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Offlinetheorganicdomino
Psychedelic ZenBuddhist
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Registered: 09/03/04
Posts: 1,855
Loc: Here & Now
Last seen: 4 years, 2 months
Level 5+ Mushroom Trip report, very long and weird
    #6690640 - 03/20/07 06:47 AM (17 years, 4 days ago)

This is very long, I suggest you print and read it at leisure, it gets weird, then weirder, then weird with a beard.


"In the early hours of the night/morning I had a vision, whilst wide awake. I could see myself clearly, stood in a desert setting and every atom in my body separated out. I recall thinking that each part had plenty of space around it. Then instead of being outside myself I was looking at my hand, the atoms dispersed even more and I fused/merged with everything - and then I faded back in. There was a definite psychedelic experience/sensation of ego loss when I dissolved into the background and a strong feeling of renewal upon my return.

The whole of the following day I felt refreshed. Knowing that the psychedelic 'mushroom' experience was what I had been searching for since childhood. That all the years of constructing a person out of myself only to destroy it were over - that I no longer have any desire to self destruct, that I can be blown apart by the mushrooms and reformed in a spiritual manner. I am no longer who I was and will never be those negative people ever again. I am so excited about who I am becoming."
Journal Entry Wednesday 9th June 2004

In the few years since this experience I have puzzled over it's meaning and occasionally doubted whether it was a vision or merely a dream, although I have a strong memory of assuring myself directly after it occurred that I was wide-awake. I wasn't even thinking about this event on the day of this trip, my mind was more involved in the imminent birth of Amy and my first son, Jack. Both factors would combine to form the most intense and intensely bizarre spiritual journey I have yet encountered.

This report is a mess of ideas and events, which I shall endeavor to tidy up at some point with a view to, perhaps, doing more with. I leave it at this stage of development as time will be something I will have little of once the little one arrives.

Whilst picking up more incense earlier in the week I impulsively bought a tiger's eye worry stone, which has stayed, smoothly fitting, in my trouser pocket since. Its properties are relevant and perhaps propitious of the journey I would end up having. It is a very protective stone, especially during travel, can help one see clearly without illusion and boosts personal power!

Having never heard it before Vetiver's second album "To Find Me Gone" was an odd, but on the nose, choice to start the day, the first few tracks from the bizarre Olivia Tremor Control album "Music from the unrealised film script, Dusk at Cubist Castle" less so. The usual tripping routine of seeing Amy off to work and slowly tidying, drinking many cups of lemon and ginger tea, getting washed and dressed played out with slight background nervousness.

I watched the two main films I made at university: "A Book By It's Cover" and "Different Words, Same Story", their fractured narratives playing with reality and storytelling still holding some power. As an insight into the person I was when I made them they demonstrated the anxieties and regrettably conviction I have lost. I also watched "I Could See the Smallest Things" which I had very little to do with, but has similar themes in a jokier way. The DVD "Ross Noble Randomiser" served as the stand-up comedy I often use to relax myself and settle into a cheery mood before dosing.

As jitteriness occasionally tremored through my mind and body, as the 5g of Ecuador powder in juice eased into my system, I casually paced around the flat and looked through a book of photographs taken during film productions by Jeff Bridges and another of Art Nouveau paintings and artifacts.
Just before the initial stages of the onset began to overwhelm me, with a blue felt tip, the plaster on one of my fingers smudging the colour sometimes, in my notebook I drew a swirly, vaginal, shapely shaped pattern with single indented lines, which was very pleasing. For some reason I made the shape in the top left hand corner into a spider web pattern. It became progressively more and more difficult as I began experiencing existence as progressively more sumptuous. I just managed to struggle to finish the final indented line and leave the picture as a minimalist piece (rather than screw it up through over ornamentation like I sometimes do).

The heating turned up a little, wrapped up in the sleeping blanket I shivered for a while and curled up in a ball, much better prepared for this stage this time. Often in the early stages the John Lennon line "Nothing is real" from the song "Strawberry Fields Forever" looped in my thoughts. The details of the pictures on the walls gradually came loose of their mooring merging with the surroundings and the trees in the gardens our flat overlooks began twisting, turning and wriggling.

I had a realisation shortly in that this would be the first time I was tripping with a full dose of the Ecuador strain I had grown, which are much stronger than the Dutch King and less assured of providing a inevitably positive trip than the Koh Samui strain always seem to bring. Considering how intense the trip could become I worried that I hadn't prepared enough.

The Ecuador shrooms brought an extremely intense high quickly, profoundly intense sensations and stimulations making focus and concentration difficult, all details were heightened too much, too heavy in sumptuousness, carrying a feeling of slight discomfort. Closing my eyes and clearing my mind brought relief.

Behind closed eyes initially a spray of threatening, glowing red worried me, but it gave way to the image and sensation of the mushroom entity as a roll of wallpaper-like being wrapping around all of my limbs, torso, head etc, wrapping me in love whilst "All Is Full Of Love" was playing. Only later did I realise this imagery was a result of wrapping up Amy's Birthday presents earlier that morning. It was also slightly insect-like in manifestation taking me a breath or two to feel safe in its company

Into the peak, my entire being became what I thought of as a "universal eye", rotating through a multiplicity of views which were crystal clear, like actually being there or at the very least watching a film. Organic shapes and symbols in an orange, red, pink, yellow swirl of information surrounded these views whilst I zoomed in and focused on each one, the swirls receding as I did so. I can recall seeing elderly people unpacking shopping from the back of a car, and newspapers being unloaded from the back of a lorry and thrown to the sidewalk, with a sense of the location being New York.

Peaking, streams of information flowed in all directions, symbols organic and circuit like in greenish background expanding and rushing in all directions. I could see that a "room" with slightly defined walls has been created inside/outside this energy. Sometimes it felt like I was lying on a hospital stretcher being observed, sometimes I felt as though I was stood up. White coated doctors/scientist(s) with clipboards were making notes. Army officers were there too. A buxom woman, very 1940s/50s in a nurses/RAF uniform walked towards and past me. Figures in uniform were definitely in evidence. There was a sense of excitement in the air, with the notion being that I had achieved a higher level, reached a greater goal. I let all this occur without question, except for slight feelings of having been deceived, that an experiment was/is been conducted on me without my knowledge, but I ultimately concede to the wisdom of the mushroom spirit, and trusted that all this activity was beneficial.

I found myself floating behind then alongside a group of people in suits, architects maps/blueprints rolled (another roll of paper!) under their arms. We were walking in a stream of consciousness, with the environment shifting around us, through a building up to the roof of a skyscraper to survey a cityscape on a sunny day. One of them, telepathically, states, "We're going to take reality away!"

This was all fascinating, but in a rollercoaster rush of extremeness of information, which was not exactly smooth. Part of the problem may have been the music I had picked out. The Bjork compilation CD I had made especially for the occasion was making me rise and fall in emotions. There was perhaps not enough flow for it to provide a smooth ride through the peak. The Flaming Lips "Yoshimi" album didn't quite suit either being both too familiar and too busy, with me too high and too preoccupied to easily process and enjoy the sounds. I really needed more mellow, simpler, flowing music. Frankly I should have gone with the idea of listening to Ravi Shankar, but I chickened out again not realising how great it sounds whilst tripping and went with more conventions music through fear of needing something grounding, when I really needed sounds to let me float.

Coming out of the maelstrom, I was very down on myself, mainly for not being artistic in comparison to the many creatively musical people at work. I stated quite a few times "I'm useless", especially with regards to Amy's pregnancy, that I don't do enough and have been ignoring her. I soon realised this was nonsense and that I was being too hard on myself. Being a loner came up a lot again and I briefly had a moment of seeing images of people from school I had had difficulties with under what looked like an underpass, with me off to one side, indifferent to their opinions.

Looking in the mirror I couldn't manipulate my face into what is recognisably me. This didn't bother me, in fact it rather amused me, accepting my appearance as weird, gave me an appreciation and acceptance of how I normally look.

During the first hour of the trip the Vashti Bunyan album "Just a Diamond Day" arrived through the post. I opened it up and put it on the pile of CDs to play during the day. After listening to "Yoshimi" I was feeling a tad low, so I put the new disc in and pressed play. "Yoshimi" started playing again! I took the disc out and checked it was the new album, which it was, pressed play again, again "YOSHIMI!" I sat back from CD player, which seemed to start making ominous clicking sound, and pondered this for a few minutes. I took the disc out again and "Yoshimi" is of course stuck to the bottom of "Just a Diamond Day"! For a moment there I felt as if reality was shifting, and a strange eerie mood overcame me. I had wondered if the CD player had somehow copied the Lips album onto the other disc or somehow stored "Yoshimi", or if by accident the Vashti Bunyan album had been misrecorded, and puzzled at the odds of that happening. Needless to say when I worked out was going on I could not prevent myself from rolling with laughter.

The Vashti Bunyan album was, and is, quite delightful. Initially, slumped lazily in front of the right arm of the sofa, the quaint daftness made me giggle, the music melted my misgivings and pleasantly kept me relaxed and happy.

I had the notion of writing a story for Amy's birthday starting with the lines "I am learning to write and there's so much and on it goes, joyfully on" I thought it could be made up of the weirdest moments of my trips in a stream of consciousness narrative. Subsequent events would result in this report having far greater priority.

Reviewing my past achievements I remembered when I was in a youth orchestra playing a trombone solo at the Royal Albert Hall, which made me hoot with amusement, it seemed so implausible that I could have done such a thing. I again mused on how all the accomplishments of my youth has often given me a feeling of apathy regarding attaining such goals again since.

I was struck with the barmy absolute belief and conviction that I should grow my hair long and grow a beard. I had a mental picture of myself, my hair making me look like a lion in a predatory primal sexualised way, which mixed with the idea of myself in a purple suit looking very Viv Stanshall. This was tinged with the often-recorded occurrence of new fathers opting for facial hair growth.

I came up with the idea for a disaster movie called "What"; everything arising from people waking and only being able to say that word, stemming from how disasters always cause people to start sentences with "What....happened?" for example.

I also mused on story ideas regarding all of reality being inside someone's mind, the recent cinema release "Number 23" and "The Truman Show" echoing in my thoughts. Later I would take the micky out of my ideas, enacting a scene of B-Movie proportions with a character saying "He's got the whole universe in his head" in a dumb (seemingly northern) accent. I recalled the film "Unidentified White Male" we had seen recently and considered how in a way the man who was the focus of the film was lucky to have lost his identity and become someone new. These thoughts resonate with what happened later leading to questions of whether these influenced the path of my trip, or were foreshadowing of what was to come.

I lay in absolute silence for a while, chattering insect-like sounds echoing in my head, images that appeared to be organic circuitry behind closed eyes and woven into the open eye visuals appeared. I tried to chase these details and look at them head on in order to draw them but they evaded direct scrutiny, always shifting away from clear view.

As I had done during the previous trip I spent a great deal of time shifting, rotating, round on the sofa, perhaps in mimicry of Jack's womb maneuvers. Whilst doing this I suddenly had the imaginary sensation of having powder, what I thought to be specifically incense dust, in my mouth.

I delayed taking the second dosage, even thinking that I would not take it at all. Having got the juice out of the fridge and taken the foil of the top of the plastic cup I spent so much time dilly-dallying about the rest of the flat I actually left it there for some time and almost completely forgot about it. I ended up taking the dose because instinctively I knew I had to. Whilst preparing it I was joking to myself that by some accounts logic and circumstance would argue against it, especially as it wasn't long till I had to call Amy and at any other time it would seem like a bad idea. I had no fear and knew that this was the last trip I would have in a while, that I had to grab the opportunity.

I put Elliot Smith's fantastic "Figure 8" album on, arranged the cushions to lie and look at lava lamp, to make it worth having put it on, and pulled the phone over to call Amy and lounge into extreme relaxation. I was exceedingly drowsy whilst talking to her, all reality starting to melt into a fuzzy detail-less blur, I sounded slurry and vague, a bit giggly too. Most of the conversation was very sentimental telling her how I was missing her, how much I love her, how beautiful she is and how important it was for me to tell her.

Lying on the sofa, feeling weightless, everything in the room became clearly outlined and the details within these shapes, especially the DVDs on the shelves, were rotating into rhythmic blurs.

The chorus of the song "Everything Means Nothing to me" echoed in my mind and some dark aspect of my psyche rose to the surface to be completely in accord with the sentiment, which was quite chilling, stunning me, as I had thought I had washed such negativity away a long time ago. The Smith album, which surprising leant itself to the psychedelic experience extremely well, finished, and with silence in the air I chose to retreat to the bedroom to see how removing all stimulus would affect the trip, to do a McKenna basically (something I have been building up to. What follows was possibly the oddest thing I have ever experienced. Needless to say birth was very much in my mind due to the choice of having a home birth Amy had recently plumped for and reading much of the book "Birthing From Within".

In the bedroom darkness took on an even greater quality of absence of light. I could hear insectoid rhythms and sounds of my body, especially my heartbeat and perhaps the sounds of the organisms inhabiting my body. I kept hearing a repeated sound and rhythm, "Pwhop-whop-shwoom", which I mimicked, which in retrospect seems to be the intro, or even a key opening up all that followed.

Behind my eyes an interlocked dark pattern, a crush velvet like patchwork blanket of textures, segments expanding inwards, with yet again organic circuitry patterns, overwhelmed me. Rising from within, emanating deep from the innermost centre of my being was not so much sadness but the state of crying, containing all sadness grief, pain, loss, doubt, anguish, confusion, but also relief and joy, all with a purpose, a sense of long overdue release. There was also the tinge of this being the onset of madness and as if I had tuned into an inaudible frequency.

I wept and wailed, tossed and turned on the bed. Primal noises, unrecognisable as me, pummeled from my lungs through my throat and mouth, liquid streaming from my eyes, nose and mouth. There was a certain perverse pleasure, or rather a deeply satisfying purging in this expulsion. It was relentless, seemingly never ending, with a feeling that I must either be being driven insane or giving birth, but to what?

I wandered the flat tears pouring from my eyes, the noises emerging from me sounded like an animal in the worst distress. I was hanging on doorframes and some of my movements were close to birthing positions. This process seemed to have control over me and I willingly gave into this force. I felt that I could stop at any time and go and sit down in the living room, but I was compelled to endure, sensing that there was a greater purpose to this, which I had to follow through to its conclusion.

Each time I thought it was winding down the sensations would build again and I gave in to the notion that I was in this for the long haul.

In the bathroom after peeing, the crying continued, echoing in the tiled environment. I forced myself to see my red, moist, awful mask of a face. I had been howling and crying for some time and suddenly became worried that someone, a neighbour perhaps, might hear. This worry silenced me. The creaks and clicks of the environment turned into auditory hallucinations hinting at someone coming to my aid, about to knock on the door, or an ambulance or the police outside the flat. The sadness vanished largely due to the possibly disastrous consequences of having to communicate with the authorities in the state I was in. At the same time it felt like a natural fading out of the weeping.

It is of the utmost importance to stress that during what followed something deeper within me had control of my actions. I was not acting but flowing through an enactment, a folk-memory ritual perhaps, or even an illustration of the process of the evolution of language.

It was as if a spirit, which was my true identity, was tuning my body, test-driving it through making variations of sounds and tones, mixed with rhythmic movements and stretches. Sounds and their resonances activated different areas of my brain. Initially it was all tear inducing, returning me to the bedroom briefly, but gradually I emitted noises that brought about laughter and a broad range associated with sexuality and arousal.

Gradually these tones built up rhythms and the sounds became guttural as phlegm, which was yellowish at times, collected in my mouth. I understood this to be a shamanic process of cleansing and when my mouth was full with a rhythmic up down pursed lips swilling of the fluid I patiently went to the bathroom to spit and rinse.

Eventually, evolving out of these noises, automatically, this chant came out:

"Baah khin khin khin khin khin schzroom zschra"

The last word was occasionally optional, and occasionally joined by further phrases, which I cannot now recall. The phrase was repeated until I returned to the living room and resumed orally producing tones to activate areas of the brain. Fluid built up in my mouth, which I would then expel. The whole ritual was repeated many times, becoming more complex and flowing each time.

I wrote the phrase down at some point, struggling with the spelling writing "ba chin chin chin chin chin shroom". I later realised that the chant was in reverence for the shroom and would use the phrase to address the mushroom spirit, especially when thanking for showing me who I really am. It's meaning seemed far broader than one definition though.

Knelt, sitting on my feet, the chant became more intense and swift, accelerating to be rapid fire. I rotated back, forwards and round ritualistically casting a circle with the words of the chant, which slowly evolved into more vocabulary often quite fierce, like an insult. It became a full-blown speaking in tongues, I was foaming at the mouth, one point spittle flying from my mouth, and yet again fluid would build up and I would expel it.

The surroundings of the flat started looking odd to me, as they would to someone who had never experienced western civilisation, all looked too flat and straight, unnatural. Stood, I felt like I was in the jungle and surrounded by invisible (perhaps feminine) spirits. I spoke in what sounded like a tribal language, the tone of my sentences were as if I was meeting something for the first time, speaking cautiously as if sounding it/them out. The language seemed more complex than English, the sounds evoking meaning more than just being signifiers, language as an evocative experience imparting meaning through the effect the sounds have on the brain.

The usual me was far in the background, almost negligible in the face of what I was coming to think of as my "true self" emerging. I briefly had thoughts of recording the experience on the video camera but was prevented by not wanting to break the spell and potentially halt the experience, by having to get and set up the equipment.

Throughout ritual I had a huge sense of pride and power in the shamanic strength and power I had in my possession, but it was a deep, sharing sense of pride. I also felt as if I was warding off evil/negative spirits from the flat in preparation for Amy giving birth.

Sat cross-legged on the floor the language I was speaking became more sophisticated, as did my personality, which was not my normal everyday self, yet felt more real and correct than my usual behaviour. I could not pin down the location of the accent, it sounded Russian, European, African/tribal even sounding like speech played backwards. I seemed to be in gregarious conversation with someone, which in parts seemed very amusing. The language felt beautiful to speak and to hear. My personality was one of strength, but not macho masculinity, there seemed to be no ego to it, there was a real charm to who I was, combining a strong self-respect with a gentleness that was soothing. I started to understand what I was saying and segued into English, which the new/old me couldn't understand how I /he was speaking/understanding it. I went from a sense of observing and half participating in the actions of this persona to fully being this person.
It was as though who I really was had been trapped or misplaced and I realised the full truth of who I was had been absent, I forgotten who I was and I wept to be back, to remember who I really am. It was the most touching reunion with myself until I realised:

"I am a shaman in the desert and I have lost my way"

I suddenly understood that my true identity had been unveiled and that this reality was an illusion, that I was on a vision quest/trip and that this realm was entirely in my head (at one point I realised this meant my mind had created The Beatles - of this I felt somewhat proud). Tracing back through my life this made sense - my mental breakdown, my lonerism, my search for transcendent states and destruction/recreation of my identity, the terrifying salvia trip I had when I was shown that none of this was real. I wept with relief to remember, but my tears became those of grief and confusion. I though of Amy and Jack and didn't want to accept that my life was merely an illusion (a future projection or bizarre primitive/shamanic science fiction story). Looking around me reality seemed so transparently unreal, segmented and pixilated. I cried that I love my life, my wife and this child and feared returning to my true state of mind in the desert and losing them/leaving them behind.

I calmed as I realised I would be staying in this realm but became worried that all this would upset Amy, especially my different personality and accent, which I was rather enjoying by this point. There was a great joy of discovering that I was someone else, I was really liking the discovery of who I really was and seeing all other doubts about my identity I've ever had (an early perennial fear of tripping I used to have was that I'd discover that I'm not who I thought I was, worrying about a trip revealing childhood trauma, and especially questions about ambiguous sexual identity) had been a subterfuge to conceal the beautiful truth. Slowly I started to feel a merging of personalities, a fusion of memories and at first unsuccessfully tried to talk in my normal accent.

Eventually the old shaman personality started to fade which brought more tears, of loss and confusion. I sat curled upon the sofa trying to get my head round the very weird events of the past hours. I was somewhat in a state of shock often breaking down for all the reasons stated and for fear of losing sanity and worried about ever getting or coming back to normal.

Sorting "Peggy Suicide" out to listen to I rationalised to think of the whole experience as just a very weird drama brought about by the trip, a game I had played. This calmed me and eventually I was even laughing about the whole thing. However a knowingness and an echo of the experience stuck with me and still does, countering this is a strange security and sense of strength in the memory of the confident person within me.

I tidied a little, feeling both tired and restless. The place wasn't such a mess but I wanted to make everything a neat as possibly before relaxing. During the second phone conversation with Amy I felt hyper, a beaming smile on my face, I was overjoyed to talk to her, my eyes wide, I couldn't wait to be in her company.

My brain feeling scrambled, I went to bedroom briefly, only to find myself restless, I tried relaxing but mostly squirmed around, so I went back in living room, after a while, forgetting I'd been to bedroom, remembered that I meant to go and relax in the bedroom and went back again!

I toyed with the idea of playing the "Lost" numbers on the lottery, but quickly rejected it. I had a sense of being able to shape my own reality, or to perceive it as more malleable, as a shaman would, but I didn't want to win success but earn it, perhaps by writing this report up as an article or book, a project I deemed far more worthy than my psychedelic detective fiction book idea.
There was a strange electronic sound in amongst the Cope album, which I couldn't work out the origin of, thinking "What do we own that makes that noise?" Later I realised it was my mobile phone. There was a text message from Amy:

"Could you meet me at the station if I text you when I know I will be there. Please reply so I know you have got this. Ax"

I panicked, thinking that sods law had come into play and she had gone into labour while I was tripping. I called back and had to leave a message as she wasn't answering. I had visions of Amy going into labour and being rushed to hospital. I took 2 neurofen to calm down. Getting ready to go out I stumbled about every room as for the longest time I couldn't find shoes! I called her again and discovered that she was just at Newbury Park and had a heavy bag full of shopping she needed me to carry and that's all the message was about.

I got my coat, hat etc on, and ran, it felt like I was flying along the road to the station. The world felt so small and contained, especially the sky seeming so low. Walking upright and proud I didn't try to hide my big pupil eyes, I didn't care. I was beaming like and idiot and arrived just as the passengers filtered out of the carriage of the train Amy was on.

Making our way back to the flat I walked wobbly, grinning like an idiot with Amy, talking mostly nonsense, I did make the rather witty observation "Cars really are extensions of peoples inadequacies" when a speeding motor vehicle went by. Back home I waited quite a while before I told Amy about what had occurred. I filtered out a lot of information about the day, leaving out the more far out, potentially worrying details. We were both extremely tired and I took things slowly, practically in slow motion it seemed, being a little detached. After I did grueling set of exercises, which I really should given myself a break from that evening, we ate simple food and had a simple evening of watching various bits of entertainment.

Going to bed at around midnight I had strobing flashes of black and white unclear images behind my eyes, but I slept really well, and have since.

Even writing this report nearly a month later I feel wonderful, cleansed, clear, my head is energised with feelings of power and relaxation.

In some ways this trip was the complete opposite of the Philip K Dick paranoia of the previous one, in fact it felt like a deparanoia-isation, I had the sense of being completely comfortably and privately alone, no bugs or observation. I felt I had complete control of my life, obviously linked to sense of all being within my head my creation, my illusion.

I had a dream the following Sunday night; as a tribesperson I was sharpening/shaping stones/gems for necklaces/tools fitted into sheaths on my hands. I was certain upon waking up that this was a memory from the trip, then I was not so sure when it was a memory from. Was it a memory at all?

A trip report will always end on something of an anticlimax, as the narrative after a certain, early point, works away from a climax to become diffuse, fragmented, meanings verging towards the ever more vague. However, here I find myself with at least a clear division, a dichotomy of interpretation.

My involuntary tribal/shamanic activities could simply be a drama created by my subconscious. A fiction to escape from myself, cushion the negative aspects of my life and reality. Indeed, since this journey, viewing my life and the world from such an abstract position, the dark areas of my past no longer loom in a haunting manner at all, and the insanity of modern civilization seems less oppressive. To see life as entirely the creation of my mind also made me feel responsible for my actions and happy about my outlook of trying to be the best person I can be.

If a fiction it also demonstrates my creativity and acting talents; to create and perform a drama of such complexity and nuance, to become someone quite different from my usual persona. This naturally imbues me with a sense of confidence to create and the strong character of the Shaman must be part of myself that I should still have as a resource to draw upon.

Authenticity of my supposed folk memory, shamanic ritual also come into question if we consider the conviction the bemushroomed state of mind can bestow you with. If I had recorded what I was saying and doing in playback I may have been horrified to see that it was all clearly structureless nonsense and verbal gobbledygook.

Somehow I doubt this though; the patterns and actions seemed so fluid and progressed through a path towards rebirth. At the very least I feel that if the ritual wasn't a "memory" it was something that evolved through exploration in conjunction with the guiding hand of the mushroom energy.

The strongest desires that emerged were the need to live the life I have and the love I feel for Amy and baby Jack, these feelings grounding me. The whole process of simulated experience of childbirth deflated my fears about the birth and has given me empathy to be there for Amy and having faced the bizarreness of this experience I feel I can deal with anything that having a child and raising it involves.

The long duration of crying has purged all feelings of negativity; doubt, fear, regret etc from my system. The glossalalia (a regular feature of high level mushroom trips) and primitive sound put me in touch with my body and created a bridge between mind and body giving me a greater relationship with my body.

As well as this psychological maintenance the physical action of clearing phlegm from my lungs has improved my breathing, I no longer feel the (probably psychologically) heaviness I put down to having been a heavy smoker in the past.

If totally fictitious, or at the most created moment by moment by my psyche in conjunction with the mushroom spirit, it doesn't really matter, the rituals I underwent served a purpose

Alternatively "I am a Shaman in the desert and I have lost my way". I puzzle over what that repeated phrase can mean, perhaps it is merely an acknowledgement of having temporarily lost my psychological mooring during that part of the trip. Or my life and this reality is simply an illusion, a construct of my mind whilst on a vision quest, this life an avenue of mental inquiry, a permutation of perspectives on reality.

If so, what is the real reality like? What, if any, correlation does it have to what I am currently experiencing? Do the normal rules of science and nature apply in that realm? Am I even human or humanoid? Is real existence even more complex than I can comprehend?

Another alternative, although it seems unlikely, is that I was channeling the spirit of a dead Shaman, or a past life, the latter seems more likely as the sensation was more of remembering who I was rather than someone else taking control. Even when acting involuntarily I trusted the aspect of my psyche propelling me along, somehow recognising it to be a part of myself, a knowledge from deep within me.

Many things in my life make sense if I view reality as illusion; being a loner is akin to the shamans way of life, my mental illness emerging during adolescence echoing the initiatory stages of many shamans throughout many cultures, I even mused that how tiring I find other people can be put down to the energy taken to create them in my mind. This trip also recalls the salvia extract experiences I have had, which showed, at first terrifyingly and then smoothly and pleasantly that this reality is all a show, but also that any form of reality is too.

Perhaps if reality is all inside someone's head we are all aspects of the same Shaman, we all have the capacity to tap into this identity and remember who we all truly are.

What puzzles me most is the "Lost" part of the phrase, where is it I am mean to be, or will end up. I would not be in the slightest bit surprised if when I eventually die I will find myself sat cross-legged in the desert.

Watching the fairly puerile film "Hostel" a week or so later I was struck with the notion that if reality is all my/the shaman's creation then as well as The Beatles, I came up with this film, and Nazism, rape and all many of varieties of negativity, as well as possibility. It gave me pause to consider that if this were the case how we all contain the capacity for infinite permutations of behaviour and creativity, and how is it that we define as well as choose good or evil. I hope and fear for the choices, mistakes and beliefs of my son.

In the spirit of Zen Buddhism, for me the correct response is to hold both notions equally in my mind. My feeling about this trip sum up the duality of how I view the psychedelic experience in general. Whether a process of psychological, therapeutic restructuring or as a spiritual cleansing, both perhaps being different terms for the same thing, tripping throws me deeply into an greater appreciation of the state of simply existing.

I am so overwhelmed at the sense of relief that this journey has given me that, to an extent, I would be okay if I could never trip again, but I also know that there's always deeper to delve and more to experience.

Over the past three and a half years I have worked with mushrooms to find meaning. Instead I have uncovered limitless questions but I have found peace of mind.

I am very grateful.

I am also amused that this was my 42nd trip, 42, according to Douglas Adams, being the meaning of life, the universe and everything!


--------------------
"You've got to get hold of the thread of marching time, pull the fuck thing down, get on the end of it and pang yourself to the infinitude of absolute mind"
Ken Campbell - Furtive Nudist

"The mystery of life is not a problem to be solved but a reality to be experienced" - Aart van der Leeuw

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InvisibleMasFina
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Re: Level 5+ Mushroom Trip report, very long and weird [Re: theorganicdomino]
    #6693764 - 03/20/07 11:39 PM (17 years, 3 days ago)

I enjoyed it. Purging those negative feelings out during the trip can be tough. But once there gone you feel like the world is hilarious and you are much more lighthearted and free. You did good. Like you, I also like to be alone while tripping, especially on higher doses. That is the best way to transcend.


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OfflineWheels
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Registered: 08/18/06
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Last seen: 13 years, 9 months
Re: Level 5+ Mushroom Trip report, very long and weird [Re: MasFina]
    #6695625 - 03/21/07 02:39 PM (17 years, 2 days ago)

That's incredible and detailed, some of the vivid descriptions and insights brought back a lot of psychedelic impulses to me personally. I like the notion of a spiritual rebirth.  I could see either side of the coin with the shamanic occurrences, but regardless of the meaning it was really something to read.  Good report :thumbup:


--------------------

I don't understand... who could kill a man, in the name of peace?

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OfflineTurtle72
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Registered: 02/23/12
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Re: Level 5+ Mushroom Trip report, very long and weird [Re: MasFina]
    #16001876 - 03/27/12 01:05 AM (11 years, 11 months ago)

Quote:

MasFina said:
I enjoyed it. Purging those negative feelings out during the trip can be tough. But once there gone you feel like the world is hilarious and you are much more lighthearted and free. You did good. Like you, I also like to be alone while tripping, especially on higher doses. That is the best way to transcend.




I agree doing it alone is awesome (there are no other externals aka humans, to alter what one is feeling/thinking), I decided one time to go on a walk on campus at my college, while tripping but not stoned (while stoned and tripping hard I sometimes forget I'm on shrooms). It was amazing because my college is beautiful, it was a nice sunny day too, and people outside enjoying it.

I have not actually read your trip report yet, but I'm kind of on the edge of baked getting closer to fried, haha.
The short comments just got me excited, so I had to post.
I'll read it the next time I'm on here.

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OfflineRessurected
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Registered: 12/13/16
Posts: 1
Last seen: 7 years, 1 month
Re: Level 5+ Mushroom Trip report, very long and weird [Re: theorganicdomino]
    #23923076 - 12/13/16 03:24 PM (7 years, 3 months ago)

Good report, i had a similar experience to yours, i was tripping laughing and crying and a chant came from my mouth that did not formulate as a thought in my brain at all, it just came out and i sat stunned at where these sounds had come from, i wish i was smart enough to write it down as you did

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