I wrote this March 28, 2019, after my first experience with 5-MeO-DMT, a psychedelic of the tryptamine class that’s been used by South American shamans for thousands of years. It’s found in a number of plants and the venom of a single toad species called Bufo Alvaris (yes this is forreal, your guess is as good as mine for how it was discovered). I reread it recently after my third 5-MeO experience and found it useful and interesting to see where I started with psychedelics and where I am now. To reflect on how closed I was. Psychedelics are ruthless but my walls were thick. It took a few deep experiences to really start chipping them, opening and releasing what was behind. Inviting all the fears, repressions, vulnerabilities to be known, processed, and expressed (to be clear, still very much working on this, why we call it a journey). But it’s encouraging to see the growth in just a year. In this piece, which is intentionally more of my creative writing angle than usual blog writing, you can read the grip I held. The closed aversion to surrendering to the experience, letting it fully take me to the other realms of consciousness where 5-MeO can and wants to go. It was a necessary stepping stone to the recent experience I had with this medicine, where I let go maybe more than I would’ve liked. I’ll share that on another post.
Head to soft folded blanket, knees up, fingers and toes weave into loose carpet strings. There’s three of us in a small room, I lay while they primp around me. I sense them sensing my nervousness. They do the only thing they can for it, bustle around the room, perfect physical set up to ease me for what’s coming. For what we’re here for. I lay and watch the two, one my heart knows well, one my heart is trusting for today. We’re all there for the same reason, one the two are familiar with but I’m a stranger to. I’m nervous but trusting. This is a new journey, my decision to embark was driven by the support of two experienced travelers. One my heart knows, one my heart trusts. I cling to the connected familiarity that permeates between us and warms the small room, let it veil the details of what’s to come—a drastic deviation from my norm.
I lay, knees up, as comfortable as we could get my body it doesn’t do much for my mind. The one my heart trusts tells me the steps, he speaks slowly and methodically as if the whirring thoughts and pounding heart are blatant on my face, as if he doubts my ability to comprehend in this state. I watch, cling to the task of memorizing and understanding as a familiar distraction. Linear, methodical steps are a frontal cortex reprieve from the spastic firing in amygdala. I watch, listen, memorize, nod. It’s time.
One last look at the one my heart knows well, he nods reassuringly. It’s a familiar look, a narrow-eyed kind smile and encouraging nod that signals he’s proud and supportive. Proud of me breaking down one of my walls, venturing into the unknown and uncomfortable. Supportive of it continuing, of handling the aftermath. He likes me venturing into unknown. He’s traveled far and wide, more than I, he longs to share it. He knows what he’s gotten from it, confidently assumes it’d do the same for me. It scares me, maybe that’s why I’m so drawn to him. I don’t scare easy. Visceral, raw emotions like fear are less accessible, buried deep. It’s invigorating and challenging and novel I’m drawn to it. Drawn to him for guiding me into it over and over. I look one last time, he nods encouragingly I wonder if it’s for me or for him.
I follow the steps my frontal cortex recites.
Limp.
Muscles loosen, body collapses, mind drifts then accelerates. Accelerates in every direction outward in an ever-expanding vastness I can’t make sense of, have no choice but to surrender to. Awareness accelerates and expands, loses the room, the two beside me. Leaves behind body. At first it’s terrifying, then the definition of fear is lost with the rest of consciousness. But my mental grip is tight, it pulls me back in waves. Like the ocean onto shore, quickly pulled to shallow then slowly retreating to endless depth. Mental grip keeps pulling me back, sensation floods body in a foggy awareness of its existence. Awareness scans face and muscles, checks in on what they’re doing, remembers who’s watching. It clenches a reaction I long to release. The new higher self craves to stretch pull twist facial muscles, they feel stiff and cold from underuse. Mouth wants to open wide, lips expand, tongue hang loose, saliva spill, cheeks squeeze, eyes widen, throat scream. I lay in a tight limp, mental grip clenches physical reaction under the surface. Under the surface, a flowing spiraling chaos continues to propel awareness away from reality. My mind looks for something to hold onto, a thought to make sense of, a familiar neural firing to define. Spirals shake grip from catching anything solid, sends awareness plummeting in all directions. It’s such a hypnotic unfamiliar feeling. Incessant linear thoughts are forced to smooth into a disconnected fluidity of boundless perception.
The peak wanes, I ease back to the room to body to the two watching. I trust body to move now, I turn and curl. Eyes stay closed, observing the last drips of the experience. I feel the two sitting watching waiting. Like an audience anticipating the conclusion following the climax. The spirals slow, linear thoughts return. I weave memory to make sense of what happened, to attach words I can share with the four eagerly waiting ears. I don’t find words, only resultant emotions. A confusing mixture of shock, awe, calm, craving, disappointment. A disappointment both in a fulfilled expectation of familiar gripping and in an unfulfilled hope for answers. A craving for more to find them.