"its so obvious once it happens.
there is more to explore, the is so much more to explore.
Its so hard to write, its pullling me away and I want to go but I have tto fifght it to tell yopuym
my room is squalid and dirty, theres so little that matters here, I'm dead here. I was alivine tre mountains with the sheep and
the mountain ponies and the sun."
These are the opening lines of a word document I found about three and a half hours after taking 2.1g of dried liberty caps in a cup of green tea with a slice of lemon and a teaspoon of honey, just when I was beginning to come down from an experience that is wholly new to me. I'd spent all day saturday on my first Lib hunt in Wales and had been moderately successful, collecting a little over 6.3g once dry; I'd wasted time climbing [redacted] and a couple other peaks when I should have been down in the valleys so richly covered in sheep shit and watered by near constant rain. It was a beautiful day though, sitting on a mountain side in a rare day of baking sun flush with success.
I brought the libs home, called my partner in crime to tell them of my success (we plan to trip together on the remaining 4g plus whatever else we can scavenge from a different part of the country) then set about drying the shrooms. The next day I was trying not to take any (never trip alone on your first time, share the moment with another & so forth) but I just couldn't seem to do anything else useful with myself and the draw of my first pyscedelic was just too damn tempting. Given that I'm a fairly experienced if infrequent stoner, had done a lot of homework into libs and planned to use them in an entheogenic setting I felt reasonably confident in high balling my first dose, so aimed it between the recommended quantity for a 3 - 4.
"oh fuck synthstesia shouldn't be happening yet. took more than I bargained for I think. this opens up so many NEW things,
theres so much more, so so so so so much more. I could hide so much in here. theres more, they're right, religion, they're right.
I could tell you all this, [redacted], and it wouldn't matter human dramas so a absurd.
We need to gather. gather and store for the dead time is coming when life will stir no more
depersonalisation, synthstaethia, my consciounsess expanding to the whole world. there is truth here.
the songs, they're a sad lament to how we dn't do this how we keep our conscioness in our own world. compartmentalise this shit."
I won't bore you with too much of the religious druggy shit, but I put on a recording of the gospel of John (which has loads of epic and trippy imagery) while preparing the tea, drank it steadily, ate the mushy shroom remnants then hopped in the shower. I wanted to feel clean when it hit. And not a lot happened. I checked the time - 20 minutes, 25 minutes, 27 minutes - nothing. Began to wonder if I'd over heated them when I dried them out & rendered the psilocybin inactive.
Then my arms began to get these rushes, as I'd been lying on them then moved, letting the blood back into them. I laughed, this was happening. I felt a bit nauseous too, but not too bad. Got up, slightly unsteadily, and put on a guided meditation track on my ipod then lay on the bed. I got about ten minutes into that - more rushes, the white ceiling above me splitting into triangular shifting spectrum, then just had the urge to write.
So I sat down at the desk, shaking now, and struggled to pull up notepad. Paused, turned "When the Levee Breaks" up loud and began to write. I got a few lines in when it became hard. Really hard. It felt like I was accelerating away, like I had a fish hook in the back of my head and was being dragged from this plane into another. I understand why the word "velocity" and "trip" are used so much now. Velocity doesn't mean speed, it means speed and direction. This wasn't like alcohol and not really all that much like weed either, this was totally new. A trip, because you go somewhere so different it's like a foreign country. It's sort of inexpressible, trying to tell someone who hasn't been there is like bringing back wonderful news from a far away country.
Typing began to get too hard, so I stared out the window. The colours were vivid, unbelievably so. It didn't look real. It looked like an idealised, overbright painting, an idealisation. The tv screen that serves as my computer monitor has a thick, soft-edged black rim. It pulsed, looked alive and unbelievably beautiful even though everything was starting to look a little pixelated. Then it hit me, how many of our artistic designers, painters, songwriters, titans our society did their best work because of mind-altering substances? It made angry that small minds make this illegal with serious punishment if we're caught.
"it could be an evolutionary leap. if we acted like this, as a species I mean.
design was done high.
our music, our literature.
being high is a norm.
I don't want to go back
to not being high I mean I know I have to oh my god it so obcvipuss its a;;l sop fucking obvious we're such desperate creatures."
I'm not sure what was so obvious to me at the time, but I'm sure as hell going to go back and find out. I remember it was wonderful, and we'd be so much better if only we could all remember it. I remember my hands crawling and moving, the skin flowing and bones elongating. I remember getting lost in my room, playing with ideas. I remember thinking I couldn't tell the difference between sight and sound and not caring, the distinction didn't matter any more. Different parts of my body feeling like different people, only being able to differentiate between me and the world if I made an effort of will. Ideas flowed and cartwheeled, philosophies came alive.
At some point I began to talk. If anyone reading this has watched battlestar galactica long enough to become familiar with a basestar hybrid, I imagine I seemed a little like that. Time became meaningless and impossible to discern, evening by looking at a clock. Somehow I got into this odd loop where I couldn't be sure that the idea of self - an I, a distinct entity called me - was true without a sense of time, but I couldn't manage to be sure of time if there wasn't a me observing it. All of this has happened before, all of this will happen again I guess. So I'd talk, nouns mainly. My mind was running faster than ever and slower than ever; I'd follow ideas to their logical conclusion, say the nouns (concept... dichotomy... paradox... epistemology... self... time...) and loop around and around. Descartes and Hume would be proud.
"this is how it will be in the end times, it must be.
the obviousness, how obvious it all is.
focus is hard but I can learn to integrate?
the point of it all.
thats what we do"
I realised that when sober I could integrate my thoughts reasonably well, slot them together, but my ideas were limited, uncreative. I've never been creative, always a synthesiser - good at mashing up existing ideas and applying to a new situation but no genuine inspiration. My mind wandered to the scientists who made huge breakthroughs on acid, but they had a guide to focus them, remind them why they were there. I couldn't even find my way from one side of the room to the other. Genuinely lost lying slap bang in the middle of my room - aware that I was in my room - I just couldn't integrate what I saw when my head was turned to the left with what I saw when my head was turned to the right. I'd love to this on a fairly low dose, or with a guide some time, and an interesting problem to work through.
At some point I turned off the music, and I think I must have been peaking in dead silence other than a stream of apparently disconnected nouns looping like a badly-written computer programme.
"we get all focused and unfocused at the same time we don't need guides fucking guides
yes we kind of do.
I havent decided
what the fuck am i
this sharpened point"
The sharpened point, I think, is perception, consciousness; it struck me how people are like ships that pass in the night and never know of the others existence. We rarely share all of our selves (if selves exist - I had no idea at this point!) with anyone, let alone many people. Instead we share little bits with people who may or may not be paying attention and yet I think most of us yearn to be able to be really open; we're terrible at communication and honesty a lot of the time. As if a person were a lighthouse shooting a thin beam of light through the night, and very occasionally those beams cross. Don't cross the beams, right?
I'm not sure how long I lay like that, but eventually aforementioned partner in crime text me. I was feeling a little more steady so called her, immediately admitted I done a bit of a bad thing by starting without her then utterly failed to communicate the immensity and otherworldliness of what had just happened. To lose your sense of self, not even be sure which of your senses you're percieving the world though, play with ideas as if they were nothing and everything all at the same time, to know the world you see is a tiny sharpened point, a cul de sac in the immensity of what is, never mind what could be. To live in a contradiction you can't explain but know is true. The closest I could get was to quote a line from Kashmir at her - "I am a traveller of both time and space / to be where I have been... talk and song from tongues of lilting grace... not a word could I relay, the story was quite clear." I seem to remember using the line "you know how everything tastes like chicken? Well, it isn't chicken."
Coming down was rather gentle, although I've had a bitch of a headache that's fading now, I've also been seeing and smelling things with exceptional clarity today - although I had to get up for work so I'm also tired. Tripping is *hard!*
If you made it to the end of this report well done! I had a wonderful, inexpressible experience and I cannot wait to explore this - I have to go and gather more libs before the dead time (winter) comes.
There is so much more to explore... I will leave you with the rest of my note:-
this is so hard
this is so so so so so so hard
we all do it.
we all do this
even I think
therefore I am
thats up for grabs
it's the first time
puzzles puzzles puzzles puzzles puzzles puzzles"