My first experience with psychadelic drugs began about six hours ago when I ate six dried home-grown Psilocybe cubensis mushrooms.
My first experience with psychadelic drugs began about six hours ago when I ate six dried home-grown Psilocybe cubensis mushrooms. I've tried LSA (morning glory) and large doses of Ecstasy on previous occasions but never felt a thing; I also have an extremely high tolerance for alcohol. So it didn't surprise when, an hour later, I still hadn't noticed any effects from the shrooms. By this time I was up in the hills above my mother's house on a glorious summer day, and I decided to just push my dose until I felt something.
To that end I consumed another fifteen smaller mushrooms out of a baggie I'd brought with me, took my shirt off and sat down among some rocks to wait for the shrooms to do their thing. The sun was shining, the wind was blowing dramatically... it was just the sort of timeless natural environment which I love, and therefore a perfect setting for a trip. And I didn't have to wait long. Within a half hour I was fairly swimming in irrepressible emotions... happiness, sadness, laughing, crying. I suffer from a mental/neurological condition which among other things prevents me from experiencing strong emotion. Ever. About anything. So for me to be crying or feeling joy or fear is extremely unusual, and therefore wonderful.
I rode this wave of newfound sensation with no resistance, thinking about whatever came to mind, relenting to each new emotional impulse without questioning what it was or what it was about. Maybe nothing. This went on for quite some time before the weird inexplicable emotions settled down and a carefree, childlike joy took their place. This would be the mood of the rest of the trip. I laughed, I listened to the wind in the trees and mumbled happy wordless nothings to myself until suddenly I felt an urge to sing. Appropriately enough, I sang a Hindi bhajan hailing from my early childhood, all of which was spent in a Hindu cult founded in the hippie early 70's. It still exists today, in a milder and saner form, and I go there once a year to visit my father. "He Mata Durga!" (hey mother Durga) I sang, and the song had a strangely beautiful hypnotic quality to it, as much Hindu music does, further enhanced by the drug. Never mind that the song was meaningless without the belief system which inspired it, this trip was all about the experience, and singing to Durga took me back in a big way, whatever it meant. I must have sung for about a half hour before the song drifted off of its own accord and I stopped and took in my surroundings. This was my peak. Everything looked normal, apart from the radio tower hovering above me which seemed to wave and wobble a bit when I stared at it, and neither did I have any closed-eye hallucinations. On a childish impulse I gleefully took off the rest of my clothes and just lay there naked in the sun, mumbling happy nonsense again and playing with my wiener like a little boy in the bathtub. It seemed like such a great thing to have a wiener to play with, but it also caused me to get an erection, and I was rather distressed about this. I can't very well go walking around with an erection, I thought, but it refused to go down. Eventually I just got up and walked off anyway, and the stiffie subsided of its own accord.
So now I was on this dirt road on the hill, and I decided to go on a hike. The only problem was that for some reason my feet were hurting intensely for no (at the time) readily apparent reason, and I didn't know whether this was because there was really something wrong with my feet or because the drug was just blowing up the rough, hot feeling of the dirt road out of all proportion. Walking barefoot shouldn't hurt this much, I thought, so I just trudged on regardless. It was only some time later that I examined the soles of my feet and found that they were covered with blisters. The balls of my feet, my heels, my toes, all white and puffy. Reality check: so the road had been pretty hot after all. So I sat down in the shade of a tree, and gradually the drug wore off. I knew I was coming down when I found myself thinking more about what I had already experienced and formulating this trip report than actually riding the wave of new sensations.
And then, after little more than three hours, it was over. I got up, and reality frowned upon me. There I was, nearly straight now, naked, in full view of half a dozen homes and a wide swath of farmland, and was now faced with the problem of getting all the way back to yonder hill on my blistered feet and the scorching road. Shit. I would have found it funny as hell, if only I hadn't been right in the middle of it at the time and forced to cope, and if my feet didn't hurt so bad. After a long and fairly unpleasant journey I did arrive at the top of my hill at last, put on my clothes and shoes and hobbled home. All in all it was a remarkable experience, albeit not quite as intense as I had hoped for. A tantalizing first glimpse of the world of psychadelia. I don't know how many dozen of those shit-awful mushrooms I'm going to have to eat to get a level 3 or 4 trip, but I'm looking forward to next time.