup proudly. “We have mapped out the whole area on GPS. You weren’t the second one to know about Aria 51, Feanor.”

Yessup paused and then cut to the chase.

“Virgil Kane just got through making something for you, Feanor,” whispered Yessup.

Instantaneously, I received an influx of goose bumps. I had been searching for something immoderately long, for this something was extremely rare and exceedingly hard to obtain. Was I going to receive this something right now? I felt as if I was. I was so nervous; the anticipating anxiety I had right then and there was powerful enough to give me a good heart attack.

Virgil Kane, being the elusive person he was, pulled out a miniature glass jar from the insides of his pants; I was getting used to this! There were little white crystals inside of it. I held my breath.

“N. N. D. M. T.” Virgil Kane said, placing a heavy emphasis on each letter that left his lips. “One gram of it. Good enough for 20 Breakthrough Experiences.”

I couldn’t hold it in. I pissed my pants. It wasn’t a small amount of piss. I mean, I quite literally flooded my pants.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Shit, Feanor. What’s going on, man?” said Yessup, sounding a little freaked out.

“He’s too excited,” said Virgil Kane, laughing his ass off. “You remind me of myself. I was the same way when the Elf Spice found its way to me, but damn, son,” he added while carefully examining my pee stains, “I didn’t piss nearly as much as you did. You better get your penis checked, kid.”

And with that, Virgil Kane placed the jar of DMT into my hand. I drove back to my house that night; I couldn’t sleep. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep, but I still tried. I knew what I had to do; I had to vaporize DMT. I couldn’t do it in my house. It just wouldn’t feel right. I had to go to Yessup’s house. I picked up my phone, and I called him in the middle of the night. As if he knew I was going to call, he instantly picked up his phone, sounding wide awake.

“Come on over,” he said knowingly.

I didn’t say anything. I just hung up, got in my car, and drove back to his place. When I got there, Virgil Kane was still by Yessup’s side, and they were chatting. They had never parted from one another; it was as if they knew I was going to come back. I went up to them, holding out the jar of DMT.

Virgil Kane took it from my hand, weighing out a dose for me. I never asked him how much it was. I trusted him. I was spacing off. I wasn’t paying the slightest attention to anything. All I remember was that Virgil Kane placed a loaded pipe in front of me, along with a lighter.

I wanted Elves.

I took it from him, laid on nearby sofa, and so, it began just like that: The DMT experience.

The next thing I remembered seeing was Yessup standing over me with Virgil Kane at his side. “Write everything down. Everything,” he said softly yet perseveringly, handing me a notebook and a pen.

I did just what he told me to do, and this is what came out of it.





** If you would like to receive an email that notifies you as to when The DMT Chronicles is updated next, send me a pm with your email. Thanks for reading!



--------------------



May Terence McKenna Live Long



The DMT Chronicles



Edited by Feanor (03/21/10 10:54 PM)



Post Extras: Feanor







Registered: 05/07/06

Posts: 1,546

Loc: Texas

Last seen: 2 years, 9 months Crafter of the SilmarilsRegistered: 05/07/06Loc: TexasLast seen: 2 years, 9 months Re: The DMT Chronicles [Re: Feanor] 1

#6471583 - 01/17/07 11:07 PM (13 years, 8 months ago) Edit Reply Quote Quick Reply

Updated 12/05/09



Ch. 6 – Parmenides and the Elf Goddess





I cannot emphasize diligently enough that I am merely an ignorant person, perhaps one that has no idea as to what he’s talking about. I strive to search for the truth, and I have been doing this for my whole life, only to realize that my efforts have led to no avail. I do not see myself as being academically, philosophically, or psychologically smart, and therefore, I beg you to take what you are about to read with half a grain of salt. What you are about to read is extremely unbelievable; however, nonetheless, I will attest to all of it actually happening to me. Is it real? Does it have some kind of foundation in the authentic reality that we all abide in? I’m not going to lie – I simply do not know. It very well might, and it very well might not.

The difference between me and the leaders of various organized religions is that I am wholeheartedly admitting that what I have to say may very well be false. Many people can’t take into consideration that what they think, feel, hear, taste, and smell is actually some kind of mimicry of something that’s greater and more divine. I want you to know that I am explicitly admitting to not knowing anything. I am ignorant. I do not see myself as being smart. When you read what you are about to read, you may very well think that I am crazed, delusional, and a bit insane. You might think, like some have told me, that I am a schizophrenic. That’s fine. At the least, I know that I do not know. Although you may place me in the synonymous category that you place homeless schizophrenics in, I want you to know that my experiences with DMT have shown me something that I have come to label as being more real than absolutely anything else.

I do not consider myself to be a scholar, a philosopher, a psychologist, a mystic, a religious messenger, a teacher, or even a writer. I simply think that I am a layman, a person of no profession, one that is ignorant of pretty much everything. Therefore, consider this the work of a layman. All this talk that you are about to hear of Elves – well, is it true? Do Elves really exist? I don’t know, but I can and will tell you what I think, although it may be false. I may just be a person with an overactive imagination, a thoughtful thinker that, when confronted with psychedelics, ends up vividly producing an elaborate yet untrue tale. Thus, don’t tell me that I don’t know what I’m talking about; that is something that I actually do know. In case you haven’t gotten the picture yet, I am trying to tell you that what you are about to read might just be one massive delusion! Also, it might be real; that’s up for you to decide. Anyways, here is what happened the first time I smoked DMT.

Virgil Kane weighed out a dose of 40 milligrams of DMT and loaded it into a freebase pipe. The amount of DMT was slightly more than the tip of a match head. I was downright ecstatic, for a time had finally come that I had been anticipating throughout all of eternity, or so, at the time, it felt like. I was so exhilarated, for something that I had wanted to meet for so long was, alas, now in my presence. I knew that I was destined one day to venture the beautiful realms that DMT has to offer, and that day had finally arrived.

As butterflies continuously and relentlessly kept on pecking at the insides of my flesh, I tried to lower my excitation level to a minimum; I needed to concentrate. I tried to meditate for a little while. Eventually, the butterflies relinquished their vicious attack, and I was able to concentrate at the task at hand. I had never used a freebase pipe before, and I was a bit befuddled as to how to use it. I paused for a little while.

“Um. Could I get some help here?” I embarrassingly asked.

Yessup smiled, as if he was reminiscing about something in the past, while Virgil Kane came to my aid.

“Here,” he said helpfully. “Go ahead and hold the flame underneath the glass bowl until you see the DMT begin to vaporize. You then take a hit.”

“OK. Thanks,” I said nervously.

I flicked my lighter and carefully placed it underneath my little glass pipe. I watched as the DMT began to vaporize. I didn’t wait long. Almost as soon as I saw the vapor form, I took my first hit. The smoke was harsh on my lungs and tasted very indescribably odd. I exhaled the smoke and took another hit. I can’t recall the exact number of hits I took, but I do remember that I took quite a lot of small hits. I, of course, as you can imagine, did not quite know how to smoke DMT. Tiny hit after tiny hit went by, and the last hit finally occurred. Little I knew at the time, and I precariously thought that I had smoked a sufficient amount. I immediately shut my eyes, and I resumed in watching the back of my eyelids.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I said in my mind, hoping to see Self-Transforming Machine Elves erupt into my vision.

Immediately, I was taken to an extraterrestrial like place, one not here nor there, a place entrenched with vastness, a vastness that I never knew could possibly exist. I appeared to be in a psychedelic corridor that went on for thousands and thousands of miles. Beautiful and bedazzling psychedelic colors flittered upon the floor, walls, and ceiling. As I hesitantly floated around, I observed everything that confronted me.

The unique colors were extremely pretty and had a flashy quality about them. The colors were possessed with the finest energy, which was a very penetrating one. I was absolutely fascinated by every quality that the colors were imbedded with. I had only been in this area for a while, yet I got the feeling that I was only going to be in this area for a miniscule amount of time.

My time, I felt, was coming to an expected close. In a flash of vibrant, enlightening light, the vision that once accosted me was now suddenly gone, only to be replaced by interesting Aztec styled tracers. Before I was ready, the main part of the DMT trip was over. I felt that it ended all too fast, that I only had a little taster. I wanted to return to that domain and explore its contents with more care and scrutiny. Therefore, before I completely came down from this trip, I opened my eyes, making a signal to Virgil Kane, while Yessup and he watched me with anxious eyes.

“I want to smoke some more,” I said quickly, holding out the pipe, hoping that Virgil Kane would reload it again for me.

He took it and said, “OK. I’ll put 40 more milligrams in it.”

“Thanks,” I managed to say.

“Hello, there,” said the psychedelic quietly in my head. “You almost made it to me.”

“What do you mean I almost made it to you?” I retorted. “I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I? Doesn’t that mean that I have made it to you?”

“Not necessarily,” she said slyly. “I can talk to you, but that doesn’t mean that I necessarily exist with you. For instance, you humans talk to each other using telephones, but that doesn’t mean that you are all actually right next to each other when the communication is taking place. I have the capability of communicating with those that take psychedelics by conversing with them via a connection that has been established. The psychedelic establishes the connection, and it opens up a link between me and the partaker. Psychedelic mushrooms work the best, but you can talk to me by using virtually any psychedelic. By taking a psychedelic, you are dialing my telephone number, and I am picking up.”

There was a question that I was dying to ask.

“Why didn’t I see any Self-Transforming Machine Elves?” I asked rapidly.

“Well,” the psychedelic said warmly, “you didn’t have a Breakthrough. You will meet Elves only when you have a Breakthrough on DMT. You need to take fewer hits, and you need to make your hits significantly larger. You established the telephone connection with me, and you made it to the Color, but you didn’t make it past the Color. When you make it past the Color, well, that’s when you get Elves. Once you go beyond the telephone connection and the Color, you will actually see me.”

“Will I ever come into contact with the Elves?” I asked desperately

“My dear,” the psychedelic said sweetly. “I am an Elf. I’m the Elf Goddess. You’ve already come into contact with me; you just haven’t come into face to face contact with me. When you have a Breakthrough, that’s when you will see me face to face.”

“Hey,” said Virgil Kane, waving in front of me with aspiration, holding a pipe in front of me. “Come on, snap out of it, and take the pipe.”

“Sorry,” I quickly said, taking the pipe from him. “Thanks.”

And with that, I smoked DMT again, hoping that I would have a Breakthrough. I wanted to ensure that this time I would get to the Color, pass the Color, and enter into the realm of the Elves in order to discover its hidden secrets. If I couldn’t make it past the Color, then I had ascertained that I was going to cautiously study the Color, finding out what it was and why it existed.

Thus, I inhaled the DMT. The last hit of a series almost completely knocked me out. It did a number on my lungs, causing me to release a peculiar cough. I felt as if I had been punched in the gut by a merciless foe. I fell back on the sofa I was sitting on. I shut my eyes, watching the back of my eyelids, and, instantaneously, I was once more back inside of the extraterrestrial like domain I had previously been in; I was back inside the Color.

This time, however, it felt like I was in a different place, one that appeared to be a room, rather than a corridor. Suddenly, something stirred to my left. I looked towards that direction, and an entity was what I had encountered. It was rather large and possessed an immense body with animal like characteristics. It appeared to have a reptilian structure with very interesting qualities, such as a massive array of colored scales all over its body. This was an entity that could change its external color in order to blend in with its encompassing surroundings. This quality, you could say, is similar to the one that lizards and other reptilian life forms possess. Due to its own intentional, individual will, this reptilian entity was externally camouflaged. Was this being an Elf?

“That most definitely is not an Elf,” said the psychedelic quietly inside my head.

“Then what is it?” I asked curiously.

“It’s just a part of the Color,” she said slowly. “You need to get past the Color if you want to see the Elves.”

With that, the psychedelic left me, leaving me downright puzzled, trying to figure out how to get past the Color. I didn’t know what to do, so I began to circumspectly study the Color. The color scheme incorporating the room was the same as the one that was incorporating the corridor I was previously in during my first DMT experience. The reptilian like being had this same color scheme on its body. Psychedelic colors flashed to and fro, and, suddenly, I was out of the room and into a corridor.

Reds, blues, yellows, and oranges flashed all over the corridor, while I was traversing across it. Next, I noticed a room to my right, and I had come to the conclusion that it was the place to be. I entered the room, only to encounter a human sized snake of odd proportions slithering around an Egyptian-like statue of a female princess. The snake, of course, appeared to be alive. I sensed that it was in its own personal room, which was its territorial domain. Graciously, this snake shared his room with me, which I took to be a very kind deed. Was this being an Elf?

Once again, the psychedelic chimed in, telling me, “That most definitely is not an Elf.”

“Then what is it?” I asked perseveringly.

Repetitively, the psychedelic said in a monotone, “It’s just a part of the Color. If you want to see the Elves, you need to traverse beyond the Color.”

With that, the psychedelic left me once again, making me feel really bewildered as to how to get past this darn Color. I just continued to study the Color, because I didn’t know what else to do. The snake was neither angry nor happy when he noticed my presence, but it was rather mildly interested at my presence. Over the Egyptian-like statue, he slithered here and there, all the while keeping his eyes upon me the entire time. His eyes, I realized, were massively round, being the size of small dinner plates. Eventually, his face slowly came right up to mine. We were staring each other in the eye with a sense of understanding one another. There was a sense of mutual comprehension dawning in both of our eyes. We both realized that I was trying to get past him, past the Color, and into the realm of the Elves. Next, due to a sudden onslaught of white light, I left the snake’s lair. It felt as if something had grabbed me around the waist, hoisted me up, and tossed me outside of the snake’s domain. It was sort of like I was in the snake’s backyard. I don’t know what tossed me, but when I was thrown, I heard a hefting noise that sounded like it belonged to the psychedelic.

There I was in outer space. A vast blackness strewn with various elliptical colors engulfed the scene. There were also bright dots here and there, which I took to resemble stars. I was clearly in an intergalactic dimension, and to my right, there was a very unique object. Now, unfortunately, I am restricted by the confines of our human language in describing what I saw. However, I will make do with what I can.

Imagine an immensely large, elongated stack of paper continuously and repetitively flapping back and forth from left to right. Just after it finishes going from left to right, it goes from right to left. I got the feeling that it was supposed to be where it existed. It wasn’t supposed to be anywhere else, but this one spot that it was at. This stack of paper was abundantly rich in Color. It was ridiculously filled with Color. I knew what this was. It had a sucking feeling to it, as if it wanted to draw essences inside of it. This was a vortex or portal, which would lead one to another dimension of strange and foreign beauty.

“Touch it,” urged the psychedelic incessantly inside my head. “Go beyond the Color! This will take you to the realm of the Elves, and we will get to meet.”

Before I could touch it, I was rapidly drawn away from it. I heard a preposterous sigh deep inside of my head, which must have belonged to the psychedelic, for it sounded like her voice. I was going back, back to the reality I was in before this. I was now staring at very interesting visuals. Slowly, these dissipated, too. The trip was brought to an end. I opened up my eyes and said to myself that what I had just experienced was unbelievable, yet all too believable.

“That was nothing,” said the psychedelic happily. “Just wait until you have a Breakthrough.”

My brain felt as if it had run one thousand miles. Naturally, my mind was left racing for the rest of the day. This was an excessively odd experience. I truly experienced the Color, a dimension that was beyond the reality that I ordinarily perceived, and I almost went beyond the Color. If only I had a few more seconds, I know that I would’ve made it past the Color. I found the portal that I needed to go through in order to make it to the realm of the Elves. Well, at the least, I thought, I knew what to do next time. I knew where the portal was, and I had ascertained that I was to go into and through the elaborate vortex of Color.

A few days later, I found myself in a car with Shaun. We had just traded some MDMA with Virgil Kane for some DMT. We were very excited about having acquired the DMT, and it will suffice to say that we were a bit too excited.

“Come on, man,” said Shaun unremittingly. “There’s got to be some kind of a place in Houston that exhibits the wonderful beauty of nature. There has to be somewhere we can go to smoke the DMT.”

“Well,” I said after having thought for a good long while, “there’s unfortunately nowhere for us to go. The quickest place that I can think of is forty minutes away.”

“Damn,” said Shaun in response. “Well, how about that parking lot over there?” he asked, pointing to a shopping center.

“I don’t know, man,” I said nervously. “I don’t think that’s the kind of place we should take something this powerful to. We probably shouldn’t do it there. If you know what I mean, it just isn’t right.”

“Dude,” said Shaun interminably, “I know you want to do this just as bad as I do. You can’t pretend like you don’t want to do it right now. I mean, we just got it today. We’ve got to do it now, man.”

I thought for a second. I didn’t think it was a good idea, but I did really want to smoke more DMT. I found it to be so enticing, so after an internal debate, I told Shaun that it was cool and that I would consent to smoking DMT in the parking lot. I was anticipating another DMT trip a bit too much. Eventually, this excitement led to my downfall. I ended up smoking more DMT in a car that was parked in a parking lot of a major shopping complex. This, as you can imagine, was an absolute horrible and abhorrent setting.

Thus, Shaun and I smoked DMT in a parking lot. Shaun went first. He didn’t sound downright mystified, so I figured that he didn’t have a Breakthrough. I went next. I estimated around 40 milligrams of DMT and loaded it into the bowl. I smoked it, and the third hit almost killed me. I inhaled it so very deeply into my lungs to where I was forced to cough it up. I felt like I was coughing up all of my internal organs. As soon as the DMT hit me, reality hit me, too. I was tripping on DMT in a parking lot. I felt vulnerable to the max, and therefore, I could not release myself to enjoy the effects of the DMT. My face, for some weird reason, felt as if it was melting. I was back at the Color. I was staring at a gigantic orange vortex that was full of geometric patterns.

I didn’t move at all. I didn’t even try to go through the Color. I simply viewed my surroundings in this reality, while half of my mind was worried about the other reality. Eventually, there came a point in the experience in which nothing was really happening. There was just a massive orange vortex of seismic proportions that wanted to hopefully engulf me. Finally, this vortex left my frontal view, only to be replaced by traditional, geometric visuals.

“That was pretty stupid,” said the psychedelic warily.

“I know,” I said internally.

The trip was over, and the lesson was learned.

The fourth time I smoked DMT was a significantly special and historical time in my life, for something extraterrestrial and disproportionately astonishing bypassed. I finally had a Breakthrough. With the doors locked, I was in my own room. This provided me with a high sense of protection, thereby allowing me to let go. I was aware of the fact that nobody was going to be able to get in and pester with my body. I was all by myself. My lamp provided the perfect amount of light that I needed, which was not too much and not too little.

The room was more on the dark side, which is how I prefer it. In order to prepare and brace myself for the experience, I meditated for around fifteen minutes. I loaded more DMT into the pipe than I’d ever loaded before. I weighed out 50 milligrams of DMT on my scale, placing it into the pipe. I was downright determined to have a Breakthrough this time. Right before I was about to smoke the DMT, I was a bit nervous. After reminding myself that it was only natural to have a bit of nerves before encountering what I was about to encounter, I went in the middle of my room and sat on a chair, which allowed me to attain a reasonable level of comfort. I picked up the lighter, placing it underneath the pipe. I flicked it on, and so, it began!

I vaporized a tremendously huge amount of DMT in preparation for my first hit. Once an immensely exceptional quantity of DMT was vaporized, I went ahead and hit the pipe. Bam! It was a gigantic hit! I inhaled so much DMT smoke to where I was involuntarily forced to exhale rather quickly, for an enormous cough fought its way up my throat towards my mouth. For a good, long while, I felt like I couldn’t breathe; that was just how much it impacted me. However, I didn’t just stop there. I lit the pipe some more and, before I hit it, amazingly beautifully, geometric tracers rapidly began encompassing my room. I took the next hit, which turned out to be rather small. I exhaled and resumed lighting the pipe. I wanted to make sure that I would smoke as much as I possibly could. This last light was to no avail. All of the DMT had already been vaporized to its fullest extent. I did not understand this at the moment, for at that period in time, I was having a very hard time attempting to light my pipe in order to ensure that I would smoke as much as I could. Next, before I knew it, I was gone!

All of the sudden, I began to hear an extremely loud ringing noise, which was most likely resembling the electron spin resonance that was occurring in my body. The noise was preposterously loud, ridiculously blaring. Involuntarily, I shut my eyes, and I dropped the pipe on my lap. The lighter quickly followed suit, finding its way onto my lap. Onto my shoulder, my head forcefully fell. I couldn’t move an inch. I had been paralyzed. The ringing grew in tone ever louder and louder. Finally, it had reached its maximum capacity, a ringing louder than anything I had ever heard in my life! Spontaneously, while the ringing was at its height, I was transported to a foreign, extraterrestrial like, and outer space continuum filled to the time with Color.

There I was at the Color, staring at it for a formidably long time. I saw the stack of paper, flapping to and fro, and I knew what I had to do. I started to move, and lo and behold, I realized that this was truly astral projection occurring. My soul had clearly left my body and journeyed to another realm, the reality of the Color. Moving your soul is completely unlike moving your body. It is so dissimilar in relation to traditional movements. Thinking is the one thing that contributes to the movement of the soul, and so, I thought, and I thought of nothing but the endlessly flapping stack of paper. Onwards, I went, towards the stack of paper. Instantaneously, at the speed of light, I entered into the stack of paper, and, contiguously, my soul was transported to another reality, a world that was so very different than the one that I was brought up in.

Everything appeared very wispy and dark. I was capable of making out what was going on, but there wasn’t much light flowing in this world. Next, they came to me, the Self-Transforming Machine Elves! From all directions, they appeared around me. The entire time this was going on, I heard very odd banging noises. I remained a stationary observer, and I did not think of moving anywhere, and so, I stayed where I was.

Perhaps, I thought, they weren’t even aware of my silent presence. I came upon this assumption a little too soon, however. Before I knew it, they started going through me. Yes, they went through me! I first thought that they were bumping into me; however, it turned out that, when I turned my head around after an Elf supposedly bumped into me, the Elf appeared to be on the other side of me! The Elf must have gone through me. Nonetheless, despite turning my head, I remained stationary, and they continued going right through my soul. I definitely knew now that I didn’t have a body, for can a physical, tangible, and corporeal entity, such as an Elf, simply go right through another palpable, actual, and definite body? Of course not! I was simply comprised of pure soul. I did not have a body!

The Self-Transforming Machine Elves didn’t go through all of my soul, but only portions of it. Together, combined, they might have surpassed through the entire surface area of it. Still, one by one, they kept on entering and leaving different portions of my soul. They did not appear to walk, but rather, they appeared to glide. It felt as if they were imbedding me with 