My first real trip was at a beach on the Oregon coast. Up until that point, I
had only had two failed attempts at shrooms at low dosages. About fifteen
loosely-knit friends and I carpooled up from our college and camped out in the
woods the night before. In the morning, we all had mushroom tea. Most of us had
an eighth of an ounce of dried shrooms. Having missed the opportunity to buy
them with everyone else, I got mine from a different source, which may have
contributed to my feeling distanced from the group. We walked through the woods
down to the sea. I talked about nature with Mike, an artist whom I met there. I
was mesmerized by the silent beauty of the trees. At last we saw the ocean
glowing through the trees, accompanied by a low roar. I was speechless at its
magnificence. It was warm and sunny, which we were very grateful for, as it was
the middle of November. We played in the waves for a bit, then sat around in an
oblong circle and passed a pipe or two. I noticed Mike sculpting symbols of some
kind in the sand, which inspired me to sculpt. I consciously tried to stretch my
imagination, as the imaginative content of my weed trips had become tiresomely
consistent, and I was hoping to break out of that with this new experience. I
soon discovered that I wouldn't have to try!
We exchanged glances around
the circle as we mutually recognized our expanding consciousnesses. Everyone
began to appear absurdly superimposed on their surroundings as in a surrealist
painting. I saw a dog run by, another kind of being jetting through space, and
it seemd very funny to me. Someone mentioned how we must look, a group of kids
staring into space, and this seemed even funnier to me. I became increasingly
absorbed in the sounds of the ocean, and I heard layers upon layers of
frequencies that I had never noticed before. It seemed to me that I could hear
an electronic music piece that I had recently completed in the sounds of the
ocean. One guy and I got up simultaneously and headed towards the water (why I
know not). This seemed to me to be sufficient reason for us to go together, so I
said to him, "We got up at the same time." He didn't respond, but we explored
the beach together. I flowed over the water and sand, captivated by the fractal
patterns of the ripples and ridges.
After a while, more people got up to
go for a walk. I wasn't sure that I wanted to go, because I felt that there were
infinite possibilities to explore, but I didn't want to get lost, so I went
along with them half-heartedly, tracing long, sweeping arcs out from their path.
I noticed the clothes that people were wearing and pondered how their clothes
reflected their personalities. I was captivated by the brightly colored trees,
cliffs, and sky. I wandered back to "home base", noticing Mike meditating on a
rock. I investigated everything with child like fascination. I had the feeling
that every grain of sand contained a world of beauty, if only I could access it.
I met someone coming back to the group from the other direction, and we stared
at each other, mouths open in wonder. I discovered a new toy: the sand. I rolled
around in the sand, enraptured by its silky texture. I heard someone say from
somewhere outside myself that one could tell I was a drama person, which seemed
particularly appropriate, because rolling around in the sand reminded me of a
skit I had done for our college television show in which I rolled around in a
pile of bread. This gave me the bright idea of eating the sand. I soon
discovered that it was not as palatable as bread, not even the cheap-ass bread
we used in the skit. I found myself carrying out, at the request of others, the
action of sifting sand through my fingers as if searching for something and
ending up with empty hands, which they found to be very funny.
I was
feeling empty at this point, when I noticed Mike sitting on a log reading the
Bible. This seemed to me the strangest thing to find on a beach: a BOOK, with
WORDS in it. I scrambled over to him on all fours like a dog, intrigued with
this new object. It had a brown color scheme different from the rest of the
beach and the words seemed to contain a quiet, forceful dignity. Mike read me a
passage to illustrate how the others would regret having wasted their lives, and
this made sense to me in relation to my relentless curiosity that no-one else
there seemed to share. He said, "We're the ones who never stopped playing in the
sand," to which I responded automatically, "I didn't know there were more than
one of us," feeling some spiritual connection between us. At this point, I lost
track of linear time and became confused about my identity. I thought about
issues with my girlfriend, and my inability to act on them at that point may
have contributed to my getting caught in a time loop, as others have suggested;
however, as time loops go, it was a rather pleasant one: taking in a sweep of
sky and cliffs, accompanied by a muted seagull-cry from my ever-gaping mouth and
a wave of semi-audible tinkling harmonics. As a composer, I pondered how I might
translate this gesture into concrete music. I felt amorous feelings towards one
of the girls in the group, saw her crying, and somehow felt that I had made her
cry. I told Mike that I felt like an asshole because I had made her cry. He gave
me a Drum cigarette, which I was too distracted to smoke.
A friend of
mine called me over, wondering what was going on in my world. I talked to him
brokenly, telling him how I couldn't believe how much FUN this was. After a
while, we walked across the beach to a waterfall, which was gorgeous. I ran part
of the way, feeling like a roadrunner, and I heard someone behind me say, "Look
at him go!" We all went upstream into the woods to have another smoke. They said
that I had had enough, because I still had an amazed look on my face, and that
was fine with me. I hung out in the trees on the fringe of the group, feeling
like some kind of strange monkey-boy. I felt like I was balancing the
distribution of people in the space. One of the girls looked at me and said
pointedly, "You're weird," to which I responded with a resigned nod.
After that, we made our way back to the cars. I was too absorbed in my thoughts
about what had happened to talk. We drove home, I ran to my room to change clothes,
I ran to the music building with one other guy from the trip, and we entered the
auditorium as our choir was rehearsing for that evening's concert. I sang that
night with new-found vigor. Luckily my mom (who had come for the concert) didn't
notice the sand behind my ears. In conclusion, I would most-vociferously urge you
to trip outside during the day, if you can do so in a safe environment. There is
unparalleled beauty!
