DOSE:

2 g

oral

Mushrooms - P. cubensis

(ground / crushed)

BODY WEIGHT:

90 kg

The universe felt sorry, then made love to itself
(An experience which possibly saved my life)

substance: Psilocybe cubensis 'Treasure Coast Albino' + 'Mexican' mix
dose: subjectively judged enough (around 2g dry)
other medications: piracetam 2x1200mg during the day, vitamin B pills containing 45mg niacin taken together with the mushrooms
user: 40 male
time of experience: April 2024
location: another world

I'm trying to put together the pieces of what happened last night. It was my most confusing trip so far, despite a ridiculously mild dose. How is that possible? I was preparing for this experience all week, but my carefully designed plans fell apart, and something completely unexpected occurred.

Since carefully increasing the dosage to overcome the comeup anxiety -which lately plagued all my mushroom trips- didn't work, this time my basic attitude was: Fuck fear, I'm taking a larger dose and going to break through!

"Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain." Frank Herbert - Dune (1965)

My family was away for a week, and yesterday was the last night I spent alone in the house. The last chance to have a profound experience undisturbed. During the day I found Morchella esculenta growing in my garden, a supposedly delicious but rare mushroom, which I heard about but have never seen it in real life until now. (*01) I took this as a good sign. The fungal kingdom was calling for me.

After a long day of work I rushed home, mowed the lawn as fast as possible, and while satisfied that everything has been taken care of, still half an hour remained until the planned launch. I squeezed the juice of a lemon, added to it the carefully measured 3.0g mushroom powder, then after a quarter hour of soaking diluted it with orange juice. A playlist was set on the computer, lamps dimmed down, everything ready. The sun already sank below the horizon, and the day was rapidly turning into night.

Initially I wanted to sit on the balcony in silence and enjoy a peaceful meditative mindset, then go indoors and start the music when the peak was approaching. To make the comeup less dramatic, I would gradually drink the "magic potion" over 30-60 minutes. Whatever pace felt comfortable.

At 8 PM I drank about a third of the dose for a start, then stared lazily into the night. Everything was silent, and the spring air pleasant. I kept sipping my drink little by little, until I felt a tingling sensation in my fingertips and hands. Could this be the mushroom already? The time was 8:14, and it seemed unlikely that the small initial dose would have a noticeable kick so soon. My last light meal was only about two hours prior, which should also have slowed down the absorption of the substance. However, over the next few minutes the sensation grew stronger, and by 8:20 it became clear that the die has been cast.
A mere portion of the dose had this much effect in 20 minutes? I assumed that these mushrooms must be extremely potent, and started having second thoughts about whether the previously chosen 3g dose was safe. I took a few more sips, but didn't have the courage to go further. A third of the juice was still in the glass mug, and I thought it was probably best if it stayed there. At this point I had to stand up and start pacing around, because my anxiety kept increasing at an alarming speed. Relaxing on the balcony was no longer a feasible option.

I went indoors and started the playlist. Anytime I tried to sit down, I couldn't stay put even for a minute. It felt like the effect of 10 doses of coffee. Not that I ever drank that much, but I guess this is how it would feel: agitation for no particular reason.
Feeling worse and worse by the minute, I seriously regretted taking the mushrooms. It became obvious that I can't handle this substance. I don't know how others enjoy mushrooms, but to me they only give anxiety attacks, and it's getting worse with every failed attempt as I'm accumulating bad experiences and fear. I just wanted it to be over, but I knew there was no way out. Pacing up and down the house, opening the windows for fresh air, trying to suppress waves of panic. I took every opportunity to keep my mind distracted by analyzing random thoughts not related to the situation at hand. At some point I even attempted to play tic-tac-toe against myself on a piece of paper, but quickly realized that I didn't have the patience nor the mental capacity for logic games. The fear was gradually taking over. I'll never take mushrooms again, I swear! The very existence of the remaining drink felt like a serious threat to my wellbeing, so I rushed to the balcony and poured it out on the lawn. Too late! I already drank too much of it...

The worst part is, that whatever the user believes, the drug makes it real. That's why it's called a non-specific amplifier. So if I think that I'm having a bad time, then indeed I will. Similarly, not admitting that one is having a panic attack is key to actually not have one. I knew this mental trick, but consciously understanding the theory or deeply believing that it could actually work are two separate things. And if you don't believe that it can work, then it won't.

I gave up. I definitely needed the ice pack from the freezer; and going for the ice pack was equal to admitting that the situation was as severe as it could get. On my way to the kitchen I glanced at the clock, and was terrified by what I saw. In the sickening pale yellow light of the dimmed chandelier, the round face of the clock mockingly showed 9 PM exactly; the beginning of the peak. Oh no! Please help me calm down! I rubbed the ice pack on my arms, clenched it until my fingers hurt from the cold, then touched my cold wet palms to my neck and face.

The playlist wasn't satisfying my taste, and I started throwing in new tracks. This served as a mild distraction. The colors on the computer screen were vivid and the letters washed out. I tried trance music to lift my mood, but it felt shallow. Next, I tried relaxing music to calm myself, but it was too weak. The only one which worked was Blank & Jones - Desire (ambient mix). This track had a calming soft melody, and a shamanic rhythm which resonated well with my energy. I decided to listen to it once more, then continue with the second half of my original playlist: Manu Shrine and Hania Rani.

The clock showed about 9:15 on its sad face (*02), and the thought, that three quarters of a presumably difficult peak was still ahead of me, was terrifying. Time was moving as slow as a snail. I decided that it would be better not to look the clock any more. The experience would take its course, and it would take however long it needed to take. Stressing about the progress of time would only make things harder.

There was a soft carpet in the middle of the room, and I started dancing on it in circles. I imitated a joyful shamanic dance, as if I was feeling anywhere near joyful, as if I had the situation under control. The whole attempt was ridiculous and completely fake. Who am I trying to fool? Pretending to dance carefree, while inside I'm fighting to keep my sanity and suppress anxiety. What a transparent lie! I continued the dance anyway, with the ice pack in one hand and a towel in the other.

I felt very sleepy, but any time my eyes started closing, bubbling, shifting, geometric, random poster art patterns appeared instantly. The madness of it terrified me. I had to keep my eyes open! I couldn't let this thing take over me. No doubt, I'm a control freak. That's why I can't enjoy the mushrooms, I realized. I can't submit to the experience at all. Insisting on staying in control at all times keeps me safe from doing anything stupid, but it also kills the joy of letting go and being the passive audience of the great show. My attitude is incompatible with the psychedelic experience, but I can't help it.

Still dancing around on the carpet, I realized that it would be my prison for the rest of the trip, where I'd have to weather out the storm. I didn't mind. The fabric was pleasantly soft, and so, I continued my fake dance, pretending that everything was all right. I placed my palm over the ice pack with fingers spread out, trying to calm it down and tell it not to worry. Am I trying to comfort the ice pack now, and not the other way around? Again, who am I trying to fool? Everything I did was meaningless pretense. The only person I can't deceive is myself, but I'm the only one present! The desperation of the attempt though...
Trip reports I found on the internet entered my mind. Reports of irresponsible teenagers enjoying these mushrooms, while I, a strong adult crumbled under the pressure of the experience... and it's not the first time. How can I be such a loser? Pathetic, weak, fake, delusional. Posing as a well prepared, self-educated psychedelic expert, while in truth being totally unfit and a coward. A sense of self-criticism at the highest level engulfed me, and I felt ashamed of my behavior and failing in life.

At least the rhythm was good. I gathered energy, held it, then transformed the space around me. Like waves lashing on the shore, it was a back and forth dance. I wrapped the ice pack in the towel and rocked it like a baby. At other moments I desperately clawed at its freezing plastic surface for support. We took care of each other, while the fear rose and sank.

I looked at the computer screen one last time, trying to determine the progress of the trip and for how long I still needed to hold on based on the playlist. The letters were very blurry and difficult to read. I could only interpret the first word of each entry line, and had trouble determining anything concrete. First of all, the names "Manu" and "Hania" are about the same length, and M and H have quite similar structure. I couldn't see at which point the playlist switched from one artist to the other. Furthermore, the track momentarily playing seemed not to be the one highlighted on the list. I gave up and went back to the carpet.

From this point onwards I can't accurately describe what happened. Everything made perfect sense, but it made sense in a language made of motion and emotion which cannot be accurately translated to English. When a conversion is attempted, I could either describe things in a way which is true to the experience but makes no sense at all, or write a nice story which fails to represent the depth of the actual events.

I confined myself to the area of the carpet, dancing slowly and rhythmically around its edge. Build up the energy, hold it, push forward. Then repeat over and over again until the world begins to change. I did not have any concern for time, and I only realized later when I came out of the trance that I also lost vision. At some point I closed my eyes, but there were no visual effects. It was all black. I spent an hour or two not blind, not experiencing the lack of sight, but being completely oblivious to the existence of the sense of vision. During this period I wasn't human, and I wasn't the universe, I wasn't even awareness. I was a thing beyond definition. But let's not rush that much forward. First I had to sort out some issues:

As I was forcing my fake dance around and around in the darkness to calm my anxiety, taking care of the ice pack and the ice pack taking care of me, a switch of attitude began to take over. The shameful self-deceptive nature of my actions became less convincing. My thoughts fluctuated a few times between fake and truthful, then finally the balance settled on the other side. How could anything I do be fake, if everything happens exactly as it is supposed to happen? I'm not trying to mislead myself, just walking on a path laid out for me. A difficult path, which I have no choice but to follow. And if this is the only possible path, how could it be wrong? Through our actions the universe progresses forward as it is supposed to. Build energy, hold it, and push!

Images flickered in front of my closed eyes. I don't remember any of them. All I remember is how they kept switching from colors to black and white. What does this mean? Shouldn't I see bright and colorful things? This worried me a little, but eventually I accepted that my thoughts were gloomy, dark and colorless. It kept switching back and forth. Colors, darkness, black. Build up, hold, push, repeat!

Unexpectedly a completely unrelated concern crossed my mind: In less than a month I'm about to travel to the state of Sinaloa in Mexico, an area controlled by a dangerous drug cartel. There's a possibility that during my botanical exploration there I'll accidentally run into people who are not safe to be around, to put it lightly. Though this wouldn't be my first travel to dangerous areas, this time it worried me deeply. I had a premonition that with every occasion I was pushing my luck, and sooner or later something would go wrong.

In my vision suddenly I felt surrounded by these people, maybe 3 or 4 of them, watching silently while deciding what to do with me. Without hesitation I grabbed one of them by the arm and pulled him into the dance. Build up, hold, push, repeat! With every iteration the energy level rose higher, and I got transformed into a shaman with unimaginable power. I lead the man around in the dance, making him understand, explaining things to him in a language purely of motion. This language is incompatible with English or any other language based on meaning and transmitted as sound. The language of motion describes the shape and structure of space, and directly conveys intentions. Build, hold, push, repeat. Build, hold, push, repeat. The man was beginning to understand as I lead him around in the blackness. Build, hold, push, repeat. At this point I was so powerful that nobody could harm me. And I was not afraid of anything in the world.

The rhythm developed side-branches as I was getting charged and sensitized. My ears started catching nuances in the music, and thus the language of motion developed. Slow and fast patterns interlaced, and made perfect sense. I began sanctifying the surrounding space using knowledge passed down to me from an unknown source. My breathing was irregular, and my head probably turned red from the energy I was channeling. Build, hold, push, repeat. More! Build, hold, push, repeat. At this point the environment was awestruck and fearful of my power, and I had to assure my surroundings that everything was fine and I could handle this. Somehow I knew exactly what I was doing. I had to rise above material existence, so I was pushing harder and harder. I had to exit the confines of temporal restrictions, and become timeless so I could observe the world go by. To achieve this, I slowed the dance as well as my breathing, each move taking longer and longer until they were approaching infinity. I stopped taking any action, including the release of shamanic power into the surroundings. The energy cooled down and crystallized with me as I turned to stone... a moment without movement, without breath, without music. Silent darkness. ... Then release, build, hold, push, repeat! I moved to the other side of the object which I still recognized as the couch, and there I chose another existence: turning into a kelp plant, anchored to an underwater rock with strong roots, swaying with the waves. Next I was a butterfly, beating a carefree light rhythm with my wings just for a moment. I could be anything I wanted to be.

And then I found the treasure I was looking for. I realized where the ecstasy of the psilocin trance was hidden. On one side there was boring ordinary sober consciousness. On the other side the fear and panic of the overstimulated mind. Both of these were hard and solid spaces... and between the two there is a liquid surface, a thin crack, which if we look at from the right angle glitters like gold. I squeezed myself into that crack and stretched it wide, like opening up a cracked rock to expose the precious mineral seam within. Build, hold, push, repeat. The pleasure was heavy and nearly overwhelming, but I managed to hold its weight.

There was one more thing I had to do though. All this time I was dancing around in the now sacred space. Why don't I go down to the floor? Why am I shying away from that challenge? Finally ready to surrender, I knelt down on the carpet, and felt how tired and swollen my legs were. Curled up in fetal position I forgave myself everything. It's OK to be weak and vulnerable. It's OK to be afraid. All the doubt, the insecurity, the paranoia with which I nearly screwed up this beautiful trip. In the end, it doesn't matter how difficult the road is if it leads to the correct destination. I arrived where I was supposed to be, and it felt blissful.

The ice pack, though already melting, was still in my hand, and I grabbed it, squeezed it, clawed at it violently. I was a whirlpool, pulling everything in to the center until it became a singularity. Just a point in nothingness. Then, I started gradually expanding from that, creating new space within our 3D space. Crawling in circles, my world expanded. And when the music fell silent, I hit the ground hard with my fist to create rhythm. The wooden floor made a deep thumping sound. Thump! Come on! Thump! Obey! Thump! And then the next track started playing, and the beat was back. As I moved around, from time to time I bumped into objects and assimilated with them, that is, I became the surface separating the object from the space outside of it, thus giving it form and existence. It was a very pleasurable process.

I felt the experience subsiding, and in a moment of relative clarity started analyzing what had happened. This was the deepest dive so far, even though I only drank about 2g worth of the mushroom juice. There's no way so small a dose could lead to so profound an experience. But then what just happened? Did I achieve this state through conscious mind control, and if so, could I do it again? I was determined not to let go of the blissful state I was in, and I held onto it with volition. I was getting relatively sober in waves, but each time managed to dive back in.

There was a pillow on the floor which I knelt on while leaning over the armrest of the couch, my face in a soft blanket, still holding on to my companion the ice pack, which by this time melted completely and was getting warm. I felt sorry for the thing. I used it up. Exhausted it. The heat of my energy and the coldness of the ice annihilated each other. Like a battery, the potential difference between the two was the force which kept me going, but alas, entropy has risen, and now that force is getting weaker by the minute. I pushed my face into the gap between the blanket and the plastic block, in my mind still savoring the seam of golden ecstasy layered between opposing states of consciousness. I was a kelp again. That's the existence I chose to be. Anchored, safe, swaying with the waves of pleasure.

The sound-space changed, and I recognized this was now the dark, nostalgic music of Hania Rani. I was quite sober, and it was time to get up and look around. The room was a mess after my struggles. This is when I realized that for the previous hour or so I forgot that I could see. Well, sometimes we don't even notice when we lose an insignificant little thing. After all, vision is only the most important of our senses, thought to account for 80-90% of all incoming information. I sat on the chair in front of the computer, leaned back, and closed my eyes. I was already accustomed to not seeing.

The fantastic thing about high quality recordings is that the listener can really feel the sound as physical reality, and the mushrooms boost this to a whole new perceptual level.

As I squirmed slightly to find a comfortable position, I heard the wooden piano chair crackling under me, as an undertone to the music I was playing. The dull thuds of the pedals and the high pitched knocks of the varnished keys added an organic structure to the melody of the strings. I was so lost in the experience, that it felt like being alone in a dark room. My fingers danced skillfully on the keys, playing only for myself, even forgetting that I was surrounded by other people on the stage beyond the beam of my spotlight. I only realized this, when my good friend's cello suddenly cried out with desperate sorrow. I followed her sound for a while with my piano, then fell silent, and let her have the full attention of the audience. The music nearly didn't matter. All I cared about was our friendship.

The concert faded to silence as the playlist ended, and I opened my eyes, finding myself quite sober, and alone in a dark room. Time to clean up the mess I made.

Footnotes:

*01: I picked those mushrooms and turned them into a stew, which my daughter liked so much that she kept mentioning it for several months. A little victory of parenthood.

*02: Interpreting the hands of the clock during a trip is sometimes challenging. This offers a possible explanation to why I so often remember full hours on the dot when checking the time during a trip. It seems that interpretation of time beyond the first digit may be hindered. This applies to both analog and digital clocks.

Later edit:

May 6th, same year. Few weeks after this mushroom experience I was driving on a dirt road in the mountains of north-west Mexico. My destination was a "mirador" (lookout point) next to a small village at the peak, where I planned to spend a night camping in my car. The area promised epic scenery, and enough botanical interest to stay there for longer than a single day. The lookout point turned out to be nonexistent, bulldozed down to a large flat dusty square. My luck took a bad turn there. As soon as I drove in, I spotted a young guy with military rifles, stepping out of a hiding place at the side of the area and walking towards me. Of course, running was not an option. The only way to avoid conflict was talking to him. So I pulled the parking brake, got out of the car, and greeted politely. Two others emerged to support the first guy, another one similarly armed, and the third holding handcuffs and grinning at me with a very evil mocking face. All right, so that's what I'm dealing with - I thought surprisingly calmly. Though this third guy pissed me off with his disrespectful attitude, at least he was comforting in a way. After all, being taken hostage is far better than being shot. The first guy seemed to be in charge, as only he talked during the encounter. Though with my rudimentary Spanish I couldn't understand most of what he was saying, he clearly wanted to search my car, and instructed me to open the back. Nothing there, only clothes and food. I was harmless.

Not acting frightened at all played a great part in winning their trust and appreciation, and for this I have to be thankful to my previous mushroom trip, which gave me confidence that it's possible to deal with these people. It was actually surprising that they didn't try to take my money or anything else. It would have been easy to do so. Maybe I did earn their respect, facing the three of them calmly. Since the conversation wasn't progressing anywhere, I was eager to finish the interaction and get out of there. This was the only part that scared me; the thought that at some point I'd have to express my intention to leave, and find out if they'd let me. I tried to say as factual as I could that I'm leaving, and when the boss didn't react to me getting back in the car, the handcuff guy lost interest and started walking back towards their camp. I left the midador behind so fast, that my memory barely registered the events. On the way down from the mountains I was stopped by a heavily armed police squad, who thought that I was out of my mind for being there. They warned me to be very careful because the area was dangerous. As if I didn't know already.

Exp Year: 2024	ExpID: 118646
Gender: Male
Age at time of experience: 40
Published: Mar 14, 2026	Views: Not Supported
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Mushrooms - P. cubensis (66) : Personal Preparation (45), General (1), Alone (16)