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Sasquatch

The two bowls of Highland Show compost have been producing steadily for a few months now, and the dry cubensis are stacking up.



The two bowls of Highland Show compost have been producing steadily for a few months now, and the dry cubensis are stacking up. A and I decide we have to eat faster. I've chosen to go for what Terence Mckenna calls a 'breakthrough' dose, which for me I figured would be around seven dry grams, and there were enough fresh 'shrooms just appeared that A was going to try forty-five wet grams, and see if the freshness made any difference. I'd taken scissors to the dry 'shrooms, so I have a bag of caps, and the stems had all been cut into half-inch sections, otherwise I'd have been chewing for fifteen minutes. We sit in the car to ingest. A nibbles on the fresh ones, which he says taste vaguely like a cross between mushrooms and pistachio. I eat the caps, then empty all the shredded stems into my mouth and send them on their way with some fresh orange juice. Some people claim not to like OJ and 'shrooms, but it works for me.

Ten minutes later, we're down on the beach. Something's happening already to both of us. A says he can see little orbiting balls/dots, which is a common 'alert' for him. I'm getting sheets of energy shearing off the sea like a rainstorm in reverse, neon-pink saxophones zooming around my head, and the sand around my foot breathing, throbbing and generally turning into the spawn of Cthulhu. Lordy, lordy, I appear to be wasted! Fleetingly, I think - if this is ten minutes in, what's the peak going to be like? I suspect this was combination of large dose, the fact that all I've had to eat in the last twenty hours has been a small quantity of chips and dip twelve hours ago, and that it's been six weeks since our last trip. I grow confused - there's a seagull flying lazily along, with its engine running. When I point this out to A, he calmly draws my attention to the microlight which is also flying over the Forth. As A points out - "Remember, seagulls generally can't afford petrol..."

Shortly after this, we enter the forest. This is where, for me, the real deep weirdness begins. It's getting on for 5:00 pm, and the sky is getting slightly darker. Within the forest, the trees are filtering the light quite sharply - the different bands of colours are quite distinct. Everything's glowing ever so softly. Some recently fallen pieces of the pine branches seem to be a very different colour. I try to point this out to A, but get as far as the word: 'These...' and cannot continue. Partly because of language dysfunction, but also because it suddenly strikes me as utterly absurd that I should consider one colour any more important of consideration than any other. The forest is quite dense in places, and we're continually brushing up against trees and the ends of branches. Before long, I have twigs in my hair, my beard, and all over my jacket, jumper and trousers. I begin to feel like a mobile part of the forest, some strange wildman of the woods.

The air against my hands feels thick with life, as though I'm moving through something thicker than air, but not as dense as water. I look at my hands. They're glowing with a deep green aura. If I move them, they leave neon trails in the air. I fall to my knees. I'm making soft, happy animal noises. Mr Language has left the building.


<Something happens at this point that I cannot describe. It's peace and joy and reverence and appreciation and it is none of those things. Apologies for being vague, but there are parts of what happened that I don't dare go near with words. It would be like trying to write out a symphony in English. When it happens to you, you will know it, and if it does not, no words I could use in any language on this planet would come even close.>


When it passes, A and I move on. I'm dimly aware that I've turned into a shambling sasquatch, communicating by pointing, shrugging, smiling and the occasional grunt, gurgle and giggle, and some fragment of my brain is concerned that I'm not being much in the way of company for A. But there's not really a lot I can do about it, and he seems to be okay with my condition. He checks occasionally: "Are you well?" and I nod vigorously, gurgle happily and give the thumbs up when I can find my thumbs. I am in a place beyond joy. Everything fills me with simple wonder. I remember thinking in one of my more lucid flashes: Trip report. Eat mushrooms. Look at trees. Ha ha ha ha ha.

Eventually, we exit the forest into an open field. I lie on my back and gaze upwards as slowly, one by one, the stars come on. It takes a while, but I'm going nowhere.


Trip time: four hours for A, nearer to five for me. There were a couple of bouts of very mild stomach cramps, but I think they were more due to being a bit hungry than any side effects from the 'shrooms. I'll not be pushing much beyond seven grams - if seven can do that, there's no real need for me to go further. I'll be quite happy to do three or four most of the time, with seven saved for really good days. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, not even on acid, and I'll probably be quite a while assimilating and integrating all that I saw and felt. Although it feels absurd to try to put a label on it, what I had seemed to be a Level Five, and I don't believe that dosage is the only factor in producing such a state of consciousness. I suspect that trying to have one would just make sure that you didn't.

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