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Crafter of the Silmarils
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Registered: 05/07/06
Posts: 1,546
Loc: Texas
Last seen: 3 years, 10 months
The DMT Chronicles: Parmenides, Plato, and the Psychedelic - Published by The Translinguistic Press * 3
    #6447044 - 01/11/07 12:02 AM (14 years, 9 months ago)

The DMT Chronicles: Parmenides, Plato, and the Psychedelic has been published by The Translinguistic Press.

Here's a link to the book:


If you are interested, these first few chapters may be taken by anyone and published on any website.

Updated 9/04/09

Ch. 1 - The DMT Chronicles

For a good reason, I am going to keep my authentically legal name a secret; however, I will reveal somewhat personal information about myself. Currently, I am a senior at a Texas university, majoring in Psychology and minoring in Philosophy. This is my seventh semester of college and my last. I, alas, am going to graduate soon.
It was Terence McKenna who once said that psychedelics are to Psychology as telescopes were to Astronomy. Indeed, this was a statement that I placed a tremendous amount of emphasis upon, having allowed it to dictate what my major at my school would be; after all, I have always been fascinated with the psychedelic experience, and I will always be utterly and irrevocably in love with it. 
I have amassed over 300 psychedelic experiences with variously different psychedelic substances. I started tripping when I was sixteen, and since then, I have fluently been immersing myself in the psychedelic terrain. I am now 21, and the thing that has pertinently weighed the most in my life is DMT. When I first began to use DMT, I started a post on the Shroomery, a psychedelic message board. The thread was entitled The DMT Chronicles: Traversing beyond the Psychedelic.
The DMT Chronicles: Traversing beyond the Psychedelic ended up attaining somewhat of a following, having accumulated over 30,000 views. After I finished The DMT Chronicles: Traversing beyond the Psychedelic, I was shortly contacted by Krystle Cole, the former wife of Gordon Todd Skinner, an infamous LSD chemist; along with William Leonard Pickard, he produced 90% of the world’s supply of LSD. Krystle Cole wanted to know if she could publish The DMT Chronicles in NeuroSoup: Yearly Review 2008. I readily agreed to the request, for I had believed that The DMT Chronicles: Traversing beyond the Psychedelic was finalized; unfortunately, I was extremely wrong.
There is much that is absent in The DMT Chronicles: Traversing beyond the Psychedelic, which is a rough sketch of what is later to come. Many times I would write the trip report right after having done DMT, and I wouldn’t even write what dosage I took. There, too, are a handful of trip reports on DMT that are not present, including an anal injection of 500 milligrams. Also, I left out a lot of pertinent information about my personal life. For instance, I was a psychedelic chemist, having made many psychedelic substances, such as Psilocybin, Psilocin, Mescaline, and DMT. In addition, I neglected to write about other psychedelic substances that I have taken, which is a task I will strive to accomplish in this book.
Most importantly, this book will have imbedded into it a significantly amplified account of my DMT trips. I say that these trip reports are amplified for one reason. Finally, I have unquestioningly come to comprehend exactly what they mean. For instance, in my trip reports, you will hear me speak quite a lot about meetings with an Elf Goddess; however, you will notice that I unwisely neglected to include these preposterously stunning accounts in The DMT Chronicles: Traversing beyond the Psychedelic, and the reason as to why I left them out was because I quite simply and utterly didn’t understand what they had meant! I had been absolutely, wholly, and totally befuddled as to what this Elf Goddess was benevolently telling me. Yes, I knew she was telling me something, but I just didn’t know what that something was. After around three years, I have finally come to understand what she was saying.
Also, in this account of my DMT experiences, with the exception of my first few DMT trips, I will primarily be excluding those DMT ventures that I did not have bewitchingly and philosophically intriguing Breakthroughs on.
It’s interestingly peculiar how I and many others immediately tend to write out their trip report right after having come down from their trip; that way, we figure, we won’t forget anything, material that very well may perhaps dissipate with the undulating progression of unending time. Finally, I have come to the realization that sometimes, when you sit on things for a periodically elongated period of time, you will come to a specific conclusion in relation to your psychedelic experiences.
I never spoke about how all of my psychedelic ingestion has affected me. I never spoke about how a massive DMT synthesis I had begun drove me into developing an astronomically gargantuan surge of insanity. Lastly and most importantly, I never talked about two remarkably fascinating guys, beings who are just as psychedelic as McKenna. I never talked once about the two people I undoubtedly think are the most renowned and prodigious philosophers of all time. These two exceptionally notable individuals are Parmenides and Plato.
I will be rigorously, circumspectly, and conscientiously analyzing Platonic Forms, and towards the end of the book, I will propose a way by which one can save the Forms; yes, the question that is brought up in Plato’s Parmenides of how to save the Forms will be hopefully and elaborately answered in this book. I see an enormous similarity between Plato’s Forms and the psychedelic experience, and it is these similarities that I will strive to transparently enact in this book. Also, I believe that Plato's Parmenides reveals the greatest secret to the psychedelic experience. Through means of dialectic, I will not only attempt to make this secret clear, but I will, too, attempt to provide logical evidence that comfortably embraces this notion.
Although this book is richly psychedelic at heart, it is also predominantly philosophical in nature, emphasizing a synergistic blend of both psychedelia and philosophy, sumptuously producing a uniquely contrived and singular study. The philosophy of both Parmenides and Plato will be abundantly enshrined with a psychedelic feel that will hopefully concoct a lavish mergence of the two fascinating fields.
I remember when I was in an Introduction to Philosophy class over at school. I thought it would be fairly interesting. Little did I know that the lecture the professor was going over was going to evolve into something that I, without a doubt, could form a sophisticated and intellectual parallel with to the psychedelic experience. He, of course, was talking about Plato. I found this speech to be intriguingly and captivatingly appealing to my heightened senses. It was a start, I thought, a start to a new beginning of thought for me. Although this professor didn’t have dealings whatsoever to the psychedelic experience, I knew that there had to be others that had been pleasingly grabbed and hooked by Plato’s views and the psychedelic experience.
Suddenly, after a long search for somebody with a similarly pulled mindset, I found him, staring at the middle of an intersection, effectively appearing to be completely unabridged at what was going on around him; I knew that I was meant to find this guy, an absurdly and outrageously intelligent man. I had found him in Houston. He asked me to call him Mithrandir. It was this individual who showed me that Terence McKenna was actually wrong about one thing; psychedelics weren’t to Psychology as telescopes were to Astronomy, but psychedelics were to Philosophy as telescopes were to Astronomy. I shortly became his apprentice, and he became my teacher. A modern day don Juan with a voluptuously abundant amount of knowledge on Greek Philosophy was what he was.
If you are a philosopher and feel that the psychedelic experience is an abundantly insidious quality of life that beguiles one from virtue, then I want to make it extensively clear that my intention with this book is not at all to degenerate and consistently corrupt your field. I simply see it as my duty to highlight the strikingly similar parallels that exist between Parmenides, Plato, and the psychedelic experience. My intention, I believe, is a virtuous one, so take pity on me if the result of this book turns out to unfortunately be nonvirtuous. 
I would like to conclude this chapter by telling you that some have called me smart, while others have called me a raving lunatic, a merely preposterous person with a rather absurd and insidious outlook on life. I think that I am an ignorant person, one that is never sure whether something is right or wrong. Plato says that wisdom is to know that one does not know what one does not know. Indeed, I think that I am wise, for I know that I am ignorant, and I accept this instead of attempting to camouflage it by saying that I know everything when I truly don’t.
Therefore, when you immerse yourself inside this book, I beg you to take heed, understanding and comprehending that what I am about to say may very well not be the truth. Without much further talk, I invite you to indulge yourself in The DMT Chronicles: Parmenides, Plato, and the Psychedelic.

Ch. 2 – Mushrooms, the Eleusinian Mysteries, and the Psychedelic

When I was seventeen, I went mushroom hunting for my first time in Katy, Texas. Luck permitted me to ensnare a handful of Psilocybe Cubensis mushrooms. I was overwhelmed with an irrational amount of joy for having procured these mushrooms. As a matter of fact, I was so excited about my find to where I ate the mushrooms upon arriving back at my house, only to embark on one of the most fascinating expeditions of my life.
I remember lying on my bed with my chest faced upwards, watching purple and blue traces creep up on my ceiling and all over my walls. What a magnificent sight to behold! I remember the fairly unique thought process that had erupted inside of my head. This thought process was controlled by a foreign voice that I had never heard before; the voice was the psychedelic. I remember the contorted look on my mother’s face, as she spontaneously appeared in my room to ask me what I wanted for dinner. I remember feeling a heavily profound sense of alien reasoning. I remember landing safely down on the smooth runway, as my trip came to an unanticipated finalization.
That was it; I was hooked. I had found something that was more real than the reality I had perceived prior to my trip. I had discovered the greatest secret of life: I had undoubtedly found the psychedelic experience. Actually, as many like to say, I didn’t find it, but it found me. For once in my life, I was honestly interested and curios about something, for this something was so bizarre, so utterly against everything I had been taught, and so absurdly contrary to all the scientific principles I had been engrained with from school. The psychedelic experience contrasted every little piece of knowledge I had ever assimilated, and it was this reason, along with the fact that it can drive one quite literally insane, as to why I found it so enticing.
I quickly dabbled and immersed myself in all of the psychedelic literature I could find. I readily took a huge liking to Terence McKenna, Dennis McKenna, D.M. Turner, and Alexander Shulgin. After reading all of McKenna’s writings, I, of course, heard about the Eleusinian Mysteries, Greek ceremonies that were performed in honor of the goddess Demeter and her daughter Persephone. Now, if you are familiar with the Eleusinian Mysteries and do not believe that some kind of psychedelic agent was used during the ceremonies, then you must be particularly unreceptive; the evidence that people ingested psychedelics during the Eleusinian Mysteries is incontrovertible, I think.
Most people believe that LSA was the psychedelic chemical that was taken. Due to my personal experiences with LSA, I do not think that LSA was the substance that caused people from foreign lands to flock to Eleusis to participate in the Eleusinian Mysteries. Instead, I agree with McKenna here. McKenna believed that Psilocybin mushrooms were the active substances that were ingested. Personally, I would like to refine this, saying that instead of eating Psilocybin mushrooms, the participants drank a tea containing both Psilocybin and Psilocin or just Psilocin.
The participants of the Mysteries drank a potion known as the kykeon. There isn’t much information suggesting that the kykeon was a solid food, which disregards the theory that they ate whole Psilocybin mushrooms. However, they could’ve easily extracted the active agents from the Psilocybin mushrooms, for Psilocybin and Psilocin are readily soluble in H2O. Through the use of heat as a catalyst, the extracted Psilocybin could’ve been easily converted to Psilocin via the cleaving of its Phosphorus atom. This, I think, is what they drank: Synthesized Psilocin. It could have been produced in massive quantities through simple techniques that were most likely known to the Greeks.
I have thought long and hard about whether Socrates took part in the Eleusinian Mysteries, and I have to say that I think Plato wanted to tell his audience that Socrates did participate in the Eleusinian Mysteries.
I say this for three reasons.
Firstly, in The Symposium, Diotima says, “even you, Socrates, could probably come to be initiated into these rites of love.”  Initiated means myetheies, which is related to the word, myesis, the first level of initiation into the Eleusinian mysteries.
I think that Plato is clearly making a reference here to the Eleusinian Mysteries, drawing a parallel between love and the Mysteries. Therefore, if Socrates could have participated, just as any Greek could have, the odds are that he most likely did participate, especially considering that Plato, his pupil, was involved. Plato could have partaken in the Mysteries simply to follow in his teacher’s wake. I don’t see why Plato would make a reference here to the Mysteries if Socrates did not participate in them. I think Plato is trying to hint to the reader that Socrates actually did partake.
Secondly and more importantly, in Meno, Plato has Socrates making a reference to the Mysteries, explaining to Meno that if he could stay for the initiations next week, he would then be able to better understand Socrates’ answers. If Socrates did not partake in the Mysteries, then how could he possibly know whether or not the initiations would better help Meno comprehend his answers? He necessarily would have had to have partaken in the Mysteries in order to know whether or not the initiations would be beneficial to Meno. On another note, this also implies that Socrates was going to attend the Mysteries next week, so even if he had not participated in the past, he would partake in the future.
Thirdly and most importantly, Socrates is described by Plato as being a revealer of The Eleusinian Mysteries in Phaedrus.  Therefore, I knew that these two philosophers, Socrates and Plato, were of significance to the psychedelic experience. If anybody revealed the secrets of the Eleusinian Mysteries, then they were subject to execution. What was the secret? The secret was that the participants ingested a psychedelic, I believe.
There were a few individuals that revealed the secret of the Eleusinian Mysteries, and these people were punished harshly through execution. Was Socrates one of these individuals? Without a doubt, I definitely think so.
Plato writes that Socrates was persecuted by Meletus for corrupting the youth, inventing new gods, and disregarding those gods that existed. Now, if that doesn’t intricately parallel psychedelic intake, then I don’t know what does. Why, though, did Plato write that Socrates was being persecuted for corrupting the youth, inventing new gods, and disregarding those gods that existed, instead of saying that Socrates was persecuted for taking and promoting the psychedelic that was central to the Eleusinian Mysteries? Well, Plato wrote this, because if he truly wrote that Socrates was being persecuted for taking psychedelics, then he would have been at risk for execution, for he would have been revealing and unraveling to the public the secret of The Eleusinian Mysteries.
Socrates is one of the few philosophers in his ring that looked forward to death. Indeed, all of the other people present at Socrates’ execution were in hysterics. This suggests that perhaps Plato, too, would have seen death as something one wishes to postpone, thereby resulting in him camouflaging the reason as to why Socrates was persecuted. Plato gave us hints, however, as to why Socrates was executed, and it’s these hints, I believe, that he intended us to use in order to decipher the truth.
I joined the most superior psychedelic message board on the Internet: The Shroomery. Through the Shroomery, I ended up meeting my first psychedelic mentor. His name was Yessup, and he was an amazing mushroom hunter, one of the best in Texas. Like me, he was a regular Cannabis user, having smoked Cannabis for most of his life. He was twenty years older than me, had three kids, and a wife. He knew of the best mushroom hunting grounds in the state of Texas, including the renowned Aria 51, a secret area discovered solely by him.
Aria 51 was on government owned property, meaning that we could not get arrested for trespassing. To be on the safe side, we would regularly bring fishing poles in case we were seen, for there was a river in Aria 51. Aria 51 held a rather abundant array of cattle, meaning that there was a ton of cow poop, a particularly fine substrate for mushrooms to grow on. Every single Psilocybin containing mushroom that is native to Texas can be found at this one spot. There are enormous Psilocybe Cubensis mushrooms, Copelandia Cyanescens mushrooms, Panaeolus Subbalteatus mushrooms, and Gymnopilus Spectabilis mushrooms. There also are numerous poisonous mushrooms, such as Chlorophyllum Molybdites, and there are also numerous edible mushrooms, such as Chanterelles. The two of us would take many trips to Aria 51, capturing numerous psychedelic and edible mushrooms.
Here is a photo of me in Aria 51.

Thus, I began to repeatedly use psychedelic mushrooms around once every week and a half to two weeks. There are many trips that I had in which the psychedelic profusely rambled on with intuitions. Here follows a conversation that I had with the psychedelic that I recorded.
“Let us begin,” said the psychedelic without further ado, cracking her fingers. “I am going to need you to think back ten thousand years ago, the time in which the Agricultural Revolution took place. As civilization tried to erupt out of the Earth, chaos and mayhem were everywhere. Suddenly, one wise man stepped forward and made himself the leader, dubbing himself The Apogeic Man. He established the government, which thereby pacified all of the unruliness. This allowed civilization to blossom beautifully. There was a certain creation that was made by The Apogeic Man. This creation indirectly coerced people to sway their will to the strict will of the government, to the will of The Apogeic Man. The greatest attribute about this creation is that people are unaware of its mind controlling powers, for The Apogeic Man created it ever so slyly and carefully. He did a superb job.”
The psychedelic took a small pause. My head was held high in rapt attention, soaking in every one of the psychedelic’s words.
“You need to understand two things,” said the psychedelic. “You need to understand how The Apogeic Man created this creation, and you need to understand what this creation is. The Apogeic Man, through his psychedelic use, discovered the creation that would keep civilization structured, ordered, and stable. Psychedelics allowed him to discover doors that were invisible to the ordinary eye. Eventually, he was able to unlock these doors and gain the vast secrets that they held deep in their abyss.” 
“Ok,” I hungrily said, wanting to hear more.
“Therefore,” said the psychedelic, continuing, “in general, psychedelics allowed The Apogeic Man to study humans. Psychedelics taught him what he needed to know to stop all of the chaos that ran amuck right after the Agricultural Revolution occurred. The Apogeic Man knew that there needed to be a form of rule, a government. Thus, he established one. In order to run his government properly, he needed the creation. The creation was based upon a principle.”
The psychedelic stopped for a moment. She was feeling rather parched, so she took a couple of sips of some deliciously wet water. Impatiently, I tapped my fingers on my thighs; I was eager to hear the principle. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I carelessly broke the silence.
“Do carry on,” I said rapidly.
“Sorry,” the psychedelic apologized. “The Apogeic Man made a profound discovery, and this is what he found: Every human being has an unconscious, inherent need to alter their consciousness. Notice how I did not say that every human being has an inherent desire to alter their consciousness. No, it’s not a desire; it’s a need. If this need is not met, then the human body, both physiologically and psychologically, will be unable to function. If a human being does not fulfill this need, then the human will die.”
The psychedelic paused. Eventually, she started back up again.
“This unconscious, inherent need is met on different levels in certain people. For some people, the need will be fulfilled on this level, and for other people, the need will be met on that level,” the psychedelic said, waving her hands sporadically in the air. “No two individuals are the same or even remotely like each other. Humanity is extremely diverse, and although humans are similar in some ways, they are far different in more ways than they are similar.”
“The simplest of people,” the psychedelic said, carrying on, “have this need met through sleep, which is truly a psychedelic experience. Becoming exhausted from conscious awareness, naturally, the body induces sleep, and thereby alters the consciousness of the individual. Through sleep, the altering of one’s consciousness, the body has its biological need met and becomes fully recharged.
“Interesting,” I said truthfully, smiling.
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” said the psychedelic, meeting my smile with a smile of her own. “The people above the simplest of people will not fulfill their unconscious, inherent need merely by sleeping. No, they need something else. Therefore, they manipulate themselves into altered states of consciousness through the use of drugs. A drug is a mechanism that triggers an individual into accepting their culture. A drug makes one fit into the puzzle. A drug is a conditioner. Thus, you have some people whose need is fulfilled simply through the process of sleep, and you have others whose need is fulfilled through the process of sleep combined with the use of drugs. Now, that leaves us with one more class of people.”
“Okay,” I said excitedly.
“This last group of people alters their consciousness through means of psychedelic substances,” said the psychedelic importantly. “These people don’t simply have their unconscious, inherent need met through sleep or drug use. Their need is met through the use of psychedelics. What is a psychedelic? A psychedelic is a mechanism that triggers an individual into questioning their culture. A psychedelic makes one not fit into the puzzle. A psychedelic is a deconditioner. A psychedelic also produces a profound and revelational experience that has the potential of shattering one’ Ego.”
“I said earlier,” said the psychedelic, “that if the need of altering one’s consciousness is not met, then the psychological mind and the biological body will not be able to properly function, resulting in death. Let us think about this. What happens if a person does not sleep for one reason or another?”
Without the slightest sign of waiting, the psychedelic continued.
“If a person does not get sleep, then their need is not being met. If the human can not meet the need voluntarily through the use of their own free will, then the human body eventually coerces the human to enter into altered states of consciousness. Involuntarily, devoid of free will, the human body transforms one’s state of consciousness. If you can’t meet your need, then your body will for you. Now, let’s return to my original question. What happens if a person does not sleep for one reason or another?”
“Oh!” I said suddenly, slapping my forehead, as a light switch turned on. “If a person can not sleep, then they are forced to hallucinate. Since the human is voluntarily unable to do so, the body meets the need for them.”
“Well done,” said the psychedelic contentedly. “If a human can not alter their consciousness out of their own accord, then they are tossed into a psychedelic trip by their body. They have no choice; since they have a need that needs to be met, they are forced to trip. That goes to show you just how significant this need is. If this need is not met, then a person can not survive. If one does not get sleep, and if one’s body is incapable of biologically inducing a psychedelic trip, then that human will not be able to function. Eventually, this inability to fulfill the inherent, unconscious need results in the destruction of the person.”
“Why is the need inherent?” I asked promptly.
“Well,” answered the psychedelic softly, “the need is inherent, for it is a permanent, absolutely inseparable element that exists in each and every human. There is no one human being who can survive by not having their consciousness altered on a regular basis. On the simplest of terms, have you ever heard of a human who didn’t sleep?”
“No,” I answered honestly.
“Exactly,” answered the psychedelic lightly. “All humans must sleep. The majority of humans must not only sleep, but they must also use drugs. Finally, a minority of people must not only sleep, but they must also use psychedelics. There are, of course, exceptions; for instance, a person who sleeps may also use a combination of drugs and psychedelics.”
“Why is the need unconscious?” I blurted out.
“Well,” answered the psychedelic automatically, “the need is unconscious, for human beings are completely unaware of its presence. Here’s a good way to put it: Have you ever heard of somebody say, “Oh, I have to go to sleep, because if I don’t, I will be forced to trip.”?”
“Nope,” I answered with relish.
“That’s right. You haven’t,” said the psychedelic rapidly, “because all people, at first, are unaware of the fact that if they don’t sleep, they will trip. At first, all people are unaware of the fact that they must alter their consciousness in order to survive. However, just like all elements that are unconscious, this unconscious need has the potential of manifesting itself into the domain that holds the conscious; the unconscious can become conscious.”
“How does one make this unconscious need conscious?” I asked curiously.
“Well,” said the psychedelic importantly, “The Apogeic Man was the first person who was able to make this unconscious need conscious, and he did this by taking a lot of psychedelic substances.”
“I see,” I said quietly.
“When you take a psychedelic,” carried on the psychedelic, “some of the elements in the human psyche that dwelled in its depths are going to reach its surface. Some of the elements that floated on the surface are going to sink to the bottom. Some of the elements that were on the surface or in the depths are going to make it to the mid section. Psychedelic intake causes these elements to move around.”
“So this is how The Apogeic Man discovered this secret?” I asked.
“Yes,” the psychedelic said. “This is how. You must understand that the unlocking of this mystery gave The Apogeic Man information he was in much need of. Ten thousand years ago, he was trying to understand human beings; he was trying to figure out a way in which he could create a structured, ordered, and stable society. This principle that he discovered served as an instructional manual for the first creation.”

Updated 9/14/09

Ch. 3 – The Greatest Government Conspiracy

It was at this time that I moved in the heart of Texas for college. I was absolutely enamored by the psychedelic experience, becoming enthralled by virtually every little thing that was intricately related to it. I heard whispers here and there about a psychedelic substance known as Dimethyltryptamine, a molecule that was reputedly understood by many as being the most powerful psychedelic in the World. Whenever I heard somebody speak of DMT, it was always in a manner of reverence and respect, as if they were scared that DMT was going to sporadically annihilate them on the spot; indeed, it became clear to me that many feared DMT.
Suddenly, I heard of it: I heard of DMT: The Spirit Molecule by Rick Strassman. I was utterly delighted at the fairly engaging work. I learned a lot about DMT. I was extremely interested by the fact that DMT is an endogenous drug, signifying that it is encapsulated in our human bodies. Even though Strassman provided some interesting postulations concerning DMT, there are, of course, no theories concerning DMT that are more effortlessly fascinating than those contrived by Terence McKenna.
The whole concept of coming into contact with alien life forms known as Self-Transforming Machine Elves mesmerizingly put me into a state of awe. I was inspired and innovated, bemused and bewildered. The one thing that strikingly surprised me was how little information I could find on these Self-Transforming Machine Elves. Who were these Elves? Other than reading that they were foreign beings one comes into contact with through the use of DMT, I heard of nothing else. No matter how much I searched, I always failed to find out data on the Elves.
Through the help of my best friend, a kind fellow who lived in Humboldt, I began to attain a sufficient supply of some superb LSD. Therefore, I began to use acid quite a few times. I found it to be appealing, and I definitely found it to be a deconditioner. I found the visuals to be enigmatic, and I found the feel to be foreign. However, like McKenna, I noticed that there was something better, something greater, and something far superior that the mushrooms reveal to their users. I noticed that the mushrooms better portrayed the truth. Thus, I went back to using Psilocybin containing mushrooms regularly. I didn’t necessarily stop taking LSD, for I still found it useful.
One thing that I began to notice about the psychedelic experience is that there’s a negative stigma associated with it. The majority of people find that there is no positive benefit one can attain from the psychedelic experience. I find this assertion downright preposterous. Yes, I do agree that the psychedelic experience can be dangerous in the wrong hands; however, in the right hands, the psychedelic experience can concoct an elaborate array of positive results. If this is the truth, which it is, then why do so many people think that the psychedelic experience is such a bad thing?
Plato answered the question for me in Gorgias. In Gorgias, Plato presents an interesting scenario: A medical doctor and a gifted orator argue over a medical topic in front of a crowd of listeners. Who will the crowd of listeners agree with? They, of course, will agree with the gifted orator, for the two of them are ignorant on the topic, while the medical doctor has knowledge on it. Therefore, the truth is not viewed by the crowd as the truth, but that which is false, the word of the orator, is taken as the truth.
In a lot of ways, that’s the way it is with the psychedelic experience. Most of humanity is ignorant when it comes to the psychedelic experience. Therefore, when a person that is fluent in the psychedelic experience argues against a person that is not fluent, the person that is not fluent is going to be seen by the majority as being the truth holder, for the majority is comprised of the people that are ignorant of the psychedelic experience. This is one of the reasons why the majority of people think that Terence McKenna is a nut, while others, like myself, find him to be an absolute genius.
I began to mass produce psychedelic mushrooms in my dormitory. I take great pride in the fact that I never got caught, especially considering the pounds and pounds of P. Cubensis mushrooms I grew. If I would’ve gotten caught, I would have dutifully gone to jail, for I, like Socrates, choose to abide by the consequences that society dishes out. Since I choose to freely live in this society, it would only be right for me to coincide with the consequences that society ordains. After all, what’s a society when the breakers of rules do not follow the consequences to their actions? The society is not a very structured, ordered, and stable one.
Here are a few photos of some mushrooms I grew.

I indulged myself in the fruits of my labor, came yet again into contact with that extraterrestrial voice of the psychedelic, and recorded what bypassed.
“Well,” spoke the psychedelic quietly, “I had not expected you this early.”
“Sorry,” I said apologetically, really meaning it.
“Oh, it’s fine,” said the psychedelic hastily, waving my apology to the side. “Today, my lesson will begin where the last one left off.”
“Anyways,” said the psychedelic ardently, “let us recall what the first principle was that The Apogeic Man discovered. He knew that every human being has an unconscious, inherent need to alter their consciousness, and therefore, he used this principle as an unassailable weapon. This principle, which nobody else discovered before him, served as the instructional manual for his creation.”
The psychedelic took a small break, savoring the sunlight that seeped through the windows and into her room.
“The Apogeic Man lived ten thousand years ago,” recounted the psychedelic absentmindedly. “He was an Agriculturalist, a rebel in accordance to the Hunter-Gathering way of life. He used to be a Hunter-Gatherer; however, he decided to put down his spear and pick up the plow, for he felt the Agricultural way of life was far superior. Thus, he chose to destroy the Hunter-Gatherers. He knew one important fact that would assist him in this endeavor. He understood that human beings have an unconscious, inherent need to alter their consciousness. He understood that all humans alter their consciousness one way or another, freely or unfreely, and consciously or unconsciously.”
“For a long period of time,” continued the psychedelic genially, “The Apogeic Man studied the history of humanity. Ever piece of writing and every book served as an outlet of information, a glimpse into the past, a way by which to see patterns, draw lines, and connect the dots.”
“The Apogeic Man,” said the psychedelic delicately, “saw that there were primarily two ways by which human beings had altered their consciousness in the past. For one, all humans slept. For another, quite a lot of humans, but not all, took psychedelics, and therefore, they altered their consciousness knowingly. Naturally occurring psychedelic have been on this Earth longer than humans have, and there is plenty of evidence to suggest that they have been continually consumed by humans.”
“The continents in which human life first appeared happen to be the ones with the least amount of naturally occurring psychedelic,” said the psychedelic wisely. “The areas in which human beings later migrated towards happen to have more naturally occurring psychedelics than their former abodes. The search for a more populous supply of psychedelics is the reason as to why our ancestors migrated in the first place. If you look back towards Africa, the first continent inhabited by humans, you will discover what a scanty supply of psychedelics that continent naturally harbors at present in comparison to other continents.”
“Well, The Apogeic Man,” carried on the psychedelic, “knew that human beings have been tripping for ages. He also knew that he happened to be one of these humans. He knew one more important thing. He knew that if he hadn’t taken all of the psychedelics he had in the past, then he would’ve never become an Agriculturalist, and therefore, he would have never rebelled upon his past way of life, the Hunter-Gathering way of life.”
“Since,” reeled on the psychedelic, “The Apogeic Man had made a new way of life, the Agricultural way of life, the one that he wanted all to follow, he saw fit that it was necessary to make sure that all human beings no longer took psychedelics, for if they took psychedelics, then they, like him, might possibly create a new way of life, believing it to be the one right way of life. Thus, they’d do everything in their power, like he did, to force others to succumb to their way of life. That is the power of psychedelics; psychedelics make one question their culture. Psychedelics made The Apogeic Man question his culture, and therefore, they led to his revolutionary manifestations.”
“If there is one thing that could throw into motion a succession of sequences that would result in the overthrow of the Agricultural way of life, then it is psychedelic use!” said the psychedelic knowingly. “The Apogeic Man understood this. Psychedelics served as his insight, and he knew that they could just as easily serve others towards his demolition. Psychedelics have the potential of making one question everything that they have been confronted with prior to their psychedelic use.”
“Therefore,” said the psychedelic somewhat reluctantly, “The Apogeic Man decided that it was best if he stopped people from taking psychedelics. He couldn’t have them questioning his way of life. It was as simple as that. He decided to put an end to anything that served as a threat to his rule, and psychedelics, well, psychedelics just so happened to hold the largest threat.”
“However,” said the psychedelic slowly, “The Apogeic Man knew that he just couldn’t take away psychedelics from humans, for every human being has an unconscious, inherent need to alter their consciousness. Now, since he took away psychedelics, a tool by which many used to alter their consciousness, they would be one instrument short. No longer would they have psychedelics to fulfill their need whenever they wished to.”
“If you take a bag of gold out of a sleeping troll’s hands,” said the psychedelic mildly with a grin, “then you need to replace it with an object similar in feel. That is just what The Apogeic Man did. He took away psychedelics, and he replaced them with the creation. Barely anybody noticed.”
“The first creation,” said the psychedelic prudently, “just like psychedelics, served as a way by which humans could alter their consciousness. This is the only aspect by which psychedelics and the creation are similar. However, unlike psychedelics, the creation contained the power of forcing humans to accept their culture without questioning it a single time. The creation makes one embrace their culture. It stupefied human beings, making them ignorant. It transformed the free will of human beings into the will of The Apogeic Man. All opportunistic potential was annihilated. Culture became a thing that human beings were unconscious of. The creation produced similar minded Agriculturalists who thereby paved the groundwork of Western Civilization as we know it today. The creation made humans, who were once diverse in thought, similar in thought. Very few people knew, and very few people cared, for the Agricultural way of life was finally structured, ordered, and stable. Everybody loved the creation, for through its use, their unconscious, inherent need was being met. They were able to alter their consciousness. Very few people knew that they were being made into robots.”
After she finished saying this, she sat in silence for a while. Eventually, she looked up at me and broke the silence.
“Alcohol is the first creation,” said the psychedelic rigorously.
After hearing this, my facial expression of seriousness broke away, only to revel one of mingled hysterics. I was laughing. All the while, the psychedelic remained the same way she had been prior to the declaration. I couldn’t handle it.
“Alcohol! A government conspiracy?!” I said hysterically, clutching a stitch in my ribs.
“Well, if you want to use that terminology…,” the psychedelic began, but soon stopped, for she was cut off by my interruption.
“I’m sorry,” I said impatiently, “but that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”
The psychedelic didn’t appear to be angry. With her legs crossed, she sat there with a smile creasing upon her face.
“It does seem preposterous when you are first confronted with it,” said the psychedelic reminiscently. “The Apogeic Man did a good job.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked shrewdly.
“It means that you have been preconditioned superbly. This statement is just one of those things, one of those things that takes time getting used, for you have to transcend the preconditioning in order to understand it,” answered the psychedelic simply.
“Oh, I see,” I said vaguely.
“Why does this seem like such a preposterous idea to you?” asked the psychedelic.
“Well,” I said, thinking, “alcohol has quite simply been around forever. Practically everybody likes to get drunk. What I’m trying to say, I guess, is that drinking alcohol is normal. If you don’t drink, then you’re weird. To imagine that alcohol is a tool that enslaves humans just doesn’t seem right,” I finished lamely.
“Exactly,” said the psychedelic in triumph. “That’s exactly the way you’re supposed to think. Let us dissect what you have just said. First, you said that alcohol has been around forever. I assure you that it has not been around forever. It has only been around for ten thousand years. Interesting, eh? The Agricultural Revolution occurred ten thousand years ago as well. I’m sure you can put two and two together. However, you and practically everybody else in the world believe that alcohol has been around forever, because you believe that humanity has only been in existence for around ten thousand years. Humanity has been in existence for three million years, so why does everybody seem to think that it’s only been in existence for ten thousand years?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” I said simply.
“Everybody who believes that the world has been in existence for ten thousand years,” said the psychedelic, answering the question, “is an Agriculturalist. Agriculturalism has existed on this earth for ten thousand years. If these Agriculturalists believed that human life has existed on this earth for three million years, then they would be embracing a way of life that isn’t theirs. They deny the truth, because they don’t want to associate themselves with people who live a different way of life. Really, their world, the Agricultural world, has only existed for ten thousand years. However, the Hunter-Gathering world has existed for three million. Agriculturalists try to deny that they aren’t something when they really are that something. Agriculturalists, just like Hunter-Gatherers really are humans.”
“So,” said the psychedelic commandingly, “I assure you that alcohol has not been in the world since the beginning. It was a mere invention that was invented at a certain time to serve a certain purpose. Alcohol has only been in existence for ten thousand years. Agriculturalists, too, have only been in existence for ten thousand years. Alcohol was a byproduct of the Agricultural Revolution. Alcohol was made in order to make individuals support the Agricultural Revolution.”
The psychedelic stopped and thought for a moment.
“Well, naturally,” she started to gently say, “the act of taking psychedelics changes you; it turns your life completely around numerous times. It changes your eyes, for now you have seen more and experienced more than the everyday, ordinary person in society. Psychedelics make you weird. Do you think that you are weird? You, of course, do not. However, the majority of people in society, those that love alcohol, will consider you weird, will perceive you differently than you perceive yourself, for you have experienced something so great, so wonderful, and so amazing, and they, they, have not experienced this; a large part of you is absent in them. The majority of people in society, the alcohol drinkers, will perceive you as being weird, as being an oddball, because you have experienced an experience that they have not experienced. You, however, on the other hand, will perceive them as being weird, as being the oddball, because they have not experienced an experience that you have experienced. Being perceived by the majority as a freak is nothing to be afraid of, for now you are no longer restricted by the natural, mundane mind. If a person who takes psychedelics were to interpret the act of consuming alcohol, then he would interpret the act as not being normal.”
“Drinking alcohol is not normal for me,” emphasized the psychedelic perseveringly.
With that, the psychedelic left me. I thought for a while about what she said. I recalled this one guy I know who absolutely loves getting “fucked up”. He takes every single drug he can get his hands on, and he virtually is never sober a single moment. A good friend of mine mentioned DMT to him, and he responded in a way that the psychedelic said he would. He said, “Dude, I don’t want that shit, man. Have you seen the way those DMT people look? They’re fucking weird.” In a sense, depending on which way you look at it, this is true.
I, therefore, began to trust the psychedelic more, but I still wanted more proof, more hardcore evidence that alcohol truly is a government conspiracy.
“Can you give me an example of alcohol being a government conspiracy?” I asked the psychedelic, hoping she would answer.
“I, of course, can,” she quickly responded. “You’ve heard of Samuel Adams, I take it?”
“Yes,” I answered immediately.
“Well,” the psychedelic said informatively, “Samuel Adams was The Apogeic Man of his time. He knew about the secret of alcohol. Adams didn’t like the way of life he was being forced to live. He didn’t like being oppressed by the British. Therefore, he rebelled, and being the leader of the rebellion, what do you think Samuel Adams gave the colonists?”
“Oh, I see,” I said, clapping a hand to my head. “He gave them alcohol!”
“Very good,” said the psychedelic, winking at me. “Caught on finally, haven’t you? The Boston Tea Party, at the time, was one of the most rebellious acts. Did a bunch of well mannered civilized colonists act this rebellion out? No! Of course not! If you look in the literature, you’ll find that Samuel Adams got a lot of colonists drunk. They were so drunk to where they dressed up like Indians! Adams told them to go board some ships and toss some crates overboard, and they did just that. Alcohol was the primary catalyst.”
“And would you look at that!” I said quietly more to myself than to the psychedelic.
“What?” said the psychedelic enthusiastically.
“Samuel Adams, the beer company!” I said in awe.
“Oh, yes,” said the psychedelic, smiling. “His beer has proven its worth.”
The psychedelic paused.
“Remember when you were having a psychedelic experience over at your friend’s house the other day?” she asked me.
“Yes,” I said slowly.
“Did you see anything that caught your eye?” asked the psychedelic wonderingly.
“Oh! A Benjamin Franklin quote was hung on the wall. It read, “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy.” If this isn’t propaganda, then I don’t know what is! He, of course, must have also been an Apogeic Man.”
“Do you know who another Apogeic Man is?” asked the psychedelic persistently.
“Um, not that I can think of,” I answered truthfully.
“The persecutor of Socrates!” blurted out the psychedelic quickly.
“Meletus!” I said rapidly. “Of course! If it follows that Socrates was ingesting psychedelics on a regular basis, then it follows that his way of life was threatening Meletus’ way of life. It was said in Phaedrus that Socrates was a revealer of the Eleusinian Mysteries, and if the secret was psychedelic ingestion, then Socrates undoubtedly urged others to indulge themselves in psychedelics. Socrates was the Terence McKenna of his time. Therefore, Meletus would have wanted him extinguished.”
“Very well said,” said the psychedelic firmly. “Yes, Plato was suggesting that Meletus was either The Apogeic Man of his time or operating under The Apogeic Man of his time. Do you want to know something else that’s interesting about Socrates?”
“Sure,” I rapidly said.
“If you look in The Symposium,” said the psychedelic wisely, “Plato says that Socrates is the only one present at the symposium that did not drink the other day in celebration of Agathon’s tragedy winning in the Lenaean festival. Also, later on, Plato has Alcibiades say, “The most amazing thing of all is that no one has ever seen Socrates drunk.” Plato is providing enormous hints right here.”

Updated 10/31

Ch. 4 - Ego Death and Ego Loss

At college, I ended up securing three close friends. I shared a dorm with one of them. His name was Aaron. He happened to be an alcohol drinker, and it was quite interesting how there evolved a kind of harmonious bond between the two of us. My other two friends were both psychonauts. One of them was named Shaun, and the other was named Rodney. Shaun was very versed and familiar with the psychedelic experience, for he had taken LSD numerous times in his youth; the same goes for Rodney. They were both more experienced than I was.
With one another, we would periodically consume the Psilocybin mushrooms that I would grow. One particular night, Shaun and I ate some dried Psilocybe Cubensis mushrooms, only to embark on one of the most mesmerizingly mysterious adventures of our lives. I took five grams, and Shaun took three. The dose I took was deemed a heroic dose by Terence McKenna, and therefore, I was looking forward to understanding the meaning behind the term. Indeed, I had spent quite an extraneously long time in my past trying to comprehend just what made this dose heroic. Well, I was about to find out.
At the time, we were in Galveston, Texas, exploring the Strand. We were in Shaun’s car, and he was driving quite carefully.
“What do you want to do?” I asked Shaun, feeling the trip come on. “Do you want to get some skittles to eat?”
“Nah,” he said quickly. “I’ve got to deliver some weed to a guy.”
“Evan?” I asked.
“Yep,” said Shaun quietly. “That’s the one.”
Shaun eventually pulled over and parked his car with ease. Upon stepping out, I just couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
“Look at the atmosphere around us,” I said excitedly, sounding surprised.
Everything just didn’t look right to me. There were so many different kinds of people in so many different places. There were some at restaurants, others at bars. There were even others that were carelessly walking down the Strand. There were streetlights, brightly expressing themselves, as we walked past the various stores. It didn’t look or feel like I was at the Strand.
“Do you notice that blue halo around that green light?” I asked Shaun, as I blankly stared into the light.
“Yes,” he responded without a doubt.
“Interesting,” I said excitedly. “A shared hallucination.”
I remember when it suddenly hit me, smacking me over the head without the faintest trace of simply strewn mildness. I started to forget what things were, such as mushrooms and marijuana. I started to forget.
“Mushroom… Mushroom…,” I mumbled to myself, not taking in what I was saying.
“What is it? What is it?” I continuously asked myself.
I couldn’t figure it out. I didn’t know what a mushroom was, and therefore, I must have consequently forgotten I was tripping.
“Marijuana… Marijuana…,” I whispered in the air.
Once again, I was at a loss as to what I was saying. I didn’t have the faintest idea as to what I was describing. Suddenly, I saw Shaun’s right hand hit another guy’s hand, exchanging a bag of pot in the process.
“That’s what it is!” I said to myself in conquest.
I was dumbfounded at having discovered what marijuana was. This definitely wasn’t feeling like the usual psychedelic experience, for I had forgotten what a mushroom was, and I, too, forgot what marijuana was, although I relearned what it was when Shaun gave Evan his weed. Things just weren’t feeling right. Things were feeling terribly odd, uncharacteristically scary, and downright perilous. I was forgetting everything, yet I was still completely conscious, standing upright, and acting like a normal human being. Nonetheless, I was feeling extremely scared.
“Hey!” Shaun hollered. “Over here!”
I had frozen on the spot, and Shaun was quite a few feet in front of me.
“Come on,” he said.
I struggled with comprehension, as I dabbled with the minute vocabulary juggled in my brain. I was trying to understand what Shaun was telling me. Suddenly, I put one foot in front of the other, and I made my way towards Shaun.
“That’s it,” said Shaun encouragingly.
I had no idea what was going on. Indeed, I felt like I was in a completely dissimilar place than the one I had been in prior to my trip. The feeling of otherness was pervading all throughout my brain, and I, for the first time in my life, truly understood the word foreign. Although I had been to the Strand many times in my life, it was now a foreign place; that’s the power of psychedelics: it can turn a familiar place into a foreign one.
We made our way to a vastly large and systemically shaped house. Shaun apparently knew the owner of the place, so we made our way inside. At this time, I was beginning to forget even more than what I had previously forgotten.
“Welcome,” said a man at the door, letting us in this somewhat creepy looking abode.
I stepped in after Shaun, and this place was a richly detailed building. There were paintings on the walls, downright controversial and odd paintings. There were many people in the nude, some of which were giving oral sex to men, and others of which were giving oral sex to women. There were also tons of women scantily clad, and there were many pairs of people copulating.
“This place used to be a whore house,” said Shaun in my ear, staring at the paintings, too.
Great, I thought. I was beginning to lose my memory, and I was in what used to be an old whore house. Leave it to a psychedelic trip to take you to the most unique and odd places in the world.
I made my way to a sofa, taking a seat, wondering why I was losing my memory. I must have looked absolutely out of it, because the owner of the place stared at me, asking Shaun what was wrong with me.
“He took five grams,” said Shaun simply.
I remember sitting on the sofa, forgetting spontaneously what my name was. This wasn’t good. I was in an old, whore house, and I couldn’t even recall what my name was. I was scared shitless, because I didn’t know virtually anything.
Shaun sat next to me, taking out his piece and loading in it some purple bud.
“Here, you can have greens,” said Shaun kindly, passing the pipe to me.
I held a pipe in my hand, and I held a lighter in the other. For the first time in my life, I held a pipe and lighter in my hand, and I didn’t know what to do. I strained my brain, trying strenuously to remember just what it I was about to do. Instantaneously, I put the pipe to my lips, lit the lighter, burned the bud, and inhaled.
I must have looked extremely weird, because the owner of the place kept on looking at me, noticing that I appeared quite uncomfortable.
“What’s wrong with your friend?” he asked Shaun again.
“He’s having an Ego Death,” replied Shaun automatically.
“Oh, I see,” said the man. “Is it his first time?”
“Yep,” Shaun replied.
“Understandable,” nodded the man.
I was feeling extremely uncomfortable. I felt suicidal. I didn’t know what was going on. I felt as if my brains were fried. It got to the point to where I had no idea who I was, where I was, or what I was. This was a true Ego Death. The one thing I wanted to do more than anything was talk to the psychedelic and find out what was going on. I couldn’t do that here though, for if I did, the others would think I was downright nuts.
After an hour or two, I couldn’t handle it anymore. Everything was bothering me. I couldn’t stand forgetting everything. Shaun noticed how disgruntled I was.
“I think it’s time to go” said Shaun immediately.
We got up, went to Shaun’s car, and got in. Shaun was taking me back to my place.
“Man, these mushrooms have kicked my ass,” I managed to say.
“Yes, it does that to us all,” Shaun said knowingly.
Shaun walked me to my place, helping me get into my room.
“Alright, see you later, Shaun,” I said.
“Bye,” he said, leaving.
The Ego Death was gradually going away. I started to recover my memory and knowledge of things. When I was in my room, I felt safe, concealed, and better. I had to talk to the psychedelic, so I inquired, asking her exactly what just happened to me.
“What happened to me?” I asked her, hoping she would answer.
“Well,” quickly answered the psychedelic, “the most powerful, intense, and potent experience in the world reared itself down upon you, immersing you in the qualitative authority of the animal mind. You lost your Ego. You had an Ego Death. Your Ego, your identification tag that releases reasoning into your thought process in accordance to all of the learning established by culture, was taken away.”
“Did I really experience an Ego Death tonight?” I asked.
“All people, no matter who they are, will always experience an Ego Death the first time their Ego escapes from their self, for the experience is simply too intense for a human to handle, and no individual, no matter what preparation they take, will be able to comfortably experience the absence of their Ego the first time it leaves. After the Ego is taken away, all that is left is the Id, the instinctual self, the animal-like quality that is in all of us. During an Ego Death, which is what you experienced, the Id will struggle with the primary fear of biological dissolution, and therefore, all will fall into widespread chaos and mayhem.”
“How does an Ego Death occur?” I asked.
“An Ego Death occurs,” said the psychedelic smartly, “when a heroic dose of a psychedelic is taken, such as five dried grams of Psilocybe Cubensis. Only after you have experienced an Ego Death, can you experience an Ego Loss, the quenching destruction of the Ego that results in absolute bliss and spiritual satiation of the self. Having experienced an Ego Death, you are now familiar with what occurs once the ego is taken away, and therefore, you can prepare yourself to peacefully engage in the tranquil potential of glorification.”
“Really,” said the psychedelic wisely, “ordinary reality is a kind of chemical habitat, one that says it’s okay to do this and it’s okay to do that; however, when you transcend this restricted realm of reality, then you become immersed in this massive dimension that is filled to the rim with floating opportunity. Those who are experiencing this opportunistic dimension via an Ego Death find this dimension highly frightening. Those who are experiencing this opportunistic dimension via an Ego Loss find this dimension highly beautiful.”
“Aha!” I shouted in conquest. “I know what the psychedelic experience is now.”
“You really think you have me figured out?” asked the psychedelic skeptically.
“Yes, the Ego Loss is the psychedelic experience,” I said confidently.
“I’m going to pretend to be Plato for a second,” said the psychedelic, smiling.
“Okay,” I said wonderingly.
“Now, does everybody who has a psychedelic experience have an Ego Loss?”
“Well, no” I admitted.
“Exactly,” said the psychedelic wisely. “Thus, if not everybody is having an Ego Loss, then an Ego Loss is just one kind of the psychedelic  experience, making it an example of the psychedelic experience, not a definition of the psychedelic experience.”
“Well,” I said in retort, “If the Ego Loss isn’t the psychedelic experience, then the Ego Death must be the psychedelic experience”
“No, it can’t be,” said the psychedelic firmly. “An Ego Death is not experienced by everybody, and it’s not experienced all the time. It is experienced sometimes, and because of this, it is another kind of the psychedelic experience; it’s not the definition of the psychedelic experience, because it’s another example of the psychedelic experience.”
“Well,” I said with a fight, “then the ordinary, threshold trip must be the psychedelic experience.”
“Nope,” said the psychedelic quickly. “That’s just another example of the psychedelic experience, because not everybody experiences an ordinary, threshold trip. Some of them will experience an Ego Death, and others will experience an Ego Loss.”
“Then,” I said perseveringly, “the psychedelic experience is an ordinary, psychedelic trip, an Ego Loss, and an Ego Death.”
“Of course,” said the psychedelic solidly, “it isn’t, for you quite simply listed numerous examples of the psychedelic experience, not the psychedelic experience itself.”
“Oh,” I said dumbfounded.
“Trust me,” said the psychedelic warmly. “I don’t even know what I am.”

Edited by Feanor (09/03/10 04:23 PM)

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Re: The DMT Chronicles [Re: Feanor] * 1
    #6447240 - 01/11/07 01:03 AM (14 years, 9 months ago)

Great report!! :thumbup:

Be sure to keep us updated on any future travels!

Absense of evidence is not evidence of absense...

"Religion is a defense against a religious experience"
              Carl G. Jung

"So really, ordinary reality is a kind of chemical habit, sanctioned by culture, which says it's okay to use certain drugs, eat certain foods, and have certain sexual behaviors. However, when you transcend all this pre-conditioning by returning to the original wisdom of the animal body, then you discover this immense dimension of opportunity. For some people, it is a frightening risk. To me, that's the psychedelic experience."
Terence McKenna

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Re: The DMT Chronicles [Re: VirgilKane] * 1
    #6447261 - 01/11/07 01:11 AM (14 years, 9 months ago)

Updated 12/1/2009

Ch. 5 - DMT Bound

I have a story to tell you, but why am I telling this story? Well, I’m telling it for a few distinct reasons. It’s immensely psychotherapeutic; after all, insanity has surged through my brain all too often, and by writing this insanity out, I’m helping myself understand it all. I freely decided to be a lab rat, I guess you could say; I mean, there hasn’t been a specific, well documented case of a single person using DMT around fifty times, taking into consideration each and every trip and the fact that the substance was repeatedly used in a short period of time. I have been asked by lots of people to complete this piece of artwork; in other words, people wanted to make sure that the lab rat’s case was well documented, and I, of course, have no objections.
It happened on a fall day, a fall day that was memorable, because it was one of the first of fall days; the incessantly hot sun here in Texas had given up its rigorous attempt to cook the living shit out of people, and an array of gentle breezes made their appearance. In other words, things felt quite comfortable, as they always do here in Texas during the fall. I had stepped out of my house, only to feel some wind hit my exposed legs. I stretched, got in my car, and drove to Yessup’s house. Yessup was my first psychedelic mentor. I have had another psychedelic mentor, too, and little did I know, at one point, that he was best friends with Yessup. His name was Virgil Kane.
The first time I met Virgil Kane is quite a memorable event in my life. When I met him, we were both hunting for edible, poisonous, and psychedelic mushrooms. Ironically, we were hunting upon the same grounds, the premises of Aria 51. I say this is ironic, because this place that we were at is in the middle of nowhere, and I, at least, was certain that Yessup and I were the only two people that knew of its mushroom growing potential. It was inevitable that Virgil Kane and I were going to meet that day. It was fate; fate brought us together.
“Hey, you!” he yelled at me, after noticing my figure from far away. “What are you doing here?”
I was completely freaked out. My invisible tail shot straight up in the air; I like to at least think that I’m part feline, even though everybody tells me that I’m not. Here I was, having possibly trespassed not only to study poisonous mushrooms and collect edible ones, but to also pick four different strains of psychedelic mushrooms, all of which the government considers scheduled one drugs.
Eventually, I could properly make out the man who yelled at me, for he had walked quite close to where I was standing. The man yelling after me was at least forty. Being very tall, lean, and muscular, his body matched that of a runner’s. His hair was cut short, and he wore a neatly trimmed goatee around his mouth. Dressed like a park ranger, he had on a pair of hiking pants, a brown buttoned-downed polo, and a walking stick clasped in his hand. I was royally fucked. This guy was going to send me to jail.
“I… I..,” I stutteringly began, but he cut me off.
“You’re familiar with Terence McKenna?” he asked knowingly.
I nodded.
“You’re familiar with Alexander Shulgin?” he asked shrewdly.
As my eyes grew in size, I nodded yet again. Was this really happening?
“Would you like some 5-methoxy-diisopropyltryptamine?” he cunningly asked, winking his left eye at me.
As if I was a dog that wondered what his owner said to him, I turned my head to the side; at the time, I wasn’t quite sure what that was.
“Foxy!” he proclaimed somewhat loudly.
“Oh!” I said, smacking my head with my hand, feeling quite stupid.
“Here you go,” Virgil Kane said quietly, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a little vial with the Foxy in it. “Here’s 50 milligrams of 5-MeO-DiPT. That’s around five doses, depending on how much you decide to take during a go. Use it well, and do your homework,” he said significantly.
“But.. but..,” I stuttered hopelessly.
“How did I know?” Sean asked cleverly.
“Yes,” said I.
“Well,” he began, “dear God, look at you; your brownish hair is pretty damn long, you’ve got a Phish shirt on, and you reek a bit of Cannabis. You remind me a bit of myself when I was your age.”
“Oh, shit,” I thought to myself, smelling my shirt, which I hadn’t washed the night before. I always forget to wash my shirts.
“However,” said Virgil Kane importantly, “the one thing that gave you away were your eyes. Your eyes are telling me that you’ve seen data that others haven’t seen, and that is the mark of a psychonaut.”
“Well, at the least, you are just a hippie and not a police officer or something,” I said with ease.
“Whoa, wait a minute,” Virgil Kane defended himself; a look grew on his face, for he was sizing me up. He knew that he’d have to work on me a bit. “I’m no hippie. I’m a psychonaut; I pursue the psychedelic experience purely for growth, intellectual strengthening, and wisdom. It’s not all about fulfilling hedonistic desires. I get much out of it. Catholics receive the Eucharist; that is their sacrament. My sacraments are psychedelics. They bring me closer to the Divine. I take a very Shamanistic approach to these substances. You’ll only get as much out of them as you put into them.”
He flicked the tiny vial of Foxy in my direction, and I caught it, and that, yes, that is how I met my second psychedelic mentor. It was at that day and time that Virgil Kane decided to take me under his wing and teach me the ways. This man has two children, a delightful house, and a respectable job. He’s easily old enough to be my father, yet we turned out to be the greatest of friends.
If you are not familiar with the psychedelic scene, you may be a bit befuddled, concerning the conversation that took place between Virgil Kane and I. Well, I’ll help you out. Terence McKenna is a fucking genius, the smartest man to have ever walked this Earth. He was an ethnobotanist, mycologist, and psychedelic spokesperson; he was widely respected by many. Alexander Shulgin is a fucking genius, too. He’s a psychedelic chemist who legally invented and synthesized numerously novel and non-novel psychedelic compounds. You can look at him like this – Hofmann created LSD. Shulgin, in a sense, created hundreds of LSD’s; this is a metaphorical analogy, one not to be taken literally, of course. Like McKenna, he is widely respected by many. 5-methoxy-diisopropyltryptamine, which is abbreviated as 5-MeO-DiPT, is a psychedelic tryptamine, one of Shulgin’s creations. It has been nicknamed Foxy Methoxy due to being a renowned psychedelic aphrodisiac.
You may question this meeting; however, I must tell you that if you are a psychonaut, these are usually the kinds of things that happen: synchronistic events. You can either take my word for it or not. I know it sounds bizarre. Eventually, the bizarreness began to become something that I perceived as being normal. What occurred that day was the first of many meaningful coincidences that would later occur in my life.
Now that you are aware of how I met Virgil Kane, I’ll revert back to that fall day in which I was on my way over to Yessup’s house. I had arrived, parked, and stepped outside of my car, only to see Yessup deeply engaged in a conversation with a man, one who appeared to be around Yessup’s same age. Who was this man? I was very curious to find out. Yessup saw me and, by incessantly waving, beckoned me to his side. They were in Yessup’s opened up garage. I went and stood next to my teacher, curiously staring at the man across from us. It was my other teacher. It was Virgil Kane!
“Virgil Kane!” I said, sounding aghast from sheer surprise.
You should have seen the look on both of their faces; they were really living it up, laughing, clapping, hooting, and hollering. Well, I guess that my meeting with Virgil Kane wasn’t pure fate. Yessup must have arranged the meeting, having known that I was going to Aria 51 that day. He wanted to catch me off guard with an unfamiliar person that I would mistake to be a member of authority. Well, he definitely got me. Virgil Kane sure did freak me out upon first sight. I remained particularly surprised, for I was quite shocked to have realized that the two of them knew one another. I allowed them an extensive amount of time to laugh at the look on my face. While they got their share of laughing, I looked at an interestingly detailed mask that was hung on a wall.
“Feanor,” Yessup said regularly, “I’d like you to meet my chemist. His name is Virgil Kane, and yes, I know that is a bit bizarre.”
Virgil Kane held out his hand in my direction, and I, smiling to myself, shook it.
“Well, it is nice to finally meet you, Feanor. Yessup has told me so much about you,” said Virgil Kane enthusiastically with a touch of humor.
I looked in Yessup’s direction, and he nodded at me, implying that everything was fine and that Virgil Kane was a man I could trust.
“You guys knew each other all along,” I said exasperated, “and you decided to tell me by scaring the shit out of me?”
“Well, it was a bit fun,” said Yessup apologetically.
“Yes, it was just a bit of good, honest fun,” said Virgil Kane, taking his turn.
“We both discovered Aria 51 together,” said Yessup proudly. “We have mapped out the whole area on GPS. You weren’t the second one to know about Aria 51, Feanor.”
Yessup paused and then cut to the chase.
“Virgil Kane just got through making something for you, Feanor,” whispered Yessup.
Instantaneously, I received an influx of goose bumps. I had been searching for something immoderately long, for this something was extremely rare and exceedingly hard to obtain. Was I going to receive this something right now? I felt as if I was. I was so nervous; the anticipating anxiety I had right then and there was powerful enough to give me a good heart attack.
Virgil Kane, being the elusive person he was, pulled out a miniature glass jar from the insides of his pants; I was getting used to this! There were little white crystals inside of it. I held my breath.
“N. N. D. M. T.” Virgil Kane said, placing a heavy emphasis on each letter that left his lips. “One gram of it. Good enough for 20 Breakthrough Experiences.”
I couldn’t hold it in. I pissed my pants. It wasn’t a small amount of piss. I mean, I quite literally flooded my pants.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Shit, Feanor. What’s going on, man?” said Yessup, sounding a little freaked out.
“He’s too excited,” said Virgil Kane, laughing his ass off. “You remind me of myself. I was the same way when the Elf Spice found its way to me, but damn, son,” he added while carefully examining my pee stains, “I didn’t piss nearly as much as you did. You better get your penis checked, kid.”
And with that, Virgil Kane placed the jar of DMT into my hand. I drove back to my house that night; I couldn’t sleep. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep, but I still tried. I knew what I had to do; I had to vaporize DMT. I couldn’t do it in my house. It just wouldn’t feel right. I had to go to Yessup’s house. I picked up my phone, and I called him in the middle of the night. As if he knew I was going to call, he instantly picked up his phone, sounding wide awake.
“Come on over,” he said knowingly.
I didn’t say anything. I just hung up, got in my car, and drove back to his place. When I got there, Virgil Kane was still by Yessup’s side, and they were chatting. They had never parted from one another; it was as if they knew I was going to come back. I went up to them, holding out the jar of DMT.
Virgil Kane took it from my hand, weighing out a dose for me. I never asked him how much it was. I trusted him. I was spacing off. I wasn’t paying the slightest attention to anything. All I remember was that Virgil Kane placed a loaded pipe in front of me, along with a lighter.
I wanted Elves.
I took it from him, laid on nearby sofa, and so, it began just like that: The DMT experience.
The next thing I remembered seeing was Yessup standing over me with Virgil Kane at his side. “Write everything down. Everything,” he said softly yet perseveringly, handing me a notebook and a pen.
I did just what he told me to do, and this is what came out of it.

** If you would like to receive an email that notifies you as to when The DMT Chronicles is updated next, send me a pm with your email. Thanks for reading!


May Terence McKenna Live Long

The DMT Chronicles

Edited by Feanor (03/21/10 11:54 PM)

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Re: The DMT Chronicles [Re: Feanor] * 1
    #6471583 - 01/18/07 12:07 AM (14 years, 8 months ago)

Updated 12/05/09

Ch. 6 – Parmenides and the Elf Goddess

I cannot emphasize diligently enough that I am merely an ignorant person, perhaps one that has no idea as to what he’s talking about. I strive to search for the truth, and I have been doing this for my whole life, only to realize that my efforts have led to no avail. I do not see myself as being academically, philosophically, or psychologically smart, and therefore, I beg you to take what you are about to read with half a grain of salt. What you are about to read is extremely unbelievable; however, nonetheless, I will attest to all of it actually happening to me. Is it real? Does it have some kind of foundation in the authentic reality that we all abide in? I’m not going to lie – I simply do not know. It very well might, and it very well might not.
The difference between me and the leaders of various organized religions is that I am wholeheartedly admitting that what I have to say may very well be false. Many people can’t take into consideration that what they think, feel, hear, taste, and smell is actually some kind of mimicry of something that’s greater and more divine. I want you to know that I am explicitly admitting to not knowing anything. I am ignorant. I do not see myself as being smart. When you read what you are about to read, you may very well think that I am crazed, delusional, and a bit insane. You might think, like some have told me, that I am a schizophrenic. That’s fine. At the least, I know that I do not know. Although you may place me in the synonymous category that you place homeless schizophrenics in, I want you to know that my experiences with DMT have shown me something that I have come to label as being more real than absolutely anything else.
I do not consider myself to be a scholar, a philosopher, a psychologist, a mystic, a religious messenger, a teacher, or even a writer. I simply think that I am a layman, a person of no profession, one that is ignorant of pretty much everything. Therefore, consider this the work of a layman. All this talk that you are about to hear of Elves – well, is it true? Do Elves really exist? I don’t know, but I can and will tell you what I think, although it may be false. I may just be a person with an overactive imagination, a thoughtful thinker that, when confronted with psychedelics, ends up vividly producing an elaborate yet untrue tale. Thus, don’t tell me that I don’t know what I’m talking about; that is something that I actually do know. In case you haven’t gotten the picture yet, I am trying to tell you that what you are about to read might just be one massive delusion! Also, it might be real; that’s up for you to decide. Anyways, here is what happened the first time I smoked DMT.
Virgil Kane weighed out a dose of 40 milligrams of DMT and loaded it into a freebase pipe. The amount of DMT was slightly more than the tip of a match head. I was downright ecstatic, for a time had finally come that I had been anticipating throughout all of eternity, or so, at the time, it felt like. I was so exhilarated, for something that I had wanted to meet for so long was, alas, now in my presence. I knew that I was destined one day to venture the beautiful realms that DMT has to offer, and that day had finally arrived.
As butterflies continuously and relentlessly kept on pecking at the insides of my flesh, I tried to lower my excitation level to a minimum; I needed to concentrate. I tried to meditate for a little while. Eventually, the butterflies relinquished their vicious attack, and I was able to concentrate at the task at hand. I had never used a freebase pipe before, and I was a bit befuddled as to how to use it. I paused for a little while.
“Um. Could I get some help here?” I embarrassingly asked.
Yessup smiled, as if he was reminiscing about something in the past, while Virgil Kane came to my aid.
“Here,” he said helpfully. “Go ahead and hold the flame underneath the glass bowl until you see the DMT begin to vaporize. You then take a hit.”
“OK. Thanks,” I said nervously.
I flicked my lighter and carefully placed it underneath my little glass pipe. I watched as the DMT began to vaporize. I didn’t wait long. Almost as soon as I saw the vapor form, I took my first hit. The smoke was harsh on my lungs and tasted very indescribably odd. I exhaled the smoke and took another hit. I can’t recall the exact number of hits I took, but I do remember that I took quite a lot of small hits. I, of course, as you can imagine, did not quite know how to smoke DMT. Tiny hit after tiny hit went by, and the last hit finally occurred. Little I knew at the time, and I precariously thought that I had smoked a sufficient amount. I immediately shut my eyes, and I resumed in watching the back of my eyelids.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” I said in my mind, hoping to see Self-Transforming Machine Elves erupt into my vision.
Immediately, I was taken to an extraterrestrial like place, one not here nor there, a place entrenched with vastness, a vastness that I never knew could possibly exist. I appeared to be in a psychedelic corridor that went on for thousands and thousands of miles. Beautiful and bedazzling psychedelic colors flittered upon the floor, walls, and ceiling. As I hesitantly floated around, I observed everything that confronted me.
The unique colors were extremely pretty and had a flashy quality about them. The colors were possessed with the finest energy, which was a very penetrating one. I was absolutely fascinated by every quality that the colors were imbedded with. I had only been in this area for a while, yet I got the feeling that I was only going to be in this area for a miniscule amount of time.
My time, I felt, was coming to an expected close. In a flash of vibrant, enlightening light, the vision that once accosted me was now suddenly gone, only to be replaced by interesting Aztec styled tracers. Before I was ready, the main part of the DMT trip was over. I felt that it ended all too fast, that I only had a little taster. I wanted to return to that domain and explore its contents with more care and scrutiny. Therefore, before I completely came down from this trip, I opened my eyes, making a signal to Virgil Kane, while Yessup and he watched me with anxious eyes.
“I want to smoke some more,” I said quickly, holding out the pipe, hoping that Virgil Kane would reload it again for me.
He took it and said, “OK. I’ll put 40 more milligrams in it.”
“Thanks,” I managed to say.
“Hello, there,” said the psychedelic quietly in my head. “You almost made it to me.”
“What do you mean I almost made it to you?” I retorted. “I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I? Doesn’t that mean that I have made it to you?”
“Not necessarily,” she said slyly. “I can talk to you, but that doesn’t mean that I necessarily exist with you. For instance, you humans talk to each other using telephones, but that doesn’t mean that you are all actually right next to each other when the communication is taking place. I have the capability of communicating with those that take psychedelics by conversing with them via a connection that has been established. The psychedelic establishes the connection, and it opens up a link between me and the partaker. Psychedelic mushrooms work the best, but you can talk to me by using virtually any psychedelic. By taking a psychedelic, you are dialing my telephone number, and I am picking up.”
There was a question that I was dying to ask.
“Why didn’t I see any Self-Transforming Machine Elves?” I asked rapidly.
“Well,” the psychedelic said warmly, “you didn’t have a Breakthrough. You will meet Elves only when you have a Breakthrough on DMT. You need to take fewer hits, and you need to make your hits significantly larger. You established the telephone connection with me, and you made it to the Color, but you didn’t make it past the Color. When you make it past the Color, well, that’s when you get Elves. Once you go beyond the telephone connection and the Color, you will actually see me.”
“Will I ever come into contact with the Elves?” I asked desperately
“My dear,” the psychedelic said sweetly. “I am an Elf. I’m the Elf Goddess. You’ve already come into contact with me; you just haven’t come into face to face contact with me. When you have a Breakthrough, that’s when you will see me face to face.”
“Hey,” said Virgil Kane, waving in front of me with aspiration, holding a pipe in front of me. “Come on, snap out of it, and take the pipe.”
“Sorry,” I quickly said, taking the pipe from him. “Thanks.”
And with that, I smoked DMT again, hoping that I would have a Breakthrough. I wanted to ensure that this time I would get to the Color, pass the Color, and enter into the realm of the Elves in order to discover its hidden secrets. If I couldn’t make it past the Color, then I had ascertained that I was going to cautiously study the Color, finding out what it was and why it existed.
Thus, I inhaled the DMT. The last hit of a series almost completely knocked me out. It did a number on my lungs, causing me to release a peculiar cough. I felt as if I had been punched in the gut by a merciless foe. I fell back on the sofa I was sitting on. I shut my eyes, watching the back of my eyelids, and, instantaneously, I was once more back inside of the extraterrestrial like domain I had previously been in; I was back inside the Color.
This time, however, it felt like I was in a different place, one that appeared to be a room, rather than a corridor. Suddenly, something stirred to my left. I looked towards that direction, and an entity was what I had encountered. It was rather large and possessed an immense body with animal like characteristics. It appeared to have a reptilian structure with very interesting qualities, such as a massive array of colored scales all over its body. This was an entity that could change its external color in order to blend in with its encompassing surroundings. This quality, you could say, is similar to the one that lizards and other reptilian life forms possess. Due to its own intentional, individual will, this reptilian entity was externally camouflaged. Was this being an Elf?
“That most definitely is not an Elf,” said the psychedelic quietly inside my head.
“Then what is it?” I asked curiously.
“It’s just a part of the Color,” she said slowly. “You need to get past the Color if you want to see the Elves.”
With that, the psychedelic left me, leaving me downright puzzled, trying to figure out how to get past the Color. I didn’t know what to do, so I began to circumspectly study the Color. The color scheme incorporating the room was the same as the one that was incorporating the corridor I was previously in during my first DMT experience. The reptilian like being had this same color scheme on its body. Psychedelic colors flashed to and fro, and, suddenly, I was out of the room and into a corridor.
Reds, blues, yellows, and oranges flashed all over the corridor, while I was traversing across it. Next, I noticed a room to my right, and I had come to the conclusion that it was the place to be. I entered the room, only to encounter a human sized snake of odd proportions slithering around an Egyptian-like statue of a female princess. The snake, of course, appeared to be alive. I sensed that it was in its own personal room, which was its territorial domain. Graciously, this snake shared his room with me, which I took to be a very kind deed. Was this being an Elf?
Once again, the psychedelic chimed in, telling me, “That most definitely is not an Elf.”
“Then what is it?” I asked perseveringly.
Repetitively, the psychedelic said in a monotone, “It’s just a part of the Color. If you want to see the Elves, you need to traverse beyond the Color.”
With that, the psychedelic left me once again, making me feel really bewildered as to how to get past this darn Color. I just continued to study the Color, because I didn’t know what else to do. The snake was neither angry nor happy when he noticed my presence, but it was rather mildly interested at my presence. Over the Egyptian-like statue, he slithered here and there, all the while keeping his eyes upon me the entire time. His eyes, I realized, were massively round, being the size of small dinner plates. Eventually, his face slowly came right up to mine. We were staring each other in the eye with a sense of understanding one another. There was a sense of mutual comprehension dawning in both of our eyes. We both realized that I was trying to get past him, past the Color, and into the realm of the Elves. Next, due to a sudden onslaught of white light, I left the snake’s lair. It felt as if something had grabbed me around the waist, hoisted me up, and tossed me outside of the snake’s domain. It was sort of like I was in the snake’s backyard. I don’t know what tossed me, but when I was thrown, I heard a hefting noise that sounded like it belonged to the psychedelic.
There I was in outer space. A vast blackness strewn with various elliptical colors engulfed the scene. There were also bright dots here and there, which I took to resemble stars. I was clearly in an intergalactic dimension, and to my right, there was a very unique object. Now, unfortunately, I am restricted by the confines of our human language in describing what I saw. However, I will make do with what I can.
Imagine an immensely large, elongated stack of paper continuously and repetitively flapping back and forth from left to right. Just after it finishes going from left to right, it goes from right to left. I got the feeling that it was supposed to be where it existed. It wasn’t supposed to be anywhere else, but this one spot that it was at. This stack of paper was abundantly rich in Color. It was ridiculously filled with Color. I knew what this was. It had a sucking feeling to it, as if it wanted to draw essences inside of it. This was a vortex or portal, which would lead one to another dimension of strange and foreign beauty.
“Touch it,” urged the psychedelic incessantly inside my head. “Go beyond the Color! This will take you to the realm of the Elves, and we will get to meet.”
Before I could touch it, I was rapidly drawn away from it. I heard a preposterous sigh deep inside of my head, which must have belonged to the psychedelic, for it sounded like her voice. I was going back, back to the reality I was in before this. I was now staring at very interesting visuals. Slowly, these dissipated, too. The trip was brought to an end. I opened up my eyes and said to myself that what I had just experienced was unbelievable, yet all too believable.
“That was nothing,” said the psychedelic happily. “Just wait until you have a Breakthrough.”
My brain felt as if it had run one thousand miles. Naturally, my mind was left racing for the rest of the day. This was an excessively odd experience. I truly experienced the Color, a dimension that was beyond the reality that I ordinarily perceived, and I almost went beyond the Color. If only I had a few more seconds, I know that I would’ve made it past the Color. I found the portal that I needed to go through in order to make it to the realm of the Elves. Well, at the least, I thought, I knew what to do next time. I knew where the portal was, and I had ascertained that I was to go into and through the elaborate vortex of Color.
A few days later, I found myself in a car with Shaun. We had just traded some MDMA with Virgil Kane for some DMT. We were very excited about having acquired the DMT, and it will suffice to say that we were a bit too excited.
“Come on, man,” said Shaun unremittingly. “There’s got to be some kind of a place in Houston that exhibits the wonderful beauty of nature. There has to be somewhere we can go to smoke the DMT.”
“Well,” I said after having thought for a good long while, “there’s unfortunately nowhere for us to go. The quickest place that I can think of is forty minutes away.”
“Damn,” said Shaun in response. “Well, how about that parking lot over there?” he asked, pointing to a shopping center.
“I don’t know, man,” I said nervously. “I don’t think that’s the kind of place we should take something this powerful to. We probably shouldn’t do it there. If you know what I mean, it just isn’t right.”
“Dude,” said Shaun interminably, “I know you want to do this just as bad as I do. You can’t pretend like you don’t want to do it right now. I mean, we just got it today. We’ve got to do it now, man.”
I thought for a second. I didn’t think it was a good idea, but I did really want to smoke more DMT. I found it to be so enticing, so after an internal debate, I told Shaun that it was cool and that I would consent to smoking DMT in the parking lot. I was anticipating another DMT trip a bit too much. Eventually, this excitement led to my downfall. I ended up smoking more DMT in a car that was parked in a parking lot of a major shopping complex. This, as you can imagine, was an absolute horrible and abhorrent setting.
Thus, Shaun and I smoked DMT in a parking lot. Shaun went first. He didn’t sound downright mystified, so I figured that he didn’t have a Breakthrough. I went next. I estimated around 40 milligrams of DMT and loaded it into the bowl. I smoked it, and the third hit almost killed me. I inhaled it so very deeply into my lungs to where I was forced to cough it up. I felt like I was coughing up all of my internal organs. As soon as the DMT hit me, reality hit me, too. I was tripping on DMT in a parking lot. I felt vulnerable to the max, and therefore, I could not release myself to enjoy the effects of the DMT. My face, for some weird reason, felt as if it was melting. I was back at the Color. I was staring at a gigantic orange vortex that was full of geometric patterns.
I didn’t move at all. I didn’t even try to go through the Color. I simply viewed my surroundings in this reality, while half of my mind was worried about the other reality. Eventually, there came a point in the experience in which nothing was really happening. There was just a massive orange vortex of seismic proportions that wanted to hopefully engulf me. Finally, this vortex left my frontal view, only to be replaced by traditional, geometric visuals.
“That was pretty stupid,” said the psychedelic warily.
“I know,” I said internally.
The trip was over, and the lesson was learned.
The fourth time I smoked DMT was a significantly special and historical time in my life, for something extraterrestrial and disproportionately astonishing bypassed. I finally had a Breakthrough. With the doors locked, I was in my own room. This provided me with a high sense of protection, thereby allowing me to let go. I was aware of the fact that nobody was going to be able to get in and pester with my body. I was all by myself. My lamp provided the perfect amount of light that I needed, which was not too much and not too little.
The room was more on the dark side, which is how I prefer it. In order to prepare and brace myself for the experience, I meditated for around fifteen minutes. I loaded more DMT into the pipe than I’d ever loaded before. I weighed out 50 milligrams of DMT on my scale, placing it into the pipe. I was downright determined to have a Breakthrough this time. Right before I was about to smoke the DMT, I was a bit nervous. After reminding myself that it was only natural to have a bit of nerves before encountering what I was about to encounter, I went in the middle of my room and sat on a chair, which allowed me to attain a reasonable level of comfort. I picked up the lighter, placing it underneath the pipe. I flicked it on, and so, it began!
I vaporized a tremendously huge amount of DMT in preparation for my first hit. Once an immensely exceptional quantity of DMT was vaporized, I went ahead and hit the pipe. Bam! It was a gigantic hit! I inhaled so much DMT smoke to where I was involuntarily forced to exhale rather quickly, for an enormous cough fought its way up my throat towards my mouth. For a good, long while, I felt like I couldn’t breathe; that was just how much it impacted me. However, I didn’t just stop there. I lit the pipe some more and, before I hit it, amazingly beautifully, geometric tracers rapidly began encompassing my room. I took the next hit, which turned out to be rather small. I exhaled and resumed lighting the pipe. I wanted to make sure that I would smoke as much as I possibly could. This last light was to no avail. All of the DMT had already been vaporized to its fullest extent. I did not understand this at the moment, for at that period in time, I was having a very hard time attempting to light my pipe in order to ensure that I would smoke as much as I could. Next, before I knew it, I was gone!
All of the sudden, I began to hear an extremely loud ringing noise, which was most likely resembling the electron spin resonance that was occurring in my body. The noise was preposterously loud, ridiculously blaring. Involuntarily, I shut my eyes, and I dropped the pipe on my lap. The lighter quickly followed suit, finding its way onto my lap. Onto my shoulder, my head forcefully fell. I couldn’t move an inch. I had been paralyzed. The ringing grew in tone ever louder and louder. Finally, it had reached its maximum capacity, a ringing louder than anything I had ever heard in my life! Spontaneously, while the ringing was at its height, I was transported to a foreign, extraterrestrial like, and outer space continuum filled to the time with Color.
There I was at the Color, staring at it for a formidably long time. I saw the stack of paper, flapping to and fro, and I knew what I had to do. I started to move, and lo and behold, I realized that this was truly astral projection occurring. My soul had clearly left my body and journeyed to another realm, the reality of the Color. Moving your soul is completely unlike moving your body. It is so dissimilar in relation to traditional movements. Thinking is the one thing that contributes to the movement of the soul, and so, I thought, and I thought of nothing but the endlessly flapping stack of paper. Onwards, I went, towards the stack of paper. Instantaneously, at the speed of light, I entered into the stack of paper, and, contiguously, my soul was transported to another reality, a world that was so very different than the one that I was brought up in.
Everything appeared very wispy and dark. I was capable of making out what was going on, but there wasn’t much light flowing in this world. Next, they came to me, the Self-Transforming Machine Elves! From all directions, they appeared around me. The entire time this was going on, I heard very odd banging noises. I remained a stationary observer, and I did not think of moving anywhere, and so, I stayed where I was.
Perhaps, I thought, they weren’t even aware of my silent presence. I came upon this assumption a little too soon, however. Before I knew it, they started going through me. Yes, they went through me! I first thought that they were bumping into me; however, it turned out that, when I turned my head around after an Elf supposedly bumped into me, the Elf appeared to be on the other side of me! The Elf must have gone through me. Nonetheless, despite turning my head, I remained stationary, and they continued going right through my soul. I definitely knew now that I didn’t have a body, for can a physical, tangible, and corporeal entity, such as an Elf, simply go right through another palpable, actual, and definite body? Of course not! I was simply comprised of pure soul. I did not have a body!
The Self-Transforming Machine Elves didn’t go through all of my soul, but only portions of it. Together, combined, they might have surpassed through the entire surface area of it. Still, one by one, they kept on entering and leaving different portions of my soul. They did not appear to walk, but rather, they appeared to glide. It felt as if they were imbedding me with a certain and unique type of perplexing information. They were changing me. As each one entered my soul, he or she implanted their own and unique piece of data inside of me. With their powers combined, they were putting together the pieces of a puzzle within my soul. At the time, I couldn’t make out what the Elves intended this puzzle to convey.
And then, it happened. The Elf Goddess came to me. The psychedelic herself had arrived. She simply materialized out of nowhere. I saw her Form. She was extremely tall, dark, and elegantly beautiful. Her skin was a dark green, as were her eyes. Her fingers were slender and long, her feet proportionately sized and dazzling. Her hair was rigorously wavy, and it came far down all the way to her waist. She was in the nude, and her breasts were very voluptuous yet perfectly shaped. She came with her hands up, a clear sign of peace. Suddenly, I heard her. She didn’t even open up her mouth, though. She spoke inside of my head without the slightest trace of having moved her mouth.
“Do you understand what my Elves have taught you?” she asked me kindly.
“I don’t think so,” I responded truthfully.
“Allow me to help you out,” she said. “I have been seen by many people, some who have made a mark in history, such as Parmenides. Yes, I am the Goddess of Parmenides, the divine figure that appears in his mystical poem. Parmenides, like you, used to smoke DMT, and that is how he came about configuring his philosophical apparatus.”
“Wow,” I said breathlessly. I was familiar with Parmenides, and I could not believe this.
“My Elves,” the psychedelic said sweetly, “imbedded within you the same information that they engraved into the soul of Parmenides when he first ventured into this higher reality. This information is the data that Parmenides based his poem on. “
“What is it,” I said with a desire to know and understand.
“Well, don’t you already know?” she said politely. “Search within your soul, and find the one question that’s been pestering you the most.”
I thought for a good, long while, trying to decipher what was the one question that bothered me the most. Spontaneously, it came to me.
“Are you real?” I asked with caution. “Are Self-Transforming Machine Elves real?”
“Very good,” said the Elf Goddess benignly. “The answer to that question is what the Elves gave you when they imparted their knowledge inside of you. They gave the same answer to Parmenides, and they placed inside his soul the same thing they have placed inside of your soul. Therefore, let’s find out what this is. You don’t need to worry; I am going to help you figure it all out. Thus, we come to the questions: Is this real? Am I real? Are Elves real?”
“I think that this is all real,” I said solidly.
“Good,” said the Elf Goddess. “You are receptive, and you have obtained what my Elves have told you.”
“Let me guess,” I said after having sudden insight unlocked inside of me. “You’re going to explain to me why the answer is yes.”
“Of course,” said the psychedelic. “There are three ways, three routes that dissect this subject matter. One is The Way of the Unthinkable, another is The Way of Subjectivity, and the other is The Way of Objectivity.”
“What’s The Unthinkable Way?” I asked wonderingly.
“Well,” said the Elf Goddess genially, “The Unthinkable Way states that no possibilities exist. That means that I don’t exist, you don’t exist, this world doesn’t exist, and everything that you virtually think exists doesn’t exist. There is a flaw with this method, however, for if no rationally conceivable things exist, then existence itself does not exist, which signifies that it is impossible to speak of existence. However, by saying that no rationally conceivable things exist, such as you and I, one is implying that existence itself exists, for it is spoken of, yet The Unthinkable Way states that existence does not exist. Therefore, there is a flaw in this theory.”
“The Unthinkable Way,” said the psychedelic, “is consistent, for it consistently states that no possibilities at all exist. If it were to say that some things exist, while other things do not exist, then it would clearly be inconsistent; however, it is clearly consistent, because it states that no rationally conceivable things exist. This is a mark for it, yet there is a mark against it, and this mark occurs, because The Unthinkable Way is incoherent; it doesn’t make sense. The theory states that no rationally conceivable things exist, yet it speaks of existence as if it exists, and therefore, this makes this way incoherent.”
“What’s The Subjective Way?” I asked, yearning to learn what it was.
“The Way of Subjectivity,” the Elf Goddess replied, “states that some possibilities exist, and some possibilities do not exist. However, it will never be proven that things that are are not. If you speak of something, you give it existence, and therefore, it is, yet The Subjective Way says that that which is is not, for it states that some possibilities do not exist. There are rationally conceivable things that are, such as a dragon. However, this dragon does not exist outside of the human mind. It only exists inside of a mind, and therefore, it is dependent on a human mind, yet it is important to bear in mind that inside of the human’s thought it is. Therefore, this model of thinking is clearly incoherent, for it states that things that are, and they are because they are rationally conceivable, are not. This is a mark against it. Also, this model, as we said earlier, is inconsistent, for it says that some things exist, while other things do not exist, which is another mark against it.
“So this leaves us with The Objective Way,” I said confidently.
“Yes,” said the psychedelic gently, “The Objective Way is the correct say. It states that all possibilities exist. Anything that’s rationally conceivable must exist. Elves, unicorns, dragons, vampires, trolls, werewolves, wizards, and witches exist in a human mind, and therefore, they are, and never can you say that things that are are not. The Objective Way states that things that are are, and therefore, it is coherent. It is also consistent, for it states that all things, not just some things, exist. Thus, this is the right way.”
“So you are real,” I said mesmerizingly. “You really do exist.”
“Yes,” said the Elf Goddess with a happy smile.
With that, she left, and later on, the scene left me. I opened up my eyelids. I still resumed the same position I was in prior to my eyes opening. Whether I could voluntarily move or not, I could not tell. My head was still on my shoulder, and I perceived the scene horizontally. I was in a state of utter bliss. I could tell that my soul was back in my body. My mind was racing miles in seconds. I stood up, resuming my life in a body. I was proud, joyful, and ecstatic. I had a Breakthrough, resulting in my contact with the Self-Transforming Machine Elves and the Elf Goddess.

Edited by Feanor (03/21/10 11:54 PM)

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Re: The DMT Chronicles [Re: Feanor] * 1
    #6472492 - 01/18/07 07:36 AM (14 years, 8 months ago)

Awesome!! :thumbup: I wonder if these changes will become evident to you with the passage of time and, if not, if they will become evident as you continue your experiences.

At least it was a lesson learned on the setting!!

Absense of evidence is not evidence of absense...

"Religion is a defense against a religious experience"
              Carl G. Jung

"So really, ordinary reality is a kind of chemical habit, sanctioned by culture, which says it's okay to use certain drugs, eat certain foods, and have certain sexual behaviors. However, when you transcend all this pre-conditioning by returning to the original wisdom of the animal body, then you discover this immense dimension of opportunity. For some people, it is a frightening risk. To me, that's the psychedelic experience."
Terence McKenna

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Re: The DMT Chronicles - UPDATED 1/17 [Re: Feanor] * 1
    #6474101 - 01/18/07 07:23 PM (14 years, 8 months ago)

Outstanding! Thanks for the detailed report, very informative.
So how do you feel about your actions on the whole? Do you feel a craving or a longing to go back to that place, or is it more like something you enjoyed and may enjoy again at the time of your choosing?

"That's why you get in close to them, and then take the picture!! Don't be a pussy!" ~CC

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Re: The DMT Chronicles - UPDATED 1/17 [Re: LouiseLouise] * 1
    #6475660 - 01/19/07 08:41 AM (14 years, 8 months ago)

I wish I had a printer...

That reads like a book..

Block text are so ...

Gah! .. :barf:

I need a printer.. :p

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Re: The DMT Chronicles - UPDATED 1/17 [Re: LouiseLouise] * 1
    #6476261 - 01/19/07 01:43 PM (14 years, 8 months ago)

Updated 1/14/10

Ch. 7 – A Monistic Approach

Well, now, I began to take psychedelic mushrooms on a periodically regular basis, which was around every week to week and a half. I kept on coming into contact with that superior, divine like voice that belonged to the psychedelic. Although I never saw her face to face, like I did in my fourth DMT trip, I was still able to hear her intuitions miraculously clearly. They were all pretty much redundant, as if she wanted to emphasize her teachings of Parmenides to me. There was nothing new, nothing novel, but I, nonetheless, enjoyed hearing here supple and crisp voice inside my thoughtful head.
I recall a glorious day when Yessup and I were hiking in Aria 51. We had found quite an abundance of cubes, so we made out pretty well. Then, right when we were about to leave, I spotted them: An array of Copelandia Cyanescens mushrooms. I was really ecstatic, for I had heard wonderful stories about this particular strain, and I felt as if I was ready to give them a go.
“Very nice,” said Yessup triumphantly.
“I’m going to eat these tonight,” I said excitedly.
Yessup just smiled; he obviously was thinking deeply about something. I did not want to break him out of his partially serious trance, so I just managed to gather all of the mushrooms in my hand, delicately snipping the ends of the stems with a sharp pair of scissors.
“Thank the sweet Lord,” I mumbled to myself on the ride back to my house.
Upon entering my room, I kicked my slippery sandals off my feet, falling back on my bed. I had used a water jug to place the mushrooms that I had found in, so I took my water jug, opened it up, and took out several Copelandia Cyanescens mushrooms, which were all violently stained blue. I ate them one by one, wondering how intense and surreal this experience was going to be.
There I was, lying down on my bed with my arms and legs stretched out. Suddenly, as if a hammer had just smacked me over my head, I was in it: The trip. It felt utterly delightful, lying there, watching the many colorful tracers engulf the premises of my room. They were primarily blue and purple, and they were of a three dimensional nature, morphing here, there, and everywhere.
“Alright,” I said to myself quietly, “I took a lot.”
I shut my eyes, and the visuals I saw were remarkable. I was running through a cow field, picking the many Cubes and Copes I found along the way. I did this for quite some time, for most of the time of the trip. It was really quite fun, except for when my hands or feet would accidentally hit some cow dung. Then, before I could grasp onto my next Cope, I felt it: An Ego Loss.
My Ego was gone. I didn’t remember who I was, where I was, or what I was. I simply existed. Then, something even more remarkable occurred: A spontaneous eruption of visual words. Behind closed eyelids, I saw the word “Cube”. Next, I saw a line drawn from this word, connecting itself to another word that said “Cope”. Then, I saw a line drawn from this word, connecting itself to the abbreviation “LSD”. I then saw a line drawn from this word, connecting itself to the word “Feanor”. Then, I saw a line drawn from this word, connecting itself to the word “Yessup”. Next, I saw a line drawn from this word, connecting itself to the words “Virgil Kane”. All these words made a circle, and after the words “Virgil Kane”, there was a line that connected them back to the word “Cube”.
What was going on here? Why was there an array of numerous words all forming a circle? What did it mean? Finally, I understood. A Cube has relations to a Cope, because they are both mushrooms. A Cube and a Cope have relations to LSD, because they are all psychedelics. A Cube, Cope, and LSD have relations to Feanor, because I ingest all of them. A Cube, Cope, and LSD relate to Yessup, because he trips and takes them, and he relates to Feanor, because they are friends. Virgil Kane is the friend of both Yessup and Feanor, and he trips, so he is consequentially related to a Cube and a Cope.
No matter how you look at it, everything is related to anything, and anything is related to everything, making everything anything and anything everything. Everything here on Earth has ties to anything, because everything is connected to anything in the circle of connection.
Now, what does this all mean?
It’s what I was about to figure out in the DMT realm. Under the guidance of the Elf Goddess, I was going to learn all of it, figure out what it all meant; she was going to explain everything to me.
Well, I had a peculiar problem at hand that I was trying to solve. If you are having an Ego Death or an Ego Loss, which makes you incapable of knowing what’s going on, then how can you even write up a trip report on the experience? It was a question that I was trying to solve, and this is the answer that I’ve come up with. When you are having an Ego Death or an Ego Loss, you truly do not know what is going on; however, when the trip is over, and you reassess everything, then that’s when you are capable of comprehending what the transcendental experience meant. At this time, you are permitted to remember rational thoughts, analytical conversations, and discerning innuendoes, for your Ego is back in place after all.
Attempting to get some work done, I found myself in the library. I was reading a book, zooming across lines. Then, all of the sudden, I could no longer accurately concentrate. I tried forcing myself to read more and more, but it just wasn’t happening. I was feeling very energetic, energetic enough to jump off a bridge and swim in an ocean. An overwhelming rush of intense emotion surged throughout my body that I could not shove off.
My head was spinning fast. I felt as if I wanted to run to a very faraway place and never return to my place of origin. After contemplating for a second what was going on, I recognized the situation for what it was. I was being called back to another universe, and the Elves were the ones performing the calling. They wanted me to go back to their world that night. An invitation was at my disposal, and I knew that I could not refuse it. It would be disrespectful on my behalf to commit such an atrocious act. I knew that things could not wait, and therefore, I got into my car and drove back to my place.
I loaded 40 milligrams of DMT into my pipe, kindly kicked out a friend, and locked up my room. I kept on a mild amount of light, so I could see the pipe and light it. I laid on my bed and braced myself for the experience. I sat Indian-styled in the middle of my bed and took two humongous rips. I untwisted my legs and fell flat on my back with my head landing directly on my pillow. I was relaxed and shut my eyes. Immediately, the ringing sensation appeared; it soon dissolved as an amazingly spectacular, psychedelic room came into my field of vision. I was back at the Color. I was there, in the all so familiar psychedelic domain yet again.
I thought I was familiar with this place, but I actually wasn’t. It was very similar to the psychedelic domain that I arrived at in prior trips, but it was a bit different. It had a different feeling, which differentiated it mainly from the other psychedelic domains I had previously been in. There was a very interesting air about the place. There wasn’t much light, and the vicinity was mainly encompassed by a glorious darkness. Nonetheless, even though it was a bit different, I could still discern that I was irresolutely in the Color; I was just in a different location of the Color.
I started to explore its vastness. I turned around, only to meet a very interesting elephant like individual hovering in midair. The elephant creature did not appear to be a life form. He more or so appeared to be a statue of some sort. I could not feel any energy or life surging from him, and therefore, I believed him to be some sort of a decoration. He was a charmingly nice addition to the room.
I continuously kept him in my vision. He was amazing and had a lot of arms encompassing his body. His arms were long and thick, appearing to have a lot of muscle within them. None of his arms were skinny, and they all were the same size; they all were in proportion. They fit his body well. They did not have the appearance of not belonging there. The elephant was not standing the way in which one would expect a regular elephant to normally stand, that is on all four legs. Rather, he was sitting, while he hovered in midair. Something was keeping him afloat, and something was keeping him balanced and sturdy.
He had two legs that were both directed forward; next, appeared his midsection with his many number of arms extending from both sides; finally, came his elephant like head with an average sized snout. His legs were big and rough. They were bigger than his arms and very thick. There was power in them. Before I knew it, I was taken out of the psychedelic castle, out of the Color, and I was staring open eyed at my ceiling. I got off my bed and loaded more DMT into my pipe.
I loaded 40 milligrams of DMT into my pipe. I hadn’t made contact with the Self-Transforming Machine Elves, and that was that which I was intending to perform. I got back up on top of my bed, sat Indian-styled yet again, and took a hit. I took a few more hits, and I then conked out, while I unfolded my legs and found my pillow with my head. I watched the back of my eyelids, and I was back at where I had originally stopped off. I was in the psychedelic castle yet again. I was back in the Color. It was still night time; the ceilings, floors, and walls were all green and black. The colors were shifting, while I was observing the vicinity. They were moving here, there, and everywhere. I could feel the penetration of energy that existed within that vortex. It was pushing off and bouncing into me during various intervals. I wanted to go through the Color, but I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to.
I knew that it was not enough. I was unable to go beyond the Color, unable to go beyond the castle. While I was there, nothing out of the ordinary met me. The state did not last for too long. I merely observed the room that I was in and the outstanding Colors that were dancing to and fro. The Colors had no space restriction. Their existing domain was immense, and due to its massive size, my eyes were unable to calculate the ends of the domain. The area that I was in was gigantic. I would look as far as I could, and I knew that there was much more space that existed that I couldn’t make out. The trip shortly ended, leaving me with an inclination to smoke more DMT. I hopped off of my bed, and I began to load more DMT into my pipe.
After finishing the loading process, I hopped back onto my bed, and once again, I resumed my Indian-styled position. I had loaded 50 milligrams into my pipe. I braced myself. I felt that I was going to make contact this time. I went ahead, heated the pipe, and took a big hit. Another hit occurred, and after hearing the DMT noise, I was gone. I fell backwards, and my head hit my pillow somewhat ungracefully. I knew that I was going to have a Breakthrough. I was able to go beyond the Color this time. I went right through the psychedelic castle, which was the Color. I felt a very great joy. I felt as if I had arrived at a place that I was striving to get to throughout my entire life. I was finally there. The foreign quality of it was utterly bizarre and amazing. I knew that my Ego was entirely gone, for I simply existed at this point in time and observed all that was there.
The beautiful place I was in was absolutely and utterly outstanding. The greenish-black color scheme was predominant. I was moving around the place, and they were there all around me; they were everywhere, the Elves that is. The most amazing thing about their appearance this time is that they were self-transforming in the literal sense! They were transforming in front of my very own eyes! As my eyes moved from one to the other, before I could take in all of their bodily qualities, their physical form would actually change transmutationally! Their forms are going to be immensely hard to describe, not only because their forms surpass the ordinary use of language, but also because their forms were immensely hard for me to comprehend.
At first, they had a small similarity to the body structure of a human. They were a lot skinnier than your average sized human. They had very long, skinny fingers and rather interesting ears. Ribs were able to be made out from their body. Suddenly, before I could take in any more of their features, their physical appearance rapidly transformed. They truly were Self-Transforming Machine Elves.
They then transformed into something that we would ordinarily comprehend and interpret as being a book. It was very weird, indeed. I still could sense the life presence being sent to me from the book. It’s feeling of life vibrated from its pages unto myself, and I knew that these weren’t merely books. They were very much so alive, and what they once appeared to be, was still what they were. They had changed in an externally viewable nature, but definitely not in a mental sense. This showed me how diverse and knowledgeable they are. The Elves were externalizing their interior, a preposterously massive array of hyperdimensional, translinguistic, and esoteric wisdom.
They were trying to pass information onto me. I didn’t attempt to open up the Living Books. Should I have opened up the Living Books? At the time, I didn’t know whether or not to open them up, and I don’t regret my initial decision of letting them remain undisturbed. The Self-Transforming Machine Elves are aware of the problem that accosts humanity and our planet. They want to save our world, for if they do so, they are saving life that is precious to them. The Elves are very loving of humanity. They treat our planet as if it was their own, and for that, we owe them much, and the least we can do is accept the knowledgeable advice before it is too late.
Spontaneously, as if out of nowhere, the Elf Goddess, the psychedelic herself, appeared in front of the Living Books, which was right in front of me. Her body was lathered with a kind of translucently spellbinding and enthralling luster of tremendously gorgeous proportions. She stared at me for a long time, and without opening up her mouth, she said inside of my head a simple and commanding sentence.
“Open one of the books,” she said hypnotically.
I paused for a tiny fraction of a second, and, after realizing that I truly wanted to open one of the books, I moved forward, placing my hand on the binding of the book nearest me. Without a second thought, I flipped it open. There was only one page. On that page, it said:
Since you are outside of the world, take a look at it. Since you aren’t inside of the world anymore, what does the world look like?
- Parmenides

Everything, like a spinning top, was rapidly twisting around. The Self-Transforming Machine Elves in their alien and book life forms were moving around me. Eventually, as all good things must come to an end, this one did. Once again, I went through the Color, entering back into everyday, ordinary reality. My Ego gradually returned to me. It was absolutely amazing having it gone. Having it back is always a bit of a burden; however, it’s also a bit of a help in our world, for it is partially good to know your name! This was such a great experience. I wanted another, but before I got off my bed and loaded more DMT into the pipe, I thought about the writing in the Living Book.
I was held deep in concentration for around five minutes. Suddenly, it all clicked. My Cope trip and this trip were definitely intricately related, and this is why:
Imagine viewing an enticing lake. You don’t live in the lake, and therefore, you are outside of that like. Inside of that lake, there are many creatures, both living and non-living, such as bass, perch, trout, catfish, trees, and various vegetation. There may be ducks in the lake, along with boats and human beings inside of those boats. Now, take a look at that lake, knowing that you are outside of the lake. Does that lake appear to be one or many?
It, of course, appears to be just one lake, but why does it appear to be one lake? It appears to be one lake, because you, the natural observer, are outside of the lake. You do not live in it. However, if the fish, trees, and vegetation were to figure out whether their lake was one or many, they would definitely say that it is many, because they are inside of it. When you are inside of something, you see all of the other things that are inside of it with you, and therefore, it seems to be many. However, when you are outside of something, you see that everything is confined to a specific premise, which thereby makes the thing you are viewing one instead of many.
This is what my Cope trip was telling me. It was telling me that everything is anything and anything is everything, and since things are that way, since you can basically relate anything in our world to virtually everything, the world and everything in it is truly one.
This is what the Self-Transforming Machine Elves were telling me. They were telling me that we humans, due to being inside of the world, view the world as being many; however, they, the Elves, being outside of our world, view the world as being one, because everything is confined to a specific boundary. See here! This is one of the greatest things about DMT. It takes you outside of the world, to the realm of the Elves, allowing you to see that the world is truly one.
What the Elves were telling me was that, in order to fix internal quarrels, you need to smoke DMT, leave the world, and look down on it, thereby comprehending that it is all one. Only with the knowledge that the world is truly one can we figure out what a problem is and come up with a solution. 

Edited by Feanor (03/21/10 11:55 PM)

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Re: The DMT Chronicles - UPDATED 1/17 [Re: Feanor] * 1
    #6510310 - 01/30/07 12:01 AM (14 years, 8 months ago)

Ch. 8 – What is the Psychedelic?

I smoked a lot of DMT this time. Over and over again, I took some massive hits. Before I was physically unable to take excessively unsurpassable and numerously more hits, I commandingly forced myself to smoke massive quantities of DMT. Eventually, I started to freeze up, sort of like water turning into an ice cube, and I unceremoniously fell back onto my exorbitantly comfortable bed. I can’t recall whether or not my Indian-style position of crisscrossing my legs was abated or not. It felt as if it was; however, I also felt as if it was not. I neither cared whether they were crisscrossed or not. The DMT noise greeted me, which was shrilly loud and piercingly nagging. I then elaborately shut my eyes and persistently attended to watching the back of my eyelids.
Immediately, just like the DMT, my Ego was vaporized, and I was being ceaselessly transported. My soul left my body, and it was in the traveling process. I then arrived in an amazing realm. I completely passed up the Color; either I didn’t notice surpassing the Color, or I had automatically skipped experiencing the Color for one reason or another. This realm I was in was almost similar to the realm in which we inhabit, yet not exactly. It had many of the similarities that our realm possesses; however, it also had many differences. This was a realm that was full of life, just like our world, and yet, the life that inhabited this domain was definitely odd.
They were there, the Self-Transforming Machine Elves. A fair amount of them were present. They were all sitting comfortably on an odd form of furniture that was not really like a sofa. It was a weird piece of furniture that provided an extraterrestrial form of comfort. I could sense that they were aware of my presence. However, they did not turn their heads toward me. I knew what they wanted me to do. They wanted me to observe them and their lifestyle, and so, after transforming myself into an anthropologist, observations were what I made of the situation. Rather than speaking in a verbal nature, they were communicating with each other with what appeared to be their thoughts. They were all sitting together like a couple of humans would do at an apartment. There wasn’t anything necessarily special or out of the ordinary going on. This was just a typical situation for this part of the day in their lives. They were holding council.
And then something extraordinary occurred. Beautiful sounds came into being that were so connective with every other sound that continuously kept on coming into being. I realized that this was the music that the Self-Transforming Machine Elves listened to. It was very blissful to my ears, even more blissful than Phish. However, it could have been more blissful than Phish simply because of where it was playing. The music fit and spelled out the world I was in, just as Phish makes sounds that reflect the greatness which abides in our world. If I listened to their music in our world, I would probably like Phish more than it.
The music was perplexingly outstanding and very penetrating. Suddenly, the transcendental music gave way to a solidified and brightly glowing face, which was followed by the rapid yet slow emergence of an utterly beautiful and uniquely astounding body. I came to the realization that this was the Elf Goddess, startlingly materializing out of the uncommonly gorgeous body of music. No wonder why the music was so appealing to my senses! The music was the Elf Goddess.
The scene then quickly changed, and I was in a dank cave. She came to me, and, rapidly, I was in chains, painfully and agonizingly staring at the dark shadows of statues. I couldn’t see anything else. Why was she hurting me? It took me a fraction of a second to realize that she was making me relive The Republic. I was in a darkened cave, helplessly gazing at the dusky shadows that were in front of me. Since the shadows of the statues were the only things I could see, I, at the time, believed them to be the most real things in the world.
The Elf Goddess then benevolently smiled, releasing me of my chains. I turned quickly around, only to see a fire flickering near an array of statues; the fire was what was causing the shadows of the statues that I had previously seen. Since the things that I’m seeing now are what caused the shadows, my perception of a correctly established reality had now been altered; I now considered these things as being realer than the shadows, for after all, they were causing the shadows.
I then was moved outside of the cave, only to see remarkably clearly the everyday, ordinary view of reality that we as humans always perceive; I see the World as it has always been. I looked at shadows. Then, I looked at reflections. Next, I looked at real objects, such as other humans, trees, lakes, and animals. I unequivocally perceived this reality as being the most real reality that I have seen thus far. It’s realer than everything I had seen prior to seeing the World.
Suddenly, I was distinctly and doubtlessly looking at the Color, that realm of reality that I have to bypass in order to make it to the realm of the Elves. Greens, blues, and purples were dancing all over this specific level of reality. I inevitably and infallibly took this form of reality as being more real than anything I had seen prior to this.
I then thought piercingly hard about making it to the Color, and my soul immediately and hastily moved towards it, into it, and finally through it. I traveled at a transcendental speed that bypassed any rational and legitimate concept of time, only to surely find myself in the realm of the Elves, staring at the absolutely radiant and ravishing look on the face of the Elf Goddess. I saw her numerously dazzling, delicate, enticing, and delightful Self-Transforming Machine Elves surrounding her. They were all alluringly staring at me. This is so real! This is realer than anything!
Unanticipatedly, I hear the dulcet tones of the Elf Goddess ringing in my ears.
“Congratulations,” she slyly says. “You’ve made it to the Forms.”
After that, my soul was carelessly traveling back into the everyday, ordinary realm of perception. I felt a sudden and shocking jolt, which basically told me that my soul was back in my body. I felt completely rejuvenated and remained on my bed for quite some time, pondering about everything that I had experienced that night. Spontaneously, as if it was always there, I came upon the unquenchably intriguing conclusion as to what this all meant.
“I know what the psychedelic is,” I said conqueringly inside of my head.
“Oh yeah?” the psychedelic said. “What am I?”
“You are Plato’s Forms,” I said inexorably.
“It’s about time!” the psychedelic loudly said.
“What do you mean?” I spurted out.
“I mean, it’s about time you’ve finally discovered what I am,” she said happily.
“I can’t believe it,” I said more to myself than to the psychedelic.
“Can’t you?” she conclusively said.
“Well, yeah, of course I can,” I surely said.
“That’s me,” she said. “I’m Plato’s Forms. After Parmenides, Plato came into contact with me, and instead of dubbing me and my fellow beings as Elves, he called us Forms!”
“I personally like calling you an Elf more,” I said.
After I said that, the Elf Goddess left me to think alone about my incessantly pestering thoughts that just wouldn’t stop nagging at me. Well, I figured out what the goal of education is: It’s to drag everybody as far out of the cave as we possibly can.
As humans, we are restricted by our naturally mundane and worldly binding minds. In other words, we are enclosed and hampered by Plato’s cave. The cave is what makes us preposterously stupid, for it narrowly inhibits us from attaining true knowledge. That’s where psychedelics come into play!
Psychedelics kindly prevent us from being mentally and philosophically handicapped. They take us outside of the cave, and the majority of them, such as Psilocybin, Psilocin, Mescaline, and LSD, transport us to the Color, that realm of perceptional reality that is more significantly authentic than the prior reality of the everyday, ordinary perception that we are naturally entrapped in. By nature, we humans are slaves. We are bound in chains and restricted to viewing a mimicry of something that is far greater. What psychedelics do is they give us an opportunity, the freedom to once and for all explore the vast enterprises of novel realities that are more real than the everyday reality we are restricted to viewing.
DMT, on the other hand, provides us with something far superior; it is the greatest gift that humans have ever been graciously given. It doesn’t just take us to the Color, but it takes us beyond the Color and into that mesmerizingly fascinating and absolutely radical, excessively advanced, and vastly spellbinding realm of the Self-Transforming Machine Elves. DMT takes us as far out of the cave as possible, and therefore, in order to be naturally and inherently good citizens, we should have an obligation to provide our fellow citizens with the gift of psychedelics.
Well, anyways, I had a philosophical problem that needed to be solved. I knew that the Self-Transforming Machine Elves were Plato’s Forms, but what exactly were these Platonic Forms?

Edited by Feanor (05/17/10 06:06 PM)

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Re: The DMT Chronicles - UPDATED 1/17 [Re: Feanor] * 1
    #6510410 - 01/30/07 12:24 AM (14 years, 8 months ago)

Wow dude.  just fucking wow.:thumbup:

Awesome about the chilling elves!!

Great reports!  The last one made me smile!:)

Absense of evidence is not evidence of absense...

"Religion is a defense against a religious experience"
              Carl G. Jung

"So really, ordinary reality is a kind of chemical habit, sanctioned by culture, which says it's okay to use certain drugs, eat certain foods, and have certain sexual behaviors. However, when you transcend all this pre-conditioning by returning to the original wisdom of the animal body, then you discover this immense dimension of opportunity. For some people, it is a frightening risk. To me, that's the psychedelic experience."
Terence McKenna

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Re: The DMT Chronicles - UPDATED 1/17 [Re: Feanor] * 1
    #6539799 - 02/07/07 12:12 PM (14 years, 8 months ago)

Your experiences, just wow. Thats amazing dude.

For my whole life. It seems like the goal is to reach that state of mind on your own, without drugs. And i can feel it i can tell its possible. Some day.

Good stuff, take care.

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Re: The DMT Chronicles - UPDATED 1/17 [Re: Infested] * 1
    #6541086 - 02/07/07 06:35 PM (14 years, 8 months ago)

I really enjoyed these trip reports. I have not yet experienced DMT but will be working on an extraction here soon. Those trips seem really crazy. I believe that I remember t. mckenna talk about transforming machine elves in regaurds to his first dmt experience. It is pretty amazing how everyone gets to the same place.

Please keep posting your experiecnes with DMT. I really enjoy reading about them.

~Peace Out

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Ch. 9 - Platonic Forms [Re: kungpow] * 1
    #6545686 - 02/08/07 10:41 PM (14 years, 8 months ago)

Updated 3/21/10

Ch. 9 – Platonic Forms

The Parmenides, a dialogue by Plato that relentlessly criticizes his theory of Forms, begins to lay down the primordial principles of the Forms. Plato differentiates between two things; one is a thing that partakes in some higher thing, and the other is the higher thing that the lower thing partakes in. The lower thing will here be labeled as a substance, while the higher thing is considered a Form. Therefore, a substance is a substance by partaking in its corresponding Form, and a Form is a Form by having its corresponding substances partake in it.
The Parmenides brings to the forefront the principle of separation, which is a statement that says a Form is itself by itself in being separate from and not identical with the substances that partake of it. Even though a substance partakes in its Form, the Form is separate from the substance; for instance, substances that are like are like by partaking in the Form of likeness, which is, of course, separate from the substances that are like. 
Plato says that it’s possible for a substance to partake in more than one Form, making it have the potential to possess contrary properties; for instance, when it’s being compared to something that’s taller than it, a substance partakes in shortness and, therefore, is short, and when it’s being compared to something that’s shorter than it, a substance partakes in tallness and, therefore, is tall. Thus, Plato comes to the conclusion that substances have contrary properties. Although this is made clear in the Parmenides, it is also made transparent in the Phaedo when Plato talks about Simmias being both tall and short.
In the Parmenides, Plato makes a distinction between substances and Forms. Substances can have contrary properties, while Forms, being of a pure nature, can never have contrary properties; however, later on in the Sophist, which is a dialogue by Plato that presents a revised theory of Forms, the Forms take on a new property, now having the capability of possessing contrary properties. In the Sophist, Plato says that motion is not at rest; however, it is, for it partakes of being, which rest partakes in. Motion is other than the same, and therefore, it is not the same. However, motion is the same, because all things partake of the same. Therefore, motion is the same and is not the same. It is the same in relation to itself, because it partakes of the same. It’s not the same in relation to others, because it partakes of the other.
Thus, the Forms in the Sophist take on a new dimension: They now have contrary properties. Now, in the Sophist, not only substances can partake in Forms, but Forms can partake in Forms, too. Forms, however, only partake in certain Forms. Plato comes to this conclusion by analyzing three Forms: rest, motion, and being.
If no Forms are capable of partaking in one another, then rest, motion, and being do not partake in one another. If this model is taken, then rest and motion, which do not partake in being, can not be. Therefore, this model is imprecise. If all Forms are capable of partaking in one another, then motion would be at rest, and rest would be at motion, which is clearly a contradiction. The only logical method to employ is the one that states that some Forms are capable of partaking in certain Forms. For instance, rest and motion partake in being, giving them existence, but rest does not partake in motion, and motion does not partake in rest.
The Timaeus is a dialogue by Plato that is one of his later works. The Timaeus seems to be Plato’s bible, and therefore, it capitalizes in the spiritual and religious dimensions. When one arrives at the Timaeus, they begin to pellucidly see what the Forms and substances are, grasping and obtaining a translucent understanding of the two. Also, in the Timaeus, a demiurge appears, actively revealing the powerful and creative skills that come along with his existence. This supreme god is a cosmic craftsman that fabricates the changing world of substances.
In the Timaeus, Plato differentiates between two realities: That which always is and never becomes, which is the world of Forms, and that which is always becoming but never is, which is the world of substances. Thus, the world of Forms is seen as being eternal and immune to change, while the world of substances is seen as being restricted by both time and change. These attributes make the world of Forms the one, true reality, and they make the world of substances out to be a reality that is not fully real, one that is a mimicry of the world of Forms. After all, the cosmic craftsman keeps his eye on the eternally unchanging, using it as a model for the fabrication of the everyday, ordinary realm of perception and sensation. The maker looks to the Forms and models the substances after the Forms.
The supreme demiurge, Plato says, constructs a various array of subordinate gods, which are to be seen as the gods that humanity worships. Due to being in the world of change, which the subordinate gods exist in and rule, an accurate account of these gods is preposterously hard to enact, for the reality in which they are in is one that is constantly changing. Therefore, consistent and accurate information concerning the subordinate gods is virtually nonexistent.
The supreme god in the Timaeus wanted all things to be as like his self as possible, and therefore, he modeled them after himself. Since the demiurge is good, all things that came to be by his hand were good, too. In order to ensure that this world is like the world of Forms in being unique, he established this world of change as being his only creation. This basically insinuates that he did not create the Forms, which is an implication of massive proportions.   
In the Timaeus, Plato says a living human is comprised both of a soul and a body. The demiurge created the subordinate gods with a specific intention: they were to make the mortal bodies of humans and encase in them the already made, immortal souls that were assigned to the humans. The immortal souls were a creation of the demiurge himself. The body was a creation of the subordinate gods. The placement of the human souls in the human body was an act that was dependent upon the subordinate gods.
Thus, in the Timaeus, tremendous cosmological, metaphysical, and theological headway is made. The origin of the universe is explained, along with the metaphysical, underlying principles that exist in this universe. A demiurge makes its appearance and so does a number of subordinate gods. Plato’s Forms are seen as being eternal and unrestricted in relation to change that is confined by a system of time, while the substances are viewed as being images that mirror a greater, more accurate model. Important it is to note that the gods that humans worship are seen as being the subordinate gods, the ones that exist in the world of change. In the Timaeus, the eternal, unchanging demiurge is seen as something that is virtually nonexistent in a human’s mind. 
The Philebus is a dialogue by Plato in which the human good is searched for. The human good, Socrates holds, is knowledge. His opponent, Philebus, says it is pleasure. The conclusion of the dialogue is that the good is a combination of both knowledge and pleasure; however, since pleasure has less of a share in the combination than knowledge does, knowledge is seen as being closer to the good than pleasure is, thereby making knowledge the clear winner. The quest to find out what is the good is not important to what I am doing here.
What is important, though, is when Plato makes an interesting metaphysical distinction in the Philebus when he speaks of four classes: the limited, the unlimited, the mixture of the limited and the unlimited, and the cause of the mixture. Once again, we already begin to see that Plato is speaking of a higher power, a divine presence, which is the cause of the mixture. It is interesting to note that these references to the divine primarily occur in Plato’s later works, such as the Timaeus and the Philebus.
As soon as Plato makes these metaphysical distinctions, he speaks of the hot and the cold, saying that they are both endless, which places the hot and the cold in the category of the unlimited. Therefore, since the hot and the cold are endless, they are basically eternal, and this eternal quality is a prime quality that is present within the Forms. Plato says that once something takes on a definitive quality, it would no longer be hotter or colder. It would become bounded and limited, meaning that it would virtually erect a substance. I’m sure many scholars will disagree with my interpretation, but I believe that this is Platonic proof that a Form can produce a substance. Indeed, I do think that Forms have the property of being able to enact substances.
Hotness and coldness are unlimited. They are boundless, constantly changing from becoming hotter and becoming colder. Yes, they are constantly changing. However, the Forms don’t change, right? Now, in the Philebus, I think that Plato is making a radical reevaluation of his theory of Forms. Forms can’t change. Only substances change, and their change is a kind of change that is restricted and controlled by time. For instance, a human being gradually gets older as the years pass on by. This is an example of change that occurs due to time. I think what Plato is doing in the Philebus is showing us that there isn’t just one kind of change. There is another kind of change, and this kind of change is completely dissimilar in relation to the type of change that occurs with substances.
This novel kind of change is not restricted by time, but it is ruled by eternity. It’s a change that is utterly boundless, reaching across the vastly large enterprise of eternity. A property change is what it is. Since hot can go to cold, then this suggests that Forms can change to their opposites. For instance, good could go to bad, big could go to small, and motion could go to rest. Now, it’s important to note that this does not imply that good is bad, that big is small, and that motion is at rest. Through the process of change, one property gives way to a new property. Therefore, the good isn’t bad, but the good changes to the bad, and when it changes to the bad, it loses its property of being good.
Thus, in the Philebus, I believe that Plato is giving a new attribute to the Forms; he’s giving them the power to change to their opposites. In the Philebus, it is of my belief that Plato intended the reader to see that Forms can devise substances. Plato also intended for the reader to see that there are two kinds of change: a change restricted by time and a change controlled by eternity. This change in eternity is one that permits a Form to change to another Form, which will most likely be its opposite. Thus, Plato redefines his theory of Forms. The Forms are seen as the unlimited, seeing that the unlimited does not have an end, which implies that it is eternal. The substances are seen as being the limited, for they are restricted by the reigns of time.
The mixture of the limited and the unlimited is of much interest, for many scholars would disagree with the assertion that a mixture comprised of a substance and a Form exists. Unfortunately, Plato does not speak of a true mixture of the limited and the unlimited. What he does speak of is a combination of two things that are both unlimited, which give way to something that is limited. Thus, he speaks not of a mixture between the limited and the unlimited, but he speaks of a mixture between the unlimited and the unlimited. For instance, extreme hotness, which is unlimited, is mixed with extreme coldness, which is, too, unlimited. This gives way to a cure and balance between the two, making the product limited.
Why did Plato do this? Why did he say that there was going to be a mixture between the limited and the unlimited, which turned out to just be a mixture of two things that were both unlimited? I don’t exactly know why, but I do know that Plato provides an example of the mixture of the limited and the unlimited in other dialogues, such as the Timaeus. The perfect example of a mixture of the two would be the mixture of the body and the soul. The body, of course, is the limited, while the soul, being eternal, is the unlimited. Indeed, it has been known by plenty of scholars that the soul, when freed of the body, journeys to where the Forms exist, which, I think, is a suggestion that the soul itself is a Form.
In the Meno, which is another dialogue by Plato, Plato’s theory of reincarnation is made clear. Plato believes that the human soul is immortal, while the human body isn’t. When the body perishes, the soul leaves, journeys to the Forms, traverses back to Earth, and reenters a novel body. Our souls, I think, are Forms, for they, when given the chance, want to go to the Forms, as if that is where they belong. If only Forms exist there, then surely when something novel appears there, it’s going to be a Form, too. Thus, a mixture of the limited and the unlimited would be the mixture of the immortal soul with the human body. The cause of the mixture had already been revealed earlier when the Timaeus was being discussed; the subordinate gods take from the demiurge the already made, immortal soul, and they place it into the human body, which they, the subordinate gods, made themselves. The cause of the mixture, it is important to note, is not the demiurge, but the lesser gods that he made.
As of now, a transparent understanding of what is a Form and what is a substance should have emerged. Forms are singulars, for there isn’t a multiplicity or abundance of them in terms of them being independent, solo categories. However, there is a plethora of Forms, for there are many categories, and, consequently, there are many different kinds of categories. For instance, there are many different Forms, such as being, goodness, and motion. However, it is important to bear in mind that there is only one Form for being, goodness, and motion. Therefore, it comes to be seen that the Forms are both one and many, which is, of course, a significant contrary property that they possess.
Substances are plurals, for there are many of them in two senses. There is a myriad of substances in the plainest sense that a multitude of them exist. There are many different substances, such as the specific letters on a page and the various cars on a road. Thus, in the general sense of there being much of something, the substances are many. Also, the substances are many in another sense. The substances are many in the sense that there is an abundance of substances for each Form. For instance, in the category of bigness, there are specific dinosaurs, tall trees, and enormous buildings – a profusion of things.
Thus, in the general sense, Forms are categories, and substances are the things that are in that category. For instance, human is a Form, and the bodies of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle are substances. Human is a category, and the various bodies of individuals are the things that are in that category. Forms are eternal; they exist all the time. Goodness, for instance, never ceases, never completely dissipates. Substances are restricted to time. For instance, the bodies of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle once stopped functioning due to their time being finally up. When one considers time and its restraints, Forms are never susceptible to change, for they are outside of time. However, substances, due to existing within time, are susceptible to change, and therefore, they do consequently and periodically change. A flower grows old, withers, and dies, but the concept of a flower never is completely eradicated; it will always exist.
You see, I think that Plato’s concept of Forms is synonymous with McKenna’s concept of Self-Transforming Machine Elves, not only because the Elf Goddess told me so, but because they also have an intricate number of similarly contrived links, connections that, I think, bind the two together.
I came upon a break in the chain when I stumbled upon the realization that Self-Transforming Machine Elves, well, transform. It’s in their name; they change! Platonic Forms have always been notorious for not changing, but like I said earlier, I have arrived at the conclusion that Plato’s Forms, just like the Self-Transforming Machine Elves, change and transform, too. They have the capacity of changing into their opposites. I think that Plato admitted this when he talked about the hot going to the cold and the cold going to the hot.
Therefore, this is a similarity that exists between the Elves and the Forms; they both change. I have personally witnessed Self-Transforming Machine Elves rapidly and spontaneously changing in front of my very eyes, only to leave me with a jarringly mixture of shock and stupefication that gave way to an enormous emotion resonated supremely with excitement.
Well, the Elves and the Forms change, which remarkably resembles a synonymous trait. Although both of them change, like I said earlier, this change that proceeds is a kind of novel change that is completely absent of any measly morsel of time. Indeed, Plato has made it clear enough that the Forms are outside of time and, therefore, not restricted by it. Also, the Elves, I believe, are outside of time, for the vast dimension that I come into contact with that voluminously harbors these Elves is clearly outside of Earth, and does time exist outside of Earth?
I am fairly certain that it does not. After all, due to my experimentation with DMT, it is clear to me that the soul or at least a part of the soul is released from the constraints of the mortal body when a Breakthrough occurs. Thus, this area that the soul clearly sojourns to is a place that obviously transcends time, for the immortal soul would translucently not travel to a mortal habitat when it is released from the mortal body. The immortal soul would definitely traverse to a transcendental, boundless, spiritual, and mystical dimension, one where time is null and void.
Thus, the Forms and the Elves change, while existing outside of time, which insinuates that they both have the power of not living inside of time. The Forms, Plato repeatedly says, exist in a higher realm of reality, a definitely more authentic version of actuality. In fact, it is the most real version of reality that is in existence. My experimentation with DMT has clearly led me to believe that the area I arrive in upon having a Breakthrough is more real than any other place I’ve virtually ever been in.
Most importantly, however, I see the Forms as being massive stimuli that harbor numerous interpretational potential, and I see the Elves as being this, too. A perceptional process that occurs through the development of sensation, I think, usually looks towards the truth, and after looking at the truth, a modern, inhibited, and essentially fake interpretation of the truth comes into being. In other words, when somebody truthfully wants to interpret something, they look towards the Forms or the Elves, and due to being restricted by a world filled with a plethora of substances, time, and change, they end up not interpreting the true stimuli for what it really is; instead, they create a kind of mimicry of the otherwise truthful stimulus. When one has a Breakthrough on DMT, however, they, alas, see what really and truly is; they experience phenomena accurately and genuinely.
The psychedelic experience is all about achieving a state of mind in which you see a stimulus uninterpreted – the Forms and the Elves; in other words, it’s all about seeing something for what is really is. Through an Ego Loss or an Ego Death, one ends up attaining this kind of wisdom and knowledge, for they transcend the otherwise restricted realm of preconceived cultural notions, experiencing everything directly. Terence McKenna gave a speech on direct experiences and how the psychedelic experience allows us to experience these kinds of experiences. It was simply one of the best speeches I have ever heard.
An indirect experience is something that we all experience every single day. What an indirect experience insinuates is that we interpret everything with an already developed mindset. Everything, in other words, is sort of filtrated through a kind of clogged and artificial contraption that is essentially contrived by culture. What happens when you take a heroic dose of a psychedelic is that you finally forget everything. You forget your name, your place of origin, so on and so forth. Everything that these preconceived cultural notions once established is broken asunder. Everything becomes uninterpreted. In other words, it is virtually impossible for you to interpret something; that is just a trait of an Ego Death and an Ego Loss.
When we look towards the truth, a kind of mimicry is almost instantly generated. In other words, when we look towards the Forms or the Elves, while we’re not having an Ego Death or an Ego Loss, a substance, an artificial and synthetic production that is false, is created. I said earlier that a Form can give way to a substance, and I stand by this. When we interpret something, I think we look towards a Form or an Elf, and we interpret that Form or Elf based on our cultural upbringings. We therefore concoct and bring to life a substance, a mere, trivial, and improper mimicry of the truth.
The Forms are the psychedelic, and when you blast off on DMT, you are brought into direct contact with the Forms.

Updated 6/8/10

Ch. 10 - A Platonic View of Religion

I had decided to experiment a bit, branching off from my traditional and habitual routine of taking DMT while sober. I wanted to eat Psilocybin contain-ing mushrooms and smoke DMT during the peak of the trip that the mushrooms would provide. I have heard interesting information concerning this com-bination. The chemical structure of DMT and Psilocin is almost exactly identical. Psilocin has just one oxygen atom that DMT lacks. Despite this slight chemical difference, the two of them, Psilocin and DMT, are remarkably similar. Also, the DMT experience is one that I have found to be fairly similar to the psychedelic mushroom experience. 
DMT, I think, is a bit like an extremely max-imized mushroom trip. Still, the psychedelic mush-room cannot even compare to DMT, nor can anything else for that matter. However, the Psilocybin exper-ience is the one that is the most similar to the DMT experience. If you know what I mean, the two trips share a tremendously similar feeling. They both flow as if they were of the same kind of fluid. I think that the two experiences truly have a familial relationship.               
I went ahead and made some tea from one gram of Psilocybe Cubensis Cambodians. I drank it down and, for the fun of it, ate the soggy, left-over mushrooms. Thanks to the tea, the mushroom trip kicked in quite fast. I felt that extraterrestrial like feel of not knowing where the trip was going to go, and I also had quite an array of beautiful visuals in my room. The first time I smoked DMT that night wasn’t really all too eventful, for I did not have a Breakthrough; however, the sec-ond time was something utterly different, downright dynamic, and absurdly vigorous. This is what bypass-ed.
Well, I had not gotten to the place where I wanted to get to during my previous DMT trip. There-fore, I decided to smoke DMT once again. This time I loaded a larger bowl. I went ahead and loaded 60 milligrams into my pipe. The setting was left the way it was during the previous trip. The dim light was still on, and the Psilocybin mushroom trip, as well, was still on. I took the pipe and went back up on my bed.
I vaporized the DMT, took a hit, and BAM! It hit me ever so hard. I felt as if a thunderous and ridic-ulously enlarged concrete block had been dropped on top of my head. As I forced the smoke down them, my lungs were screaming in protest. I was able to take two more hits before it hit me - That hideous, impen-etrable force! It completely knocked me out. An in-visible punch caught me square in my midsection, coercing me to lie down on the back of my bed. I couldn’t move an inch of my body. My limbs were locked in the position that they were in upon making contact with my bed. My eyelids were shut, and I was watching the back of them.
The DMT noise was absolutely blaring, getting louder and louder. It was a shrill ringing that grew with undulating age. The pitch slowly started at the bottom of its massive mountain, and, eventually, it climbed all the way to the skyscraping top. An odd feeling was surpassing throughout my body. I was aware of the fact that my body was making extremely weird and involuntary movements. In my past, I have had the displeasure of watching people, victims of odd psychedelic combinations, have numerous seizures. I was always frightened whenever a person had a seizure in my presence. It appeared more so to me that the person was being possessed by a disturbingly disastrous and depraved demon, and therefore, my outlook upon seizures was not a very positive one.
At first, I thought that I was having a horrid seizure. However, I was clearly conscious of this thou-ght, and therefore, at the time, I realized that I surely could not be having a seizure. My chest was jumping and popping up and down. I could not restrain this bodily movement. My body did this for around five times. Alas, after a fraction of a measly second, I came to the conclusion as to what was going on. My soul was attempting to escape and flee from its temporary house in order to embark upon an expedition. Even-tually, it did just this.
I was utterly gone. At around this time, the DMT noise had subsided, and I appeared to be in a world that was strikingly familiar to me, but also all too alien. I don’t even remember bypassing the Color. I was in the world that I made it to during my seventh DMT adventure. I was right back over there. In the general sense, everything was the same. The Self-Transforming Machine Elves were present. They were once again transforming before my eyes in the literal sense. Before I could observe them more carefully with scrutiny, I was taken away by a bright white flash and the great ringing of the DMT noise. I was traveling once again, overlapping regions of fractal magnitudes, rapidly flying faster than an accelerated and hyper-sonic beam of blinding light.
The feeling of soul travel was preciously amaz-ing. Literally, I was traveling blazingly faster than anything I have ever seen with my own two eyes. The experience was climbing to the tip of the enormously tall ladder. It was being heightened and elevated. I was climbing towards the top of the bean stock. The bright white flash dissolved, allowing something so very foreign and strange to appear before my eyes. None of my psychedelic experiences, not even my previous DMT trips, could even remotely compare to what was going on right then and there before me. I was feeling so amazed, so stunned, and so prepos-terously befuddled.
I was at the top of a massive alien factory. The-re were many Self-Transforming Machine Elves below me, going about their traditional business. I was hov-ering at the top of their factory, and, slowly, I began to descend. I was twisting, turning, and ever so harm-oniously swirling downwards unto them.
The factory was comprised of green and black shifting hues. I was floating so beautifully in the col-ors. The colors engulfed my soul, and they felt very crisp and righteous. The Elves were green and black, and they were immensely tall, toweringly gigantic. They far surpassed my size. As I descended a bit more, I realized that what was below me was a bit like a massive maze. There were many walls here and there. With the walls surrounding themselves, the Elves were moving and bustling around. Finally, I reached the ground level.
I was in the direct presence of the Elves now. A particularly large Elf carelessly passed right by me. They then began to speak to me, not in a verbal manner how you and I communicate, but in a non-verbal, telepathic type of nature. This is how they communicate with each other on a regular basis. The funny thing was the fact that they knew I was tripping on mushrooms.
“So you decided to eat some mushrooms, eh?” said a warm, gentle, and benevolent voice inside my head.
I could not make out which Elf had said this.
“Of course,” I said with a grin.
“We are huge promoters of the psychedelic mushroom, you know,” said the charming voice inside my head. “Between my Elves and I, our joke for humans is that a psychedelic mushroom a day keeps the doctor away.” I laughed at this. I seemed to think that it was really funny. That voice, though, seemed very familiar. It took me a second before I came to the stunning realization as to who it was. It was the Elf Goddess.
“Where are you?” I immediately asked.
“Don’t even try to look for me,” she answered.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because you won’t find me,” she said, sounding bemused and assuaged.
“Why not?” I asked again.
“Because I feel like remaining invisible to your eyes today,” she said mysteriously. “I don’t want you to concentrate on looking at me, but I want you to focus your attention on my Elves. Make sure you are focusing and fastening all of your energetic staring at my Elves. What does it look like they’re doing?”
I began to focus with all of my strength on deciphering what the Self-Transforming Machine Elves were doing, and with my will, I began to float up-wards, gaining an aerial like view of the facility. The Elves were all running sporadically throughout the mazelike structure that they were astonishingly in. Suddenly, I saw it. One of the Elves ran right through the end of the maze, artistically and dexterously flying through what appeared to be a perilous vortex of Color, only to emerge into a vicinity that appeared to be the everyday, ordinary reality that we traditionally perceive; however, when the Elf entered into our World, he was transformed into Jesus.
Next, another Elf followed suit, jumping out of the maze and into a swirling hue of Color, eventually emerging on our side, our World. He was transformed into a Jewish Yamaka! After him, another Elf ran right out of the maze, into the Color, and emerged on the other side as Shiva. While that Elf was running out of the maze, another Elf voraciously bounced out of the maze and into the Color, only to emerge on the other side as Buddha. There was a pattern at work here.
At this point, things were so ridiculously biz-arre, weird, foreign, and odd to where I was just downright excited and scared at the same time. I could feel it, though; my soul was traveling back into my body. With a shocking jolt, I felt it enter cere-moniously back inside my mortal body. My eyelids opened themselves. My Ego Loss was still occurring. Only the universal transition had bypassed. The Ego Loss was still very present.
I had absolutely no idea as to who I was, where I was, and what I was doing. It took quite a long time for me to get myself back. My Ego was reconstructing itself. Finally, after quite a long duration, I was feeling perfectly normal. Well, actually, not really! It felt as if my life had just done a three-sixty. Actually, it felt as if my life had done a seven-twenty.
Everything in the ordinary world now felt so utterly strange and foreign to me. I could not just believe what I had experienced. This just totally cha-nged me yet again for good. I would have never expected in a million years that what I had just ex-perienced was even possible. It was just so unbel-ievable; however, it, too, was so believable. I felt glorified. I began to think at a fast rate.
At the time, I came to mistakenly say inside of my head, “There was no way that what I had just exper-ienced was psychedelic. This experience had clearly gone
beyond the psychedelic.”
And I felt that way for a tremendously long time, hence the title The DMT Chronicles: Traversing beyond the Psychedelic; however, now, I have come to see the experience for what it truly was, grasping on the fact that regular psychedelics, such as LSD, Psilo-cybin, and Mescaline, don’t truly take you to the psy-chedelic. Only DMT takes one to the psychedelic! LSD, Psilocybin, and Mescaline can be viewed as subs-tances, while DMT is a Platonic Form. Indeed, the common psychedelics tend to full heartedly mimic the one and only true psychedelic: DMT.
The traditional psychedelics are like little, tiny pebbles, while DMT is like a gargantuan and mega-lithic rock of impermeable and unsurpassable power. It’s a considerably enormous and humongous phen-omenon of massively enriched proportions.  The reg-ularly known psychedelics don’t take you out of this world like DMT does, but they do the best job they can of making you come into contact with the psy-chedelic. Although they provide you contact with the psychedelic, the traditional psychedelics just don’t grant you face to face contact with the psychedelic; only one true psychedelic drug does that, and it is DMT. The traditional psychedelics take one to the Color, which I have come to view as being a kind of mimicry of the authentic psychedelic. On the other hand, although DMT sometimes takes you only to the Color, it will also intensely, forcibly, and severely blast you off into a hyper dimensional realm that is inhabited with Self-Transforming Machine Elves. This zone is the psychedelic. After I smoke DMT and completely have a Break-through, I am not tripping. The DMT doesn’t actually en-hance you in the sense that Psilocybin mushrooms or LSD does. Rather, it is like an airplane. It’s simply a form of transportation. It takes you to an extremely faraway place.
In this sense, it is completely dissimilar than an ordinary psychedelic, such as Psilocybin mushrooms or LSD. Therefore, when I am induced in the DMT experience, I do not feel as if I am on a psychedelic drug. Once I have been transported to another micro-cosm, I am not truly on anything. I am simply there in a sober sense. I am experiencing the world just how a human is to experience it. My interpretation is based upon the sensory data that I receive when I am in a non-altered state of mind. However, since I had in-gested mushrooms prior to this DMT experience, I was on something this time, and the Elves knew it. They said to me, “That will not get you here, but this will.”
“That” was referring to the Psilocybin mush-rooms, and “this” was referring to the DMT. It seemed to humor them that I was on mushrooms. It was almost as if they were happy that I had come to them in this condition. They told me that mushrooms are very good to eat. They support the use of psychedelic mushrooms. I do, as a matter of fact, wonder if they are the senders of the psychedelic mushroom. I won-der if they are the ones who so graciously bestowed the psychedelic mushroom upon humanity. Maybe this is their gift to us. This may very well be their way of helping us evolve.
I had a problem, though. What did this DMT trip mean?
I thought for a while about what the Elves were trying to tell me, and I came to the conclusion that they were providing me with a Platonic version of the conceptualization of religion. The primary inten-tion of the Elves’ message was to provide a Platonic view of religion, explaining Platonic Forms and their relation to religion. When examined with caution, it is of my belief that Plato’s theory of Forms provides a thorough explanation of how various religions came to be. Along with emphasizing the origin of religion, Plato’s Forms, I think, suggest that all of the organized religions in existence are mere, trivial, and inaccurate reflections of the one, true religion.
What do Forms have to do with religion? Quite literally, they have everything to do with religion. Plato’s theory of Forms offers a unique and unusual explanation of why religion exists and how it came to be. The Forms are thorough and atypical, yet they are a sufficiently proper analysis of the metaphysical sig-nificance of religion. In particular, Plato’s Forms come to show us that every organized religion that has existed since the dawn of time is not the properly correct religion.                                        Plato’s Forms tell us that we are all missing something when we interpret religion, and it is our own, unique interpretational process that confounds, befuddles, and besmirches the one, true religion, providing us with numerous trifling, inexact, and im-proper religions that all seem to be organized and structured.
Plato’s Forms tell us that we are all misinter-preting religion, for our analyzing process of reasoning and rationalizing is muddily opaque due to our exis-tence in an always changing world.
A Platonic view of religion would be one that views religion as being a Form. Religion itself would be outside of time and not prone to change. There is a massive quantity of organized religions; some have come, some have gone, and some still exist. The fact that some organized religions have come and gone, such as ancient Greek religion, exemplifies the con-frontation of time with these things. An example of organized religions that still exist to this day would be Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, and Judaism. All of these organized religions fall into the classification of being substances. They are the many plurals that partake in the singular. The singular is religion.
By partaking in religion, Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, and Judaism come to be substances that are restricted and controlled by time. None of these religions have existed since the beginning of human-ity, and this trait goes to show one that they are all administered by time. Thus, you come to have religion as the Form, while all of the organized religions that partake in the Form are the substances.
A characteristic of Platonic Forms is their trait of being one-over-many. The one is the Form, and the many are the substances that partake in the Form. In our case, the one would be religion, and the many would be the various organized religions, such as Christianity and the like. This model explains religion. Humans, through the act of dying, strive to find the Forms, perhaps getting a good look at the Forms. Therefore, when one dies and traverses to the Forms, they may very well get a precise observation of what religion truly is.
However, when they become reincarnated in-to a body and come back to Earth, they are restricted by their body of getting that up-close look at the Form of religion. Yet, they had seen what religion was when they died, so they have this frame of thought stored in their soul, which, when reincarnated back into a body, becomes a bit skewed, for the body is prone to cha-nge, as is the world that we live in. Therefore, the organized religions that humanity brings to the fore-front are only partially truthful.
These organized religions are partially truthful, for they are substances, mere shadows of the one, exact truth. They are somewhat truthful, because they are generated from the thought of the one, true religion. Thus, they mimic the proper truth; however, the process of mirroring bombards the ordinarily pre-cise truth with numerous ramifications that are only faintly tied somewhat to the truth, because they, after all, are various representations of the truth here on Earth. Therefore, all of these organized religions that have come into existence are only camouflaged dele-gations of the one, truthful authenticity. 
The organized religions that exist currently are the ones that worship subordinate gods, the divine beings that Plato speaks of in the Timaeus. The sub-ordinate gods are subject to our world, and we tend to see them as being the only creators of existence. However, in Platonic understanding, there is another, more divine being: A demiurge that created the sub-ordinate gods and our souls. The one, true religion would look towards the demiurge when designing their plethora of principles that regulate their org-anized religion.
Indeed, the correct religion would be one that bases its validity on this virtuous, divine creator of creators. However, many of these organized religions miss this mark, and even those that do hit this mark are going to be prone to misinformation, for they are controlled by change and time. Therefore, from a Platonic stance, it is almost impossible to accurately formulate the true religion. You can only try to make a religion that best resembles the Form of religion. However, being human, you can only come up with substances, inaccurate and imprecise delineations that only shed a miniscule amount of truth.
It is important to recall that the demiurge did not create the Forms. Therefore, if we accept the somewhat controversial view that substances are generated from the Forms, then organized religions, which are substances, were not a byproduct of the demiurge’s creational scheme. Therefore, organized religion is a kind of man-made, fallacious imitation of that which truly exists in the startling galaxy we are restricted from understanding and comprehending. In this sense, organized religion is not a meticulous portrayal of what the one, true religion is. Instead, it is quite simply an inaccurate estimate of the precise truth.
Therefore, if none of the religions that exist are correct, and if it is virtually impossible to know the one, true religion when you are in a body, how do you go about religious and spiritual affairs? Are you to just pick any organized religion and follow it, or are you to create your own unique and spontaneous religion?
I think that there is a simple answer to this question. What we are to do is find the one religion that we think most resembles the truth and follow it the best way we possibly can. If there is a divine demiurge, he absolutely knows that it is virtually impossible for us to find the truth when we are tightly bound to a body and a world that is prone to change and time. Therefore, he will mostly likely be under-standing of our dismal quest of searching for the truth, for he will, without a doubt, comprehend that we can never truly capture that which we seek.
Essentially and simply put, the Self-Trans-forming Machine Elves were actively and vigorously portraying this kind of philosophical database to me when I so expediently and advantageously erupted into their hypnotizing realm. They were animatedly revealing to me that they are Platonic Forms, and that, when we look towards them, when we so inappropriately misinterpret what they truly are, they end up boisterously becoming one of the many organized religions that are currently in existence. They elegantly generate a kind of religious profusion that is manipulated and dispensed in order to meet our hampered sight.


May Terence McKenna Live Long

The DMT Chronicles

Edited by Feanor (08/24/10 08:01 PM)

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Re: The DMT Chronicles - UPDATED 1/17 [Re: Feanor] * 1
    #6583770 - 02/19/07 03:18 AM (14 years, 7 months ago)

Flee to me, remote elf.


"You must be the change you want to see in the world." - The trip of a Life Time.

Indra's Net - There is an endless net of threads throughout the universe. The horizontal threads are in space. The vertical threads in time. At every crossing of threads there is an individual. And every individual is a crystal bead. The great light of absolute being illuminates and penetrates every crystal being, And every crystal being reflects not only the light from every other crystal in the net, But also every reflection of every reflection throughout the universe.


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Re: The DMT Chronicles - UPDATED 1/17 [Re: ck10n3] * 1
    #6593728 - 02/21/07 02:58 PM (14 years, 7 months ago)

Can you describe more how the smoke feels on the lungs? How does it compare to say, marijuana? How big are the hits that you're taking, and what would you say is the minimum required to achieve such a state?

"So, you take, let us assume, a third toke, long and slow. You vaporize, and you take it in, and in, and in, and there is a sound, like the crumpling of a plastic bread wrapper, or the crackling of a flame, and a tone, a tone, a 'mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!' And there is a cheer. The gnomes have learned a new way to say 'Hooo-raaay.'"

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Re: The DMT Chronicles - UPDATED 1/17 [Re: Mosis] * 1
    #6603339 - 02/23/07 08:18 PM (14 years, 7 months ago)

Updated 8/24/10

Ch. 11 - A Platonic View of the Soul

I loaded a very large bowl of DMT. I placed into the pipe 60 milligrams of DMT. My room was almost completely dark. I got up on top of my bed, sat Indian-styled, and took my first hit, a massive one. I took two more hits; both were fairly large. My lungs were dead, my throat was scorching, and my eyes were leaking like holes in a hose. I was pushed backwards upon my bed by an invisible, impermeable, and impervious force. It felt as if I was knocked down literally by a cumbersome freight train. My eyes were shut, and, involuntarily, I attended to watching the back of my eyelids.
My goodness! The visuals came on at an extremely fast rate. Before I knew it, I was submerged within them, impeccably and flawlessly swimming in their depths. I was spinning at a rapid pace through-out the visuals. I was touching and feeling them, and they definitely felt comforting. They had a very smooth texture to them. Eventually, after all of the spinning and turning subsided, I was there, a place comprised of life, extraterrestrial and ambrosial life.
There were many Self-Transforming Machine Elves, and they were forming a ring around me, mov-ing ever so closer and closer towards me. They kept on soundlessly coming forward. They weren’t atem-pting to harm me what so ever; I’m pretty sure about that. I didn’t feel the presence of a threat. I could feel their energy, and it was one of a positive nature. The Elves possessed good vibes. I believe that the Elves were trying to touch me, to feel what was inside of me. They wanted to know what I was made of, as I am made of something completely dissimilar than they are.
They were highly interested in the biological makeup that is present within me. The Elves are capable of comprehending the anatomical differences between one species and another. They are most definitely aware of the presence of individuals who possess variously different kinds of building blocks. They can tell when somebody is not of their kind. They can easily differentiate between a human and an Elf. The Elves are completely foreign to me, just as I am completely foreign to them.
I had the feeling, upon meeting them, that they were immensely complex creatures. A task that would take an enormously long duration, understand-ding what the Elves are made of, is like trying to comprehend what the world is made of. Therefore, I was able to comprehend what they were going through. They were interested in the material that makes me, me. They wanted to understand the magical life force that abides inside of me. For me, my life force is all so terrestrial. For them, my life force is as extraterrestrial as their life force is to me.
They kept on coming closer and closer. There were no openings in the ring that the Elves made up. I was alone in the center of the ring, awaiting their approach. The last thing I remember was them pulling closer together and outstretching their limbs towards me. I then suffered a great forgetting. I couldn’t rem-ember what else happened when I was in that universe. I had some sort of amnesia. Everything, after the enigmatical ring, is a blur to me. However, I have an overwhelming feeling that whatever happened to me in that time period that I am, most unfortunately, forgetful of was something so very great and beau-tiful. An electrical chill was surging up and down my spine and throughout my body, as soon as I was aware once more. I think that somehow, someway, the Elves altered me yet again, switched around my psychological and physiological components that are inside of me. The feeling that I went through some-thing that was very powerful and very real was made manifest inside of me. I’m not mad or angry that I can’t remember what happened. Perhaps it’s for the betterment of me to not know what happened. All I do know is that what actually did happen to me was something comprised of tremendous potency.
I loaded 60 more milligrams of DMT into my pipe. My room was dark, very dark. I went on top of my bed, positioned myself properly, and began to vaporize the DMT. At first, I took a very large hit, which I followed up with another large hit. I then finished things off with a tiny hit. My eyes closed by themselves, and I was pushed over by that all so fam-iliar invisible, impenetrable force. I was lying motion-less on my bed.
Instantly, visuals came upon me. I was trav-eling through various dimensional realms of reality. I was up in the air, swirling around, surpassing through the phenomenal realm of Color. My Ego was ripped from me before I made it to the final and indefinable realm. My legs and my arms were moving about here and there, and my eyes were taking in everything, vigilantly watching as everything was constantly mov-ing around itself. Psychedelic patterns that harbored data were constantly changing directions. At one point, the data was moving from left to right, and then, at another point, the data was moving from right to left. At another point, the data was moving from north to south, and then, almost instantly, it began to move from south to north. At this time, I was able to penetrate this dimension of Color, and I finally made it to my destination.     
I was in a realm comprised of thousands and thousands of extraterrestrial forms of life. There were conglomerates of green, black, and blue energies, which were all precariously swishing around and about. I delighted in the glorious supernatural realm of reality. The Elves were bustling about all over the place. There were very many of them, which were all passing me to my right and left. There were some that were looking in my direction, and there were some communing with their fellow Elves. It was obvious that a time of celebration had arisen. The Elves were all happy, and they eventually began to dance. We were all one over there. I think that they were happy because I was there, and perhaps this was the cause of their celebration.
I had arrived safe and sound into their dim-ension. They checked me over a little bit when I arrived, and then, they began the festivities. Right after the Elves began dancing, a miraculous music came into being. The music was extraterrestrial to the extreme. Sounds that I had never heard before and, therefore, never knew had existed greeted my ears, and I rejoiced, for I was having a miraculously great time.
The music was so tranquil and peaceful, just like the gracefully produced bodily movements of the Elves. A particularly large Elf to my left began to dance a lot differently than the other ones around him. He was standing up to his fullest height. He had a blackness of feathers lining the top of his head that extended down his neck. He began to move in one of the most sporadic ways. While he was shaking his head up and down numerous times, he only allowed me to fastidiously and discreetly view him from one side. He was translucently signaling me to dance.   
I, myself, began to dance a little bit. I was attempting to copy the dance of the Elves. My soul was flowing to the music in a kind of harmoniously conciliating and placating effort. The music was like a river, and I was a canoe going downstream. Every little thing was connecting. There were no breaks in the chain. All of the links were together. The Elves were dancing to their extraterrestrial like music, and I, alongside with them, was dancing as well. The festival of all festivals was going on right now, and not only was I in attendance, but I was a special guest of honor, for the Elves had accepted me in their festival, and I was just an outsider.
Their world was foreign to me. They did not ask questions or derive false conclusions, but they gave me the opportunity of conversing with them through amiable and elated dance. The dance was a form of communication. Just as humans typically converse with spoken words, these specific Elves were conversing with the movements of their body. Dan-cing is their language, and I was partaking in it. I was attempting to learn their language. I was a bit like a child attempting to learn the language of English.
However, I was able to pick up this language a lot quicker. Due to being in their world, the process of learning is lessened by a tremendously significant amount of time. The duration is of a short nature. One learns quickly, not only from observational learning, but also through diving into the pool of the Oversoul that is very present in that realm. The knowledge rapidly comes onto one’s self. Once obtained, comm-unication is made possible.
“Greetings,” they said genially with their unique movements.
“Hello,” I managed to say back, while attempt-ing to mimic the movement that they had just per-formed.
“What are you wondering?” they asked with a sporadic bodily movement.
“Where’s the Elf Goddess?” I asked quietly, wishfully hoping that the Elf Goddess would soon app-ear.
“She’s not here right now,” they said in a uni-ted voice.
“Where is she?” I asked again.
“She is currently greeting another user of DMT, one who has just had his first Breakthrough,” they said cheerfully.
I paused for a second, only to come to the conclusion that I was a bit jealous; she was my Godd-ess, and I wanted her all to my cynical self!
“Don’t worry,” the Elves telepathically danced. “She has a lesson for you, and she has asked us to tell you to come back here soon, so she can present you with the novel teachings that you are to learn.”
I knew that the time had come. I was about to leave their realm of reality and sojourn back into my own. As my soul was finding its way back into my body, their world was slowly dissipating in a swirl of colors. My soul was searching, and, eventually, it made contact with my body. My eyes opened, and I was back into my ordinary realm of reality. My Ego slowly and steadily came back. I love it when it’s gone, but the process of feeling it come back feels so interesting to where I actually look forward to its return. After some time, I thought to myself that DMT will never fail to amaze me.
I loaded a bowl of DMT that was sufficiently large enough to get me there; once again, I had repetitively placed 60 milligrams into the pipe. I went
atop my bed and sat like an Indian. My room was as indistinctly and obscurely dark as it could possibly be. I took a very large hit, which I followed with another enormous hit. This was followed by a mediocre hit. The invisible, impenetrable force caught me right in my midsection and knocked me down.
The DMT noise was blaring. I was laying spread eagled on my bed with my eyes closed. As I was watching the back of my eyelids, visuals of Color imm-ediately came into being. The beautiful visuals began to grow. Eventually, they became one fairly large immense size and engulfed me. The engulfing sen-sation felt as if I was being spurred forward into inter-galactic realms at an extremely rapid pace. A blinding power was pulling me into another region. It felt great. I could feel the wind pass through me. I was leaving behind the Color.
Finally, I was at the place. I was falling down towards the center of an abode. I was as flat as a pancake, and I was spinning around as I was descend-ing. I was completely horizontally positioned in rela-tion to the bottom of the area that I was making my way towards. In this horizontal position, I kept on spinning. My face was looking towards the bottom of the abyss. It took quite some time for me to make it all the way down there.
The scenery was encompassed by a massive and vastly entrenched blackness. Everything was very dark. Neon colors, along with some blues, were present. All of the colors, however, were of darker hues. Finally, I reached the bottom. For a fraction of a second, I was vertical in proportion to the bottom of the arena, and then, I fell back. I crumbled over and perished. I knew I was dead. There wasn’t a single thought in my mind that supported my life. I was dead, shrunken, and shriveled up in the abyss.
I shifted a little bit, and all of the sudden, I could make out the Self-Transforming Machine Elves; they were encircling me. They were a little bit away from me at first. I could tell that there were many Elves present. They weren’t too far away from me, and they weren’t too close to me. There was some spacious distance between us at first. There were gaps in the circle of the Elves. They were uniformly right by each other’s side. After some time, the Elves began to move in towards me. They moved at a slow pace. They were all around me. They were behind me and in front of me. There were many at both of my sides. They kept on coming closer and closer towards me.
The gaps, the ones that were present at first in their circle, began to fill in. Eventually, a point came to where there were no more definable gaps. The Elves were right up by me. They weren’t actually touching me, but if they would have moved just a tiny bit, they would have been. They were so close to me. I could feel their presence. They started sending out vib-rations of energy from themselves into me. They were giving me a present, and, gratefully, I accepted the offering. The Elves were pouring some of themselves into me. Indeed, they were transferring some of their energetic life fluid into my stunned soul. They were feeding me, and the food tasted good. The food, of course, was the food of life. They were giving me strength back, not normal human strength, but extra-terrestrial like strength that had once been foreign to me.
The Self-Transforming Machine Elves were undoubtedly resurrecting me from the dead. They gave me some of the chemical makeup that was inside of them. They gave me life back. I could feel the energy entering into my body. It felt very tranquil, interesting, and foreign, for I had not ever felt any-thing like it before. After transferring a bit of them-selves into me, the Elves were spent. There was an Elf that was right in front of me. He appeared to be the leader.
“Open your eyes,” he said not commandingly, yet perseveringly.
I obeyed. My eyes were opened, and I was back in my room, ceaselessly staring at some of the most beautifully delightful visuals in the world. I was so happy. I felt fresh and brand new, like I had just been reborn. New life was in me. I knew it, and I loved it! I was whole again. At the time, I was not aware that I was, as a matter of fact, crying. Rivers were coming out of my eyes. Eventually, I felt the tears of glory streaming down my cheeks and smiled in response. I had risen from the dead.
“Hi there,” said a voice inside my head.
It was the psychedelic.
“Hello,” I said back, anxiously sitting up in response.
“Do you know what just happened?” she ask-ed.
“Not exactly,” I admitted, after having contem-plated the situation for a few seconds.
“Your soul was crushed,” she said, “but, alas, it was only part of your soul that was obliterated.”
That was weird, I thought.
“Haven’t you ever wondered about the anatomy of the human soul?” she asked question-ingly. “Haven’t you ever wondered about the intricate components that comprise and make up your soul?”
“Naturally, yes,” I answered interestingly.
“Well,” she said jovially, “I am going to teach you what the soul is made up of.”
“OK,” I said wonderingly.
“The soul,” the psychedelic began, “is not at all like the physiological body that you humans have heedfully and incessantly studied. It does not have any kind of biological makeup. Instead, it is comprised purely of psychological components that can some-what serve as an anatomical foundation.”
“For real?” I said, sounding a bit flabbergasted.
“Yes,” the psychedelic said with relish. “The human soul is comprised of three parts. Plato knew what these were, and if you link The Republic with the Phaedrus, you will come to gain the knowledge of what these three parts are.”
“What’s the first part?” I asked.
“The appetitive part,” she said simply.
“What’s the second part?” I asked with int-erest.
“The spirited part,” she responded.
“What’s the third part?” I somewhat cease-lessly asked.
“The rational part,” she sweetly said.
With that, the Elf Goddess left my head, leaving me to wonder just exactly what this all meant.
My past DMT experiences, almost all of them, have occurred during the night. During my past voy-ages, the sun was in hibernation, while the moon was not. For a while, I had been pondering if a change in day time would affect the DMT experience, and so, eventually, natural curiosity evolved itself into actual experimentation. I decided to smoke DMT an hour prior to the sun setting.
I had just gotten back from an exercising session in which I tested my physical endurance. While feeling a bit put out from the exercise, I drove back to my house. Once I got there, I knew that today was the day. In the past few days, the time had been drawing near, and now, it was at hand. I could feel it, the DMT. I was being called. I arrived at my house, loaded a fairly large bowl of DMT into my pipe, which turned out to be 60 milligrams yet again, and ensued in procuring the proper setting. I allowed no forms of artificial lighting to shine forth into my room. My room was lit up purely by the last few rays that the sun put off that day. The rays were dancing in my room, and everything was set.
My pipe and I jumped on top of my bed. I positioned myself in the center of my bed, so after smoking the DMT, I would fall back, being in pro-portion with that of my bed. Due to having absolutely excellent conditions the past few days, I had been exercising much. I was a bit tired from the prolonged activity, and my breathing was a bit skewed. My throat was a bit tired, and my lungs were, too. Well, I began vaporizing the DMT. I took one massive hit and coughed it up. My lungs weren’t feeling all too great. I took another big hit, and, alas, I took one more.
Now, I was really feeling it. My lungs were scorching, and my eyes were watering. I fell back on my bed and shut my eyes. Almost instantly, I knew I was going to travel far in this experience, and there-fore, I braced myself. The visuals came on very rapidly. Staring at them in awe I was, until I simultaneously broke through the Color. At a rapid pace, my soul was traveling. I was venturing forth into another world. I was spinning around for a bit, and then, I was finally there.
On a foreign bed, I was lying, and all around me, there was a multitude of Self-Transforming Mach-ine Elves. I was in an extraterrestrial hospital. The Elves were the doctors, and I assumed the role of the patient. The bed I was lying on had a distinctly odd feeling, as if it had been designed just for me. There were so many Elves, an innumerable amount. Due to their populous arrangement, I couldn’t count how many there were. They were all around my bed, staring directly down at me.
They were toweringly tall, indeed. The hospital was green and black and was of enormous space. The ceiling was very high up. At this moment, my attempt to move led to no avail. My soul was strapped down by invisible reins. I was paralyzed and very vulnerable. I felt a chill shudder down my spine, as I quickly grew accustomed to my immobility. I was slightly worried, but also, in the back of my mind, I knew that the Elves were my friends and would not hurt me, or so, I hoped. All of the sudden, the Elves began to stir.
The Self-Transforming Machine Elves began to dissect me! With their bare hands, they were en-gaging themselves in the process. I was shocked, stunned, and utterly perplexed. This was the last thing that I expected. With their hands, they reached inside of me and pulled out the makeup of my soul. Sur-prisingly enough, I felt no pain. This I was glad of, for I expected the dissection to be one of intolerable pain. Perhaps I was given anesthesia, but I don’t think so. I believe that the soul cannot sustain pain, for only their vessels, our bodies, calculate and take into accordance that of pain.
Thus, I was being dissected and felt not the slightest hurt. The Elves were fast at work. They were digging into my soul and feeling all around. They dug deep and reached parts of my soul that I thought were non-existent. It was as if they were on a hunt to find buried treasure. The Elves, I could tell, were skilled at the soul dissection procedure. They did not hesitate in any of their movements and proved to me that they obviously knew well the anatomy of the human soul.
Throughout the surgery, there were many Elves in the background that were watching and ob-serving the process. They were in class, and the lesson of today was that of learning how to dissect a human soul. In their head, they took notes about what was going on. They were a bit like interns learning a medical procedure. Time was wearing away, and the Elves made note of this. Quickly and efficiently, they placed all of the dissected material of my soul back into me. Stitches were of no use here. The Elves rubbed their hands together. Smoothly, they then rubbed their hands all over my soul. This healing method reconfigured my internal soul apparatus. When they were done, I sat up, looking right in front of me into the glittering eyes of the Elf Goddess.
“They dissected you, you know,” she said obviously, while swishing around her shimmering hair.
“Yes,” I responded.
“The Elves,” the Elf Goddess said, “took apart your black horse, which is your appetitive part, and they took apart your white horse, which is your spirited part; however, they did not take apart your charioteer, which is your rational part, for when you embark on a DMT adventure, that is the part of the soul that remains in the body, sustaining the vital energy that the biological body needs to survive and maintain conceptual life.”
“Therefore,” she said, “that’s why the human body doesn’t die when one has a DMT Breakthrough; it’s because only part of the soul is leaving, and in order for death to truly occur, the entire soul needs to leave.”
“Can you explain what these different parts are?” I asked immediately.
“Yes,” she said sweetly. “The appetitive part is the one that has desires, the spirited part is the one that controls desires, and the rational part is the one that thinks conceptually. Obviously, since you have a total Ego obliteration when you have a Breakthrough, you’re not going to be able to think conceptually; however, you will be able to control your desires, because even if your capability of rationalizing is lost, your innate instinct of morality is still present. The appetitive part, of course, is going to travel away when a Breakthrough occurs, for desires notoriously correspond to the transcendentalism that is produced when one’s Ego dissipates. Thus, when you travel to us, you will have desires, and you will be able to control your desires, but you will not be able to think conceptually.”
Before I knew it, I was traveling back to my world at top speed. My soul was back together in one piece. At a rapid pace, I passed through the realm of Color until I made it safely back to my domain. My eyes opened up, and I was absolutely amazed at what had just bypassed. I was staring around my room with the post drawn DMT experience. My ceiling was morphing into various shapes at will, while visuals danced all over my walls. I was extremely aghast about what had just occurred. In this state of mind, I lied for some time. Trying to take it all in, I was utterly flabbergasted. Slowly, my Ego crept back into place. Eventually, the experience merged with my everyday world.


Mosis said:
Can you describe more how the smoke feels on the lungs? How does it compare to say, marijuana? How big are the hits that you're taking, and what would you say is the minimum required to achieve such a state?

The smoke is very harsh. It tastes like burnt plastic!
It's nothing at all like marijuana. Marijuana is not nearly as harsh on your lungs. I'm able to take massive hits of marijuana and not cough at all.
I'll vaporize the DMT. Slowly, I will inhale the smoke, hold it down in my lungs for as long as I can, and then exhale. Just go for as big of a hit as you can take. A lot of the time, I will begin inhaling and will start coughing before I can get the smoke all the way down into my lungs. That's just how harsh it is!
For me, I usually take as many massive hits that I can handle before it 'hits' me. Sometimes I'll take one, and then, extremely quickly, I'll take another.... Then I'm gone! The effects come on very fast. I try to get in as many hits as I can before I leave.


May Terence McKenna Live Long

The DMT Chronicles

Edited by Feanor (08/24/10 08:01 PM)

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Re: The DMT Chronicles - UPDATED 1/17 [Re: Feanor] * 1
    #6603803 - 02/23/07 10:14 PM (14 years, 7 months ago)

That;s outstanding. DMT is possibly the most enticing thing I have ever heard of. I mean, just the things you hear about it and the 'i can't explain it' is so damn luring.
I can't wait

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Re: The DMT Chronicles - UPDATED 1/17 *DELETED* [Re: Feanor] * 1
    #6604074 - 02/23/07 11:28 PM (14 years, 7 months ago)

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Re: The DMT Chronicles - UPDATED 1/17 [Re: Magickow] * 1
    #6613055 - 02/26/07 05:21 PM (14 years, 7 months ago)


Amazing Log you have here.

uarewotueat - "Libs are messy as hell, I don't know whether to take a shit or get a haircut when I'm on them!"

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Re: The DMT Chronicles - UPDATED 1/17 [Re: blacksun] * 1
    #6622850 - 03/01/07 02:30 AM (14 years, 7 months ago)

Thanks guys!

I have just updated my original post with two more trip reports.


May Terence McKenna Live Long

The DMT Chronicles

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