DOSE:

9 buttons

oral

Peyote

(dried)

BODY WEIGHT:

74 kg

So it continues; my largely solitary mystical and creative revival of pure curiosity through these ancient chemo-technologies known as drugs.

Various points of my life have shaped me in many ways mostly relating to a heady mix of mental illness and hardcore spirituality both discovered a little too early in life for my own good perhaps yet the psychedelics always held a certain allure of wonder and chaos magic in their uniquely infinite power and content. My personal history with this is as always a mixture of typical and unique with a good number of strange and wacky substances behind me from mushrooms and lysergamides to various cacti and forms of DMT, my approach of the divine whatever being essentially eclectic; a simultaneous rendering of transcendence that crosses all boundaries of art, philosophy, science, mysticism and culture. However it's viewed, in my experience the universal pattern speaks to and through us all in many ways.

But I digress... So here I am enjoying a reunion with a dear spiritual partner in crime of mine from the early age of my various quests in her spacious flat in what I assume is the better side of Plymouth. Her presence is as ever one of warm almost 'elderly' reassurance. Our Saturday night while typically social for the day of the week was no ordinary British Saturday night.

Tonight belonged to peyote; a real shamanic enigma among its followers and indeed my own curiosity. At the dose of nine dried buttons my goals were a blend of self therapy, shamanic interface and creative inspiration for one could say that art itself is perhaps the purest form of gnosis. A pleasant day of re-connection with my friend had left me largely at peace with my usual issues and ready to face and embrace the many strange fears and pleasures of the human mind and soul. Chomping down these tiny green chakras of wonder is definitely not for the faint-hearted or weak stomached. It seems that one must consume the devil in order to become god in terms of taste; a lesson in humility from nature. Despite the godforsaken taste my gut handles these things oddly well with little to no nausea and certainly no puking.

Nine buttons down and 10 minutes in we decide on a nighttime stroll during which as we approach a side path to the train tracks my chest vibrates suddenly from some distant internal echo of energy as if the voice of my soul shakes hands with Mescalito. As we marched on I notice the sky ablaze with the full moon slowly develop a kind of archaic beauty and order, something only the language of silence can convey. With this my field of vision is slowly brightening with a slight elongation of back and foreground, the general sense of energy builds as my mind is becoming entranced by a distinctly alien theme and ambience. This remains a subtle impression on my mind without overt hallucination yet in the wise words of Mr. Thompson 'Good mescaline comes on slow', the best was yet to arrive.

Within the next hour and a half we are back at the flat and my mind is notably altered yet intact, this sense of alien foreignness having expanded from a mere feeling to an encompassing aesthetic of pure vision. Everything surveyed was infused with an odd almost cubist spatial effect of slow dilation and pulsation and subtle weirdness. The carpet in particular showed an electric motion of broad kaleidoscopic pattern drift and transformation with symmetry like that of LSD but lacking the dazzling refined detail. It would seem in hindsight that this trip came in two stages this being a pure sensory tour through vision long forgotten by sober, linear perception. Upon closing my eyes the visuals greeting me were of a mostly hypnagogic type with slowly rotating eidetic imagery of floral objects large in size and some strange skeletal robotic entity in deep metallic bronze red, nothing too overtly psychedelic. As my gaze spread slowly around the room, my body reached a deep state of pleasant buzzing lethargy as though my muscles had been hypnotised which served only to deepen my physical tie to my chair and my mental tie to the experience. By this point this sense of alien rhythmic pulsation and glow is starting to acquire a language of pure silence, a unifying non-verbal reverence as the trip deepened. I sensed a great informational presence which beckoned a more solitary and darkened setting to be heard in its prime and with this at some three or so hours in, I suggested we head to sleep for the night to which my friend agreed.

It is in silent darkness that these drugs reveal the fullest epic extent of their character and peyote is no exception. As I lay face up I began to experience a simultaneous sense of descent and ascent as mind and awareness diminished to a profound singularity of trance allowing the contents of my soul to become elegantly projected into a shimmering lucid dream-space that despite my disjointed sense of space/time and immediate memory lead me through a deeply immersive astral tunnel zone of deep spirit communion. This space lacked linear dimension and was instead defined by what I can only describe as a flexing kaleidoscopic astral hyperspace with a cubist arrangement of swirling bejewelled curtains in brilliant electric green revealing spirit entities of pure wisdom and guidance seated in luminous council like Tibetan thangka art all beaming in welcome. All structural renditions of the workings of my mind rendered in wondrous, oozing technicolor. I came to realise this place was interactive allowing advanced browsing of identity, emotion and morality, the very essence of conscious being from a higher frame of enlightened self. This it seems was my very own spirit journey/vision quest. As I drifted through, each of these beings targeted different aspects of my emotional identity with a strong intent to heal, teach and rejuvenate; each with a unique lesson endemic to their nature.

Never had the slime and trauma of my existence been revealed and reformulated so gently and compassionately, there was no fear only the grace of self-acceptance and sheer gratitude for the miracle of existence; the sacred silence alive with spirit song, a tune which everything and everyone can groove to.

After a series of condensed temporal memory lapses which may or may not have entailed some sleep the following day arrived with a profound sense of spiritual and emotional renewal. Feelings of stoic, dignified success and contentment flowed with rhythmic enchantment everywhere as I surveyed myself and my relation to reality in all its wondrous manifestations. This persisted as a hopeful afterglow for the whole day before taking on a progressively darker tone of existential deflation; the classic paradigm shock of paradise in bitter sober memory common to dramatic perspective change.

A tremendous sense of dissociative flatness slammed the core of my being in the following days as the abject devoid meaninglessness of reality grasped my mind with savage force as I realise just how lonely and alienating enlightenment can really be among countless systems of lost souls, a complete and utter sense of un-inspiration. Of loss of creative artistic direction. For it really begs the famous question of who the fuck am I and where does one go from this kind of paradise forbidden by the sober mind?

And then it slowly emerges; a palpable epiphany of responsibility of the mind over the unpredictable mess of destiny. We are all monsters domesticated by morality, gods in the making as we travel enslaved by death and yet empowered by life, existence and pure information. Meaninglessness is a unique opportunity for growth; a test of identification with either the devoid emptiness of reality or ones own quest for personnel truth. For character is determined not by ones strength but by the activation of strength by character itself.

With this realisation life is certainly on the up, my pain a humorous meditation of peace against the vast cosmic order. Darkness is the ultimate lesson in discerning the light of the candle from the light of the sun. All in all, almost everything I could have hoped for from this beautifully mysterious sacrament. One to cherish yet not brandish with advertisement, allow it to find you when the time is right and remember this: the narrative of reality bleeds wisdom to and from those with the courage to turn the page.

Peace, an overused word with an understated meaning.

Exp Year: 2018	ExpID: 112339
Gender: Male
Age at time of experience: 26
Published: Sep 1, 2018	Views: 3,120
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Peyote (42) : First Times (2), Small Group (2-9) (17)