DOSE:

7.15 g

oral

Mushrooms - P. tampanensis

(fresh)

BODY WEIGHT:

89 kg

trip #14 - 2024.12.31. - Love letter to the past

substance: Psilocybe tampanensis sclerotium
dose: 7.15g fresh weight
user: 41yo, ♂, ~89kg

What better way to end the year than with a mushroom trip? On this occasion I have a special treat in store: the single largest truffle I ever cultivated, Psilocybe tampanensis aka the Philosopher's Stone, a 4cm golden-brown monster, weighing 7.15g. Though it's quite dense and dehydrated after sitting and growing in the basement for 8 months, it's still alive and healthy. I know, because a white fluffiness appeared on its surface in the few days since the harvest. It senses being detached from the old grain, and started looking for fresh food. I almost feel sorry. I place it in a cup, and pour about 100ml of hot water over it to cook the enzyme which would otherwise decrease its potency...

While I waited for the tea to cool, I sat down in front of the fireplace. Outside it was dark, frozen, foggy night. The kind of bone chilling gloom which forces people to retreat to the comfort of their homes, not even to look out through the window. Inside it was comfortably warm. My family left for a few days, so I had the entire house all for myself. The lights were off, except for the red glow of the dancing flames in the fireplace, and I sat in silent darkness; preparing mentally for the experience to come, while reflecting on feelings and events of years long past. There were so many issues I wanted to close, thoughts to clear, hurts to heal. Ah, that desperate loneliness again, that insatiable desire to be seen and understood.

I came to the realization that all my recent romantic interests were shallow and meaningless. "Recent"; that is the last decade or so. Ever since my marriage started going downhill. Ever since I gave up believing that dreams can come true. Ever since I changed idealism to momentary compensation. Physical desires, escapism, replacements of replacements of replacements who in the end never measure up to the Original. What I'm in love with is an imagined ideal who does not exist. A mental construct which I'm so eager and ready to project on any cute face and pretty pair of eyes. A body of flesh which seems desirable for the sole reason that there's no better available. Females who I wish were worthy, but they're not. I'm in love with the concept of love. I fantasize being young again and falling madly in love. I daydream the impossible... until I look into the mirror and have to face reality; that I had my chance, and it's gone. Will I feel lonely for the rest of my life? Am I destined to be forever alone in my mind?

As I pondered all this, an old memory surfaced from some dusty old memory storage in the back of my mind. Not that I ever forgot her. It's just that I don't bring up this memory too often; out of respect maybe. I was 16 when we met, and it was love at first sight, albeit unrequited. My first real love; the Original. I was ready to spend the rest of my life with her, and didn't understand why at age 13 she didn't know how to react to my approach. I must have been too far ahead for my age. Anyway, I'm not going to tell the whole story, just wanted to lay down the foundations. We would have been a good match. Similar to me, she had a reclusive personality; no social media or internet presence whatsoever. Consequently, as we drifted apart on our journey through life, she disappeared into the big wide world without any trace. Now it's been over two decades since our ways parted. On top of that, I only ever had a single photo to remember her; a low quality, artistic portrait. Suddenly, I wanted to see her! It was far too long since I last looked at that picture, so I brought it up on my computer screen.

Meanwhile the mushroom tea was ready. At 9PM I drank the liquid, then piece by piece slowly chewed the truffle over the next hour or so. The plan was to get over the peak of the trip between 10:30 to 11:30PM, so that the new year fireworks at midnight wouldn't find me in a vulnerable state. A soft ambient playlist provided the background to guide my emotions. I never do psychedelics without music; it's not safe for me. Even the few seconds gap between tracks sometimes threatens with the possibility of imminent mental disaster unless the music continues.

I kept looking at the picture. A portrait is a powerful concept. It is the representation of a life, a human being. It's the way somebody wanted to be seen and remembered. Even more so in her case, as this is the only picture of her I know of to ever be uploaded to the internet, this digital representation of our world.

I couldn't see her face well. Not because of the drug; it was too early for that, but because the photo was digitally scrambled as a disintegrating mosaic. I guessed the technique used during its editing, and thought that part of it was reversible, so I opened a photo editor and started working. It was a tedious, slow process; cutting out tiles and moving them back to their original place. Her eyes served as reference points, as they were replicated several times, and thereby showed the amount of shifting applied between various layers. Finally my fingers got shaky, and it became harder and harder to concentrate. I left the half repaired photo covering the screen, and sunk into the soft couch, staring at her as if nothing else existed.

"Why is your face falling apart? What are you trying to say?" - I asked. There had to be a message behind this artwork, but I couldn't find it. Was she struggling with something? What sort of emotional pain was expressed through this broken but still amazingly beautiful portrait. Was it a cry for help? An artwork draws attention, but at the same time it hides her face. Showing herself, but still invisible. I wondered about the meaning of this paradox.

The source photo was taken sometime after we knew each other in high school. It showed her around 20 years old I would estimate; at the peak of her life. She rose from the smelter of childhood, left behind this one perfect moment, then vanished like a ghost. Maybe it's lucky that I only have this single picture, so this is how I'll remember her forever; at her best, without breaking the magic of youth.

I watched the stark light glowing on her face, skin like white marble, a tiny birthmark here and there, a loose strand of hair casting the faintest line of shade across her cheek. Sensuous lips, almond eyes, a ray of sun refracted in one of her lenses, making her iris burn with brown fire, the other one in shadow, almost black like a bottomless well. She was too good for me. She was too good for anyone. That's her tragedy. An angel like this is not for lowly physical pleasures, thus she's condemned to loneliness... just like I am without her light in my life.

Her eyes seemed cold and merciless. Her eyes seemed warm and understanding. Her eyes reached into my soul, as if the picture was truly returning my mesmerized gaze. Staring into someone's eyes has an intensity like nothing else. It is the realization that you are looking, and a mind equal to your own is looking back. The realization that just as you see, you are being watched; that there's another angle beside your own to observe reality. "How did the world look like from your point of view? And how did I appear in it?"

My thoughts were fast, and swirling with emotion, but not in an unnatural way. Actually, I didn't feel any sign of the drug kicking in, despite the progress of time... that is, until I moved! Laying motionless on the couch and staring straight into her eyes I had the impression that the truffle was ineffective, and maybe I could continue with the photo restoration. But as soon as I moved even just a little, the intensity was almost overwhelming. Electric charge buzzing in my brain; high voltage, and a sense of danger. This started me, as I realized that only she stood between the realms of balance and chaos. It was her face and the love I felt for her that suppressed all else. I was frozen with fear, grounded by the eyes of my guardian angel until I stayed still. I was trapped; unwilling to risk any further activity, though in a heroic attempt I rushed to the fridge to grab an ice pack, before spreading out on the couch again in front of the safety of her face.

I recalled the last time I saw her; bumping into each other unexpectedly at a zebra crossing in a big city. She asked if I still recognized her, and I thought what kind of a question is that? If only she knew, if only she could understand that I gave her my heart when I was still nearly a child, and that this bond holds me as long as I live.

In my head I replayed the scene; as it happened, and how it could have been. Rapturous emotions blurred out the crowd in my mind's eye, until there was nobody else, just the two of us. I held her, spun her around, and she was sobbing happily in my arms, because our paths almost passed by in vain, but in the end we found salvation. Her face was a mess, and I wiped off her tears. She had to call her mom on the phone to tell the big news, that from now on everything would be all right, because she found that guy whom she almost lost. The scene almost moved me to tears as I lay alone in the darkness, frozen motionless on the couch, and for a moment there was no sadness in the world. The fabric of reality was set right as the division between two twin souls ceased. I instinctively knew, that if things played out like this, that photo of her wouldn't be fragmented.

If there were any fireworks at midnight, I didn't pay attention. The experience progressed in a slow descent to about 2AM, and now I know what really matters in life, and what doesn't. There were no visuals, only warm emotional nostalgia for things that were, and things that could have been. Moments lost in time, like tears in rain.

Exp Year: 2025	ExpID: 118652
Gender: Male
Age at time of experience: 41
Published: Aug 29, 2025	Views: Not Supported
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Mushrooms - P. tampanensis (133) : Relationships (44), Preparation / Recipes (30), Alone (16)