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Waking Up as God, and Something About Jars
"Something about jars," I think to myself.
I'm standing in the guest bathroom shower, hot water running over my back. A moment ago, I was dreaming (sort of), slipping in and out of consciousness. I remember thinking a shower would be a good idea. I don't know how long I've been in here, but at this point, time is a foreign concept. My mind races to understand. The water rolls down as I appreciatively turn back and forth to engulf myself in its warmth. Euphoria. I soon decide I've had enough, and reach to turn off the H-tap (the C-tap is never open by the end of my showers).
I step out onto the bottom portion of the towel I'm holding and give my lower body a quick once-over with the top portion. I'm compelled to sit down and observe the fuzzy marine-colored rug that my cat loves so much. It's due for a wash - he suckles and kneads it regularly, and doesn't seem to mind that it never produces milk. I run my fingers through the soft parts, and I can understand his affection for it.
My mind is still flickering over a million single-frames of thought.
"Something about jars," I think again.
Everything seems so obvious, and nothing matters. I recall bits of my dream from the shower:
The universe had readily revealed its secrets to me. I shouldn't say secrets - rather, self-evident truths that I had never been able to grasp before. I understood that nothing that happens in the entire universe matters. Biological life is a by-product of certain conditions,and the sole goal of all life is to reproduce (although it doesn't matter on a universal scale whether life thrives or goes extinct). I pictured Michaelangelo's painting of The Creation of Adam, where God reaches down an outstretched finger to Adam's lingering hand. My mind kept straying from and returning to this image. I cannot remember what complex secret I now fully understood (it may have just been the extreme measure to which nothing in the universe matters), but I pictured myself as Adam in that painting, and God was handing me a jigsaw puzzle piece. Clouds in the background were exploding with light cast in all directions, and I could hear distant thunder. I think there was some sort of music playing, but I can't remember what it sounded like. God was handing me the understanding of some grand puzzle that I had never been able to complete in my head before, and I was profoundly enlightened.
I sit here on the fuzzy marine rug, watching the strands of fabric slowly wave, swell, and compress. I sink into deep thought, though not intentionally; it's all I can bring myself to do. I start to fade in and out of consciousness again.
My eyes shoot open. Whose body am I looking down at? It belongs to a person I know. I am clearly using it, but I don't explicitly recall being that person. I can sense vague memories, but I unconsciously ignore them. Memories of myself, my surroundings, and my life. The late hour. My girlfriend sleeping in the next room.
"Something about jars."
Perhaps the suppression of my memories had allowed my mind to "recall" (create,actually) new ones. A thought occurs, and I start to giggle, then outright laugh. It has dawned on me that I am God, and I have just become self-aware in some sort of lucid dream. I again envision The Creation of Adam. This time, I am handing the puzzle piece to the naked man I have created. Everything suddenly makes more sense than I have ever (or since) been able to comprehend. The realization makes me laugh over and over again. I pound the floor with a hammer-fist, understanding that if I wished to, I could smash right through the world, or the universe. For whatever reason (I think mainly because I don't feel the need to prove it to myself), I don't destroy the earth or the universe at that moment.
I envision myself in what I suppose must be a room in heaven. It is a vast, empty expanse. I see myself standing naked, and understand that I am the basis of all existence. I see my body as the building blocks of all creation. I have the power to multiply matter. I have a name, and it is not the name I am called by the people in my suppressed memories. I have not been able to remember what the name was.
I drift in and out of consciousness again. I begin to accept that each time I regain control of my ego, I am becoming self-aware in a completely new (or reformed), identical universe, and there is nothing I can do to stop this cycle. Paradoxically, it has also become apparent that there is no such thing as time. I have tapped into a level of understanding that transcends chronology, and it seems silly to think that time could have ever governed my life. I am God, after all.
I am compelled to lick the toilet seat next to me, and at some point, I lick the floor. Why not? I stand up finally, open the door, and walk out of the bathroom. I proceed to the dining room, where my keyboard and acoustic guitar await me. I pick up the guitar and begin strumming some bar chords. The neighbors and my girlfriend couldn't possibly mind, because they don't really exist to me at this point. Nothing matters. I place the guitar back in its stand.
I walk behind the couch in the middle of the living room and assume a kneeling fetal position. I begin to feel cold, but dismiss it, since there is really no such thing as hot or cold. I stretch out, my face down in the carpet, with goose-bumps slowly emerging on my arms and legs. I know that I could climb into bed with my girlfriend, but that wouldn't make me any warmer. I am sure of it. I just have to wait it out here on the floor. I succumb to sleep.
I wake up after maybe an hour and push myself up into a seated position. My face and chest faintly burn, and I can feel the contoured impressions of the carpet on them with my fingertips.
"The jars!" I exclaim in my head.
I vaguely remember smacking them - half-pint jars - onto a nylon cutting board. Out had popped the consolidated contents of nearly two months' worth of waiting and careful observation. I had submerged the contents in water overnight, coated them in a mineral substance, and placed them on foil squares in two large perforated bins. I had spritzed them with water and fanned them often, and switched out the lids (one of them mounted with a fluorescent light on its underside) twice a day. I had harvested the fruits that protruded from these jar-shaped clumps, and fan-dried them. I had brought on this lucid dream.
I walk to the guest room and open the closet door. I pick up a spray bottle and spritz and fan my terrariums. Satisfied with my night, I brush my teeth, remove my contacts, and crawl into bed.
Earlier that night, I had weighed out my first small flush of fully-dried Penis Envy mushrooms (though I had also cultivated three other strains of Psilocybe cubensis), totaling 3.4 grams. I had broken them up into small pieces, chewed them thoroughly in three bites, and washed them down with juice.
I then sat with my girlfriend on the couch (who can't trip because it could give her a panic attack) and turned Netflix to Monty Python and the Meaning of Life (likely the source of my God experience). After about 20-30 minutes, I began to feel giddy and anxious. I stopped the movie because I was feeling a little uncomfortable, and we moved to the bedroom. I lay down for a few minutes and we talked. I gradually started to feel better, and the anxiety passed. I was beginning my trip.
In a few minutes, we started having sex so that I could see what it was like (and for the sake of having sex). It was absolutely awesome, but I couldn't stop giggling with glee, which she probably didn't appreciate. Before too long, though, I couldn't concentrate on the amazing feeling and lost my erection (this is not a normal occurrence, but I had calculated in the back of my mind that it was a possibility). She was a good sport about it though, and we simply cleaned up and resumed talking. I told her to remind me to fuck her again when I wasn't on shrooms, and she assured me that I wouldn't need to be reminded.
I felt light-hearted and energetic for the remainder of our conversation, excited to talk to her about what I was thinking and feeling. I was also grateful that she didn't mind me tripping when she could not, and thus I gladly did anything I could to make sure she was happy.
At one point, we were talking about her brother - she had apparently gotten the impression that I dislike him. I began to cry because I love him (despite our petty differences), and it was a very strange sensation to feel tears streaming freely onto my cheeks.
"I'm leaking," I told her, amused at myself.
After a while, she had to go to sleep because she had work the next day (I had the next day off). I kissed her and turned out the light.
"Goodnight, Baby," I said. "I feel like taking a shower."