This text is from Disembodied Eyes

Mushroom trip report

viddy me droogs:

Someone recently mentioned a memorable acid trip in Hawaiiii., 10 hits ingested on a beach in an attempt to experience the awakening of the kundalini and an eruption into enfolded spheres ("here comes the..."). This same individual wrote about an elaborate preparation for this trip which resulted in a sort of temporal flooding backwards in time from the event of the trip:

>>>>>>"to quit school, take three months to meditate, and work at a job as stationary store stock person, which I figured would be like sweeping the porch in Buddhist mysticism, in preparation for this big acid trip I was planning.>>>>>" A couple of days before the trip I began having visions, and when I would do my meditations and breathing excercises, I heard a giant motor-like sound. By the night before the trip this sound was a visceral presence, looming about a hundred feet over my head. It seemed pretty demonic. As I said, this was all before the trip, which gave me the idea I've never since had cause to doubt, that time is a two-way street, at least. "<<<<<<<<<

@#$%@#$%@#$%%@#$@#%@$@#%@#$ in a similar vein I recently experienced what amounts to a spontaneous ritual that gave me more insights before ingestion than after. Make what you will:

Recently I made a blender drink consisting of fresh lemon juice, maple syrup, water and three small carpophores of a friendly species of fungi. I placed this sacramental concoction in a jar in my knapsack and hit the woods for a very long walk.

Leaving the house I felt low on energy, so I began to sing in order to aerate my the vessels and cavities of my body with chi. My singing gradually became more rich as I opened my abdominal cavity to resonate, my blood became oxygenated, my voice filled with emotion. There is an emotion that I search for as a template of higher spiritual states (higher from my earthen perspective, back-sliding fool that I may be): the emotion might best be described in two words as grievous joy. It results from the strong awareness of impermanence:

"Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires,
Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth."

The verb "to be" is only one of the many structures with which we shore up our desire for a substantial reality. Nothing can merely "be," for all the ten thousand things are constantly "becoming." We are not human beings, but human becomings... Except that our distorted notion of time prevents us from comprehending later stages in the process of becoming. I wish to stress that nothing is ever lost from the equation of becoming; energy and matter disperse only to reconvene at a more convenient hour in a new form.

The grievous joy which results from the apperception of impermanence is the highest form of love that I know. When I hug my aging mother and feel the frailty of her corporeal vehicle, I feel this grievous joy. When I plant my garden in the spring, weed and water the plants all summer, I know they too will fall beneath the blow of the first frost. To be filled with such emotion involves a celebration of all that surrounds you in the knowledge that the moment will pass never to return.

I was singing through the woods, along the path of a creek which not a month before had risen ten feet above its banks and swept through the valley. The muddied water carried away soil from myriad banks and deposited it on the flood-plain downstream. The torrent flipped on its back a flat section of silt-stone that measures at least 8' by 4' by 10". A second slab of similar proportions appeared below Potter's falls, dragged from more than 100 yards upstream. "I do not know much about gods, but I think that the river/ Is a strong brown god--sullen, untamed and intractable." In short, I was surrounded by insistent evidence of the impermanence of the natural world.

In this place I realized once again that we have built our society on the attempt to belie the impermanence of creation. The bright lights of town fill the darkness with sharp angles, straight lines, boxy buildings. All of this infra-structure constitutes an attempt to deny the curved line, the inflected geometry, the enfolded dimension.

I mean to say: the common man thinks not of death. To speak of death is to vaunt social taboo. Those who ponder death are thought to be morbid. When someone dies, we say what a good person they were, plant their bodies inside a box, and go on with life as usual. At the same time, one of the most memorable of Montaigne's Essays is entitled "That to philosophize is to learn how to die," in which he recounts a near-death experience that resulted from a riding accident. In other words, he grounds "knowledge" in the experience of the unknown Other, when impermanence holds sway and "I" merges with the dark side of the self.

It ocurred to me, just before quaffing the brew, that mushrooms represent the attempt to face the darkness in order to see the light. Heraclitus: "The way down is the way up." When people speak of bad trips, good trips, I am always amazed. Beshroomed, good and bad become the two sides (in/out..up/down) of the wind-sock of self. When awareness floods outside of the time-body, pleasure and pain become completely intermingled. My self feels great fear at the thought of ingesting huge doses of shrooms, but for some odd reason I feel compelled...

These were the emotions and thoughts that assaulted me on this fine day, walking along the banks of 6-mile creek. I made various stops along the way to town, to close my eyes and focus my thoughts on the act of breathing, to read passages from the Four Quartets as a kind of catechism to shape my thoughts, to take notes on all that was passing through my head and heart. Standing on the ridge above the 2nd dam, I saw the sunlight playing on the rippled surface of the pond. My vision began to sink into the morphing shifts of negative and positive space that charaterize OEV with the aid of fungal allies (which I had yet to ingest, mind you).

"The wind that chills,
the thorn that tears,
the thud of bone on stone,
are they not balanced by the warmth of the sun in early March?
Look: the light throws into relief
the convergence of the river's current
and the wind-driven waves that play above the dam.
All doubt, all fear must go the way
of water that curls from the dam's edge,
frothing at impact with the stones below."

THe sound of moving water filled the air; birds called to one another from branch to wind-blown branch. The trees stretched and pulsed with sap, warmed by the Spring thaw. Without foliage on the trees, the spine of the land stood forth to the eye. Through year of passage the river has cut a valley gorge between soil-covered siltstone ridges that descend in terraces where slabs have fallen away to the river below.

When I came upon a pile of loose stones deposited by the receding flood, I put down my pack in order to search for impressive slabs with which to build a small altar. I found a 1' x 2' slab to form a base, with a large a white stone, rippled by the water's flow and a piece of sand stone engraved everywhere with small fossils of spiral worms and limpets. Here, the passage of time inscribed in stable stone, past lives gone save for the imprint of their calcareous remains.

Before this altar to time, I removed a jar from my pack and quaffed the suspension therein. The resulting trip might at worst be described as a dulling of the senses (perhaps the first stage of that 5-mile stare brought on by mushroom trance), at best a mild buzz-on which was greatly enhanced by a few pipe-hits later on. Almost in spite of the effects of the fungal agent, I maintained mindfulness. There followed many adventures, but a complete recounting would take many more bits.

The interesting thing about this story, from my POV, lies in the rich experience resulting from my awareness of the impending turn towards fungal darkness. Or was I actually tripping before I partook of the ally (a temporally inverted parallel universe bleeding into home-base?) I often worry that the use of entheogens might become a crutch, the spiritual equivalent of fast food when you don't feel like spending the time to cook. For this reason, I set aside hours or days before ingestion of sacrament for reflection and focused awareness. Fasting is one great way to further this aim, though I don't like tripping on a completely empty stomach.

In the end lies the beginning...