Tag Archives: Psychedelic

The words

Erowid used to be this vault of intangible mystery


I don’t know how many reports I read
before I took things into my own hands

I was young, yeah
just 14

I was old—

Huichol kids were no strangers
to the small buttons in the sand

the babes of the Shipibo
drinking little cups of aya
before they were born—
breastfed and initiated—

old still—
compared to the coming of age
of the Bwiti—


I didn’t know what I was but

falsely prohibited—

I knew I had to know

Sitting in Tony’s dumpy backyard
on a busted ass couch
his loose mohawk a veil of fat

You have to keep the lighter on it
You have to hold it in for a long time
Hit it again
It’s not working, this shit is fucking bunk

We had no idea what we were in for
and I was the only one that did it right
I took these huge lungfulls
out of one of those old green acrylic bongs
until I thought I could see music notes
where their voices were
and everything went bright sky blue
I was floating
in front of a burning fireball star
we were the only things
in existence

there were two long black lines
thinning into a point on the horizon
of the blinding surface of the sun
smoldering—
connecting whatever I was
to whatever it was—
I could see white things
racing
up and down it
like a highway

they were symbols,
no—they were
words


How I learned to love the spider (preheat)

I don’t know how many people were there
in this boggy meadow somewhere in Florida
a festival by day
a carnival of oil pastel lights dipped in naptha at night

thubwomping teepee’s with spinning
thingamabobs in the center with handles
that I sat on like a tornado—
burning incense—wearing sunglasses—
(It was the full moon)

I wasn’t on molly
until later
didn’t want my head
rubbed by strangers—
I was being guided
through hyperspace at light speed
in my tent—the mountains of spice would melt
and we’d pass it down five or six times—

Meli would run off and I’d be all
holy shit oh my god
honeymooning
at my first real breakthrough (that wasn’t) but

Who has time for terminology
when you’re lead straight
to the terminal for the first time
by something that
never showed their face again

I was doing flybys of planets that looked artificial

The control panel audible like
six diamonds had come together 
and formed cubes twisting, a knot
in another dimension

A yantra

So what does any of this
have to do
with the spider
you may be wondering
as I exited the tent
indolebreathed and metawinged
into the meadow
lit up by the moon
                       minds
chain reaction
you can invision it wavelike
always twisting to and from
itself collapsing opalescent and alive
a mix of pastel and neon
synesthesia whispers to accept
like the untying of a lace
or your legs made of lightning

It was just the most majestic thing
to be and to be disintegrated
off on the outskirts of a meadow
listening to the musics mesh
on the winds without much difference
eyes shut, eyes closed

Except when… it ran up to my sandals faster
than my choked perception could calculate 

before I even knew what the bone white hand
on the ground that could rove faster
than I could—than anything that I knew could was—

I was flailing goosepimpled
acidwashed insane
down the grass meadow faster
than I ever had in my life—

I thought about the times I’d raced
Raul in fourth grade and won every time—he was so hopeful

I ran—my soul screaming—my body in flight
to the laser dome fishnet cushions
the giant oven on fire—my synthesizer—
the stuffed animals
sewn together that wouldn’t burn
they would liquify
in love—mystified by the terror
of your trickster curiosity


Only from his wholeness can man create a model of the whole


Holonomic clues 

                                                     discerning 

                   consciousness awake: 


   gamma synchrony
characteristically brief
                               
(about 3 seconds at most)
           synchronous states attained
                                                through meditation
                                             that require less energy
                                             than other mental states

                   resulting in quantum electrodynamics
        consciousness
residing in the frequency domain
        congruent to Bohm’s implicate order

                                                        Carl Jung
                applied to foundations
                          of quantum mechanics
      comprising a practice of
      self knowledge
                                         to express the impossibility
                                        of final determination
                                       of the categories
                                      of ‘physical’ and ‘psychic,’

      where consciousness
might be found to reside—
                      ‘integrate and fire’ neural
            model brain mapping so far
        has not been very fruitful—

                         biological quantum computer—
          we gained an idea for human memory—
conscious understanding is non-computational—

                                 ‘self-collapse’ is consciousness

              we can imagine our conscious minds
        as something akin to an orchestra
warming up

Russell Targ talked about
the long and successful history
of the remote viewing program
that he managed for Third Eye Spies

                                      remote viewing is so easy
                  that even a scientist can do it

            show me the surprising images
                                   that come into your mind

                          there is a notion of approximate
  reality associated with the quantum
                              realm sandwiched between
                                           improbabilities

                                         the way presuppositions
are implicit
                              unconscious assumptions
that often have a dangerous way
                       of sneaking into our theories
unquestioned–

examine more closely that of
                            objectivity: that there exist such
                                                  things as objects

                                challenging can be understood
       to be a process of questioning

         we can then keep track of subject
                          and object with every distinction
                                         being made

Classical theory is a process

the arena is in the mind…

                             “Which mind?” (mind VS matter)
                                since experience consists
                                  of both subject and object

  Dreams can thus provide us
with a good metaphor for the quantum
  paradigm with One Mind cosmology
             can qualitatively
  explain and predict

                 viewing the universe as a multiverse
        with closed timelike curves—
wormholes connecting universes—

Such a conceptualization of the multiverse transcends linear dynamics, so everything can be considered as being part of parallel universes, where previous time travel paradoxes no longer wreak the kind of havoc we’ve come to expect. Both the “knowledge paradox” and “grandfather paradox” can be resolved through chronological-respecting qubits and consistent time-looping qubits. What comes out of one wormhole thus goes into another world, with entanglement being preserved overall throughout the multiverse

             As soon as you have wormholes
             you have consciousness
operating in a block universe

               Both future and past are located
                                               on the horizon

………………………………………………………………………….
Entirely cut up and rearranged from:
RealityShifter’s blog
………………………………………………………………………….



Dreaming into being

              

                   you know                                            
                                 that you’re dreaming             


you thought this
                                               was going to end


you’re falling
                                                                  
    in


like a gust picked up
out of nowhere
     blowing through 
until it’s               hollow
         lit up like a        leaf                                                                 
    undulating
              steady                 then it pours
             the recension                    is boundless
                    it’s breath                    we start to see it
      through the fog
the universe became                          geometric
                    it’s lower energy           non-existence


We sat on the outskirts
of the surface—we sat there
                            with the        flashlight
                                      in our one good eye


the onset of a storm on the river
  on a sunny day                                 the dark cloud
arcing                     you return to shore
  it 
              starts to whirl a calm
    reminder not to stray too far
off the path
                                                             your ions
                                                                     blink
                                                from the dayless
                              oxygen raft
upstream—can’t say
what you          will find
                                                  it’s there
       muffled between        a      once in a lifetime
                             window                           if you

something wasn’t right—

                                                   wires were crossed
       at the edge of the universe
we couldn’t control it—it was showing us
a way out—


We’d get all harmonic—             we’d start ringing
                          —we’d shut ourselves off in silence
          just to twist the knob in rhythm
with it—                         you could hear it
                                                       clicking
             slapping piercing quartz bowls
                           that would morph
                                        volume and shift pitch—
we were always looking for that frequency
until it became us—how could we forget
                                 what was lost & found
                                                by the oak tree—
                                                     by the waters
 beating
behind your silent
          voice breathes through me—
   it’s the pulse that’s strung
through the steady gentle
                              groove
we mapped it out—we
lost it—                                                   we found it
                                            trickling quicksilver
                                                      onto the tongue
                                         hand tingles red
                                                raw skin on tight skin
                                            the sound of a djembe
                                     coming out of your
                                            ghostnoted face
                to set the depth-charge
   in our perception—
our entire life gone
out the window—
                               a circle that looks like a line—
                      it echoes back and forth
                                         into something else
you need to go deeper
into it—you need to
never come back—


in cells we sit in ceremony—
your whole entire plan
was an arpeggio—
we mapped it out
                        remember—we saw it coming
                        from a mile away—we smiled
as it built upon itself
like a spiral staircase
         into nothing
     we kept getting                                                
 
    lost in                       valves
      vortices               made of reeds
      (sunlight)              never touched this place
once                 not until we dug          ourselves
into the cold            wet               earth
 warm                            with gravity      it spun—

the moths were coming back—


we watched these doors open
and close for so long stepping
into one became as natural
                     as 
slowly rising


                 words in 12 gauge birdshot
           ricochet off the shiny flat     surface
    of the  universe     I can’t believe
      we’re here—I can’t believe
            we’re dying—

                                                    minispherical
                            flowers made of movement—
                                handheld little milkdrops…


you’re the texture—the pattern
      overlayed over everything we
thought we were—you wondered
      why it was there—I was looking into you
                                and at you
                 clay plastic angel
              organskin complexion  by starlite
we mapped it out—remember
do you see                       what I mean—
             a fragment of               lightning
           on a small metal merrygoround
        at the park without the horses

                                or standing on the edge
                                           of dawn like a prism


cloudy morning drone
with a voice like a waterfall
                            something stirs in a tomb
someone let the light in
                hit a mirror
                                                  another mirror


two of them
would come
at the same time
           it was only
in their oneness
      would the two tones
start warbling—line up
            fill the stone walled rooms
of the heart with this phase
                      recognized only by the difference
between them as seeing them
                                                                     as one
tibetan throat singing monks
sat in the circle
smoking rustica opium datura oleander
and hashish out of a single piece—
     their neighbors
                 down the road
                             making mandalas in the sand


The shadow

Who knew all you had to do was
inhibit monoamine oxidase—

Take a spoon full of seeds
as the sun sets over the dunes—

Long before us it was already done
they fell through the ceiling—

You can go to the mosques today 
see the frozen crystal clouds they left

In their voices—in the wind—in the sand
it’s still there interwoven into forever—

A desert flower that won’t stop blooming 
no matter what you say, what you do—

On the lick of an oud you repeated
these charred verses into the black moon—

You died but you kept coming back
no matter how many books they burned—

You sat by the fire of the acacia tree—
by the light of it’s sap you found us

Looking back through time there it was
the beginning, the end, all in one

Single moment you sat in circles
disappearing—singing and purging—

What the rainforests were thinking—
the jaguar lay rolling on the leaves—

And the dogs of hunters lapped up
in the darkness to see through it—

The poison arrow dart sent shimmering
at the snap of a stick into the boar—

These songs that we can see we learned
from the memories of the rooted—

Go home—ask the incarnata
for an omen tonight—see what it says


The tabernanthe

Sometimes you can
  see that
big wave
bumping up
  in the distance
coming for you

It’s up to you
  how you want
to catch it—If
you have the courage
  to catch it
at all

How could I say no then—
  I hardly walked
six months
before those capsules
  of root bark
were placed into my hands

How could I care
  that those with weak hearts
had already crossed over
at the dosage
  I was to eat—

You go in knowing this
  and within an hour
  the old you is gone
forever

Flooded out

That bitter metallic
  purging—the gravity—
motion sickness spinning
into the spiral
of everything that’s
  ever happened
on this planet

The sheer vividness
  of the visions / You
could hone in on
anything here specifically
like there was an
  earthbound threshold
applied to it’s living database—

It was realer than real

There were the
  Bwiti’s masks
up close
in my face—
the detail
woven into the dyed red
white fibers
  of the hemp
and the wood—

Smearing like oil
  flashing a deep blue
  ripple from every
moveless movement—

The wounded
  soldiers fighting
in the sandbox
unable to see
the way out—the endless
  wars by proxy
internalized—

The unpeeling
  of my own
everything—the darkest
  sense of peaceful
contempt—

It was as if harmalas
  were only half the story
like there was a point
where they break down 
and this is the only
ethnobotanical
that establishes itself
  on the scaffolding of
where they leave off

Fully submerged like
  you’re underwater / in
a liquid dream
electric—lightning
bolts strike
the water of your
dancing eyes
an almost religious bliss
  one could never imagine
possible without

All the things you’ve done /
  should have done /
should do

Mbira
  of the spirit—how melodic
we can be

The glass pipe packed
  with dense purple flowers—
a traditional synergy
in modern times—
it would last all night
  one grapey / woody
relaxation at a time

But flicking the lighter
was like breaking a prism

I remember laying
  in front of the fan
motionless
dissociated
feeling no pain
and flying
  all around the room
of everywhere and nowhere

It breaks down
  into psychoactive
pieces
the metabolite circulates
  for up to three months
the first time

You see it’s tracers
  flash when the sun rises
  the sun sets—reminding you
of how you got here

You feel it coaxing you
  to be the person
  you should be
and are now

And I never once
did look back

Except in awe
  at the power
of saying yes
  and no
at the same time


Angel II

Those full moon nights
rising behind the hills
we’d hike up to Pogonip
just to see it
the whole meadow
to ourselves
and visible

in the moonlight
we’d accelerate
with micrograms
and a glass pipe
dedicated to
just this one thing
your pregnant wife said
she felt like
she was in an egg
after melting it down
into alien candy
vapor

It was as if
nothing could touch us
we must have been glowing
hysterical
they called this place
Heroin Hill
we navigated the tracks
by phosphene
past the headlamp bicycle ghoul
to the garden of eden

We passed right through
someones camp
a shadow
stomping a big staff
or his boots
on the earth
to warn us

Perhaps it was our
maniacal apologies
our incessent laughter
in the redwoods
that assured the man
we were just passing through

Like the river
passing through the place
in the forest
we called our home