DOSE:

3.5 g

oral

Mushrooms

BODY WEIGHT:

150 lb

This was written immediately following my first psychedelic experience four years ago. It's sort of piecemeal, and I've added a couple notes, largely because I feel I grossly misinterpreted what I was experiencing, having no models for comparison and no time to comprehend. The notes are in brackets.

________________________
The first thing I noticed was the illusion the light was creating of everything breathing [no, the light was not creating this illusion]. Outside, it seemed as though the rocks and soil were constantly growing. I became visually aware of the constant updates in my mental process. In my mind was a mental picture of the rock I was looking at. I projected this mental image onto the one I was perceiving and realized that my mental image lacked details. The details were present in the actual image, of course, and as I became more aware of them one by one they would appear to grow on the rock one by one [I don't think this is at all what was happening. Having tripped many times since this experience, I've come to the tenuous conclusion that while psychedelics attenuate and enhance our senses, they also embellish them. I think the mushroom breathing is a combination of both, probably more to do with perceiving the eye/sensory apparatus itself than an actual truth about the world]. This was interesting, but it was also cold out. The world seemed incredibly and increasingly big, and I felt a strong urge to deal with things on a simpler level.

My co-tripper E and I returned to my dorm room. I had noticed how tall I am, and felt an urge to be smaller. Sitting on the floor, I became aware how much space was beneath my bed and under my desk. It was incredible. Space I had been taking for granted suddenly seemed full of possibility. I sat down next to my guitar amp and gear, and became fascinated with my Dunlop crybaby wah pedal. I began running my fingers along the underside of the rocking platform. Meanwhile, I was having what appeared to be several simultaneous conversations with E. I felt like the boss of a company, with underlings beneath me communicating to the underlings beneath him. As we managers carried on a dialogue, our underlings communicated constantly basic sentiments to the effect of: I like you, I approve of you. These small reaffirmations occurred in what would normally have been imperceptibly small passages of time [again, I think this was more a product of sensory embellishment. I was experiencing STAGGERING time dilation, and it was becoming very difficult for me to process incoming data. During the peak of this experience I had significant difficulty processing 'the bigger picture' and was left taking in reality one tiny piece at a time]. I felt like I was jumping into and out of them, or that time was speeding up and slowing down, but not at will, not under my control. Aware of these fluctuations in time, I became mildly frightened but also fascinated. I ceased to understand time at all.

At some point, I found a penny. So many things seemed related to this penny (the coppery smell of human blood, the human need for symbols of barter, a series of other discovered pennies that I now doubt the existence of) that EVERYTHING must be related. Or so it seemed to me at the time.

My friend M came in, and I greeted her with a calendar in my hands. I didn’t know what day it was. I didn’t know how long I had been at college. M asked us to help her move things in her room, and I wondered if we weren’t still moving in, on the first day of school. I wondered if all the interactions I had had with all the new people I had met over the past couple months were the communications of the underlings working in micro-time to establish the friendships of several strangers in a new place moving furniture. This confusion did not come all at once, but began to slowly flood my mind. Here is what happened:

I left my room and saw E sitting in my chair in the hallway. Also in the hallway was M’s red mini-fridge. I had never seen it out of context before. I was only familiar with a 2-d object contained within M’s room, and the 3-d object in the hallway seemed larger than life. There were objects from M’s room strewn throughout the rest of the hallway. Another girl from my building was up there, T.

What happened next is a massive jumble to me now. M’s room was in constant flux, with items being moved back and forth and things becoming nearer and further away. It didn’t help that they were, in fact, moving furniture. This was causing absolute chaos to my mental map of my world. Anything that I was not looking directly at became invisible. I had no conception of what was behind me. I bumped into and tripped over things whose location I could no longer determine once I looked away from them. The location of objects was part of their identity. I was forced to constantly re-assess their identities as the locations changed. I found myself doing the same to people. E was here, M was there, T was leaving. A, who lived next door to me, was at a wedding. I stood in front of his door, feeling like his mind was contained within the room behind it, A was not here. He was at a wedding. This was part of his identity at that moment in time.

Meanwhile, who I was kept changing as well. M, E, and T either referred to me as a bother or somebody pleasant to have around. Reality became totally subjective. Whatever they said was true became true. Comments about a pair of pants would metamorphisize the pants. Comments about M would metamorphisize M. I would go from being on top of the world to a total waste of life, based on their appraisals of me. Yet, I was surprised by my own insistence on my own worth. This was new [I had been depressed and suicidal for about 5 straight years, at this point]. While things said to me often bothered me, I would eventually shrug them off. My ego was manifest in my shoulders.

The relationships between things became as crucial and real as the things themselves. I had never noticed them or their importance before. Everything was interconnected by proximal relationships, temporal relationships, familial relationships, etc, like a circulatory system of trillions and trillions of veins inside a gigantic organism.

I took out my wallet, amazed that my name was located conveniently on a card that I carried at all time. It helped, in a vague way, to cement my identity. My enthusiasm was not shared by everyone. I felt as though everybody around me was tripping too, even though they obviously weren’t.

A guy on my floor wandered into the bathroom. A connection suddenly sparked: water was everywhere. For the duration of the trip I was acutely aware of my sneezing, my running nose. Water was everywhere inside me, gushing. I could smell my own blood.

Somebody named B wandered through. At the time, I felt like I had never seen him before in my life, but he seemed like an amalgamation of people I knew. Now, I recognize him as a friend of friends. Somehow that knowledge and familiarity completely escaped me in the moment. As B greeted M and E (T had left by this point), I witnessed more micro-time. B’s character was established for me by micro-Es and micro-Ms insisting that B was ‘good shit’ for the benefit of the micro-mes. There is a chalkboard on my hallway, and somebody wrote on it “B was here. You asked for it, B.” The message felt unspeakably ominous. I was terrified.

I found myself asking ‘why’ a lot, and I felt like I was unlearning language. It was amusing, in a very childish way, but also disorienting. I’m sure I was irritating the living hell out of my companions, but I was genuinely puzzled by the way they communicated. Words like “there” and “thing” absolutely escaped me. There were a lot of theres around. There were a lot of things. It occurred to me how often people never refer specifically to the objects they are discussing, but gesture towards them with vague hand movements and ambiguous words. Maybe our micro-selves pick up the slack. They had left me stranded, however, and I was unable to understand conversation that did not refer specifically to the objects of discussion. This gap in articulation would come back later.

Maintaining my identity became a constant battle. I began to long for stasis. I wandered between M’s room and mine, a slave to desires in flux. I wanted things to be warmer, colder, louder, quieter. I also wanted my identity to remain a constant. I did not want people saying bad things about me, turning me into an inferior person. I felt as though everything said in the distance that I overheard was about me. I was paranoid, and wanted to sleep it off, but I knew that wasn’t possible. I wanted to be loved, and I wanted to find love and warmth wherever it was. My priorities rearranged themselves completely. I felt like dropping out of school and flying into the sunset with anyone who would join me. I wanted to go to exotic far-away places and fall in love with strange girls sipping fruit-flavored drinks and watching the sunset from a cabana on the beach. It seemed absolutely necessary and vital to me, yet I could not accomplish this quest. When I left my room, insecurities began to creep into me and overwhelm my mind.

I called my friend L, but was at a loss for things to say. The conversation was brief and awkward. From my bed I watched the last rays of the sun disappear behind the black outstreched veins of the campus’ ubiquitous trees. There seemed to be a shimmering aura around the treetops, and I was unsure whether the light was coming or going. Logic told me the light was going: the digital display on my alarm clock assured me it was 5 PM not 5 AM.

Around this point I wrote the following:

'We took mushrooms about 5 hours ago. Over the course of the day, I:

Wandered in the woods with E.

Watched as Molly reorganized her entire room.

I am trying not to qualify things. Whether something is good or bad becomes so because of the qualifiers I add to it later. I think. There is something else going on. Habits I have formed. My personality is breathing organically, like an ocean. I keep looking for anchors. Should I be writing poetry?'

I then began taping stray papers to the wall and writing on them. While doing this, I noticed a segment of the screenplay I’ve been working on. The page was covered with notes and criticisms and things I needed to fix. It overwhelmed me; this page was a portion of a project that may become a career at some in my life. A career was important. If I did not have a good career then strange girls on the beach would not like me. This was not the logic of my altered mind, but rather the logic of my natural [sober] mind. A thought process I took for granted most of my life now required scrutiny. As I wrote, things became more clear.

Paper Segment 1: A world with poetry is a world with meaning. Our world is a series of constantly changing, transmutating realities or relationships drawn together by poetry.

Segment 2: Poetry is how we communicate. We want there to be a relationship so we create one with words. Or an absence of words.

Segment 3: But when the words evaporate, so do the relationships. So we write it down. We write down “I love you.”

Segment 4: An anchor amidst an ever-changing sea. I feel like Hansel, but with no Gretel to share the experience with.

In retrospect, I was incredibly inarticulate. What I was feeling was that ‘poetry’ (a word I was linking directly to ‘metaphor’) was the language of relationships that people used to communicate with each other. By the very act of communicating, two people were creating another relationship: one that was between them. As soon as the sonic vibrations that constituted those spoken words fade, however, the relationship begins to dissipate. Chronicling our statements, transcribing our poems, creating written reminders suddenly became an event of massive importance. This was all the books I’d ever read or would read, all the songs I had heard and would hear, all the movies I had seen and would see. I had made a staggering realization, and I wanted to share it. But I was alone in my room…

My priorities became clear. Companionship is the most important thing in my life. It is what I strive for. But I was frightened of striking up conversations with strangers. What was I scared of? I was scared of being rejected, that my subjective identity would be reduced to nothing by other people’s opinions. But, I had experienced that in a wild, bizarre extreme already today, and I had survived it.

I wrote this on the computer:

'A poem is only half the equasion. Or one third. There must be me and somebody that I present the poem to: you. The poem is our common bond… I need to find you. It could be anybody. It could be somebody next door.

Music=forever=heaven=happiness

Music is also a convenient method for measuring time.

Time is also a convenient method for measuring music.

How convenient.'

I ventured out into the world once again. I walked to a girl named AJ’s room, which was one door away from mine. She was inside with Z (another hallmate who reminds me a lot of my younger brother), and with Z was a girl that I am 90% positive I invented (post-script: she was real. That’s sort of a relief). I had trouble looking directly at her, possibly because I knew she was the progeny of my imagination. She was, it seemed to me, dressed a lot like Z. I don’t recall being introduced to her, and I remember being curious what the relationship was between she and Z (friends, lovers, family, etc.) but saying nothing. I just wandered back into my room. I was not yet ready to leave.

In my room, I chronicled the following:

'AN EVENT THAT MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE HAPPENED TODAY NOVEMBER NINETEENTH OF 2005!!
I saw Z with a girl I did not recognize. She was dressed somewhat like him. I did not know what to say, and I did not know what the relationship between them was. I assumed there was a relationship between them because there was a relationship between Z and I. It is possible that all people are related thusly.

The contents of my pockets have been emptied on my desk. They may also be the contents of my head. My head may be my pockets. My head may also be this room. But my head is not my body. Yet my head is a part of my body. Why would I distance myself from my body? Why would I distance myself from me? What’s so bad about me?

Nothing, as far as I can tell. But other people may or may not have an opinion on that. I want to be in control of their opinion, but that isn’t possible. Other people have similar fears, our whole culture is based around those fears.

Insecurity is wanting to control somebody else’s opinion of you.'

All day I have been plagued by a vision of myself post-suicide. I have thrown myself from a fourth story window. I keep reframing the event (my suicide) in the hopes of changing the inevitable spectator’s opinions of the event (or of me).

If I commit suicide, then I become my suicide. If I become my suicide, then other people’s opinions of me become their opinions on my suicide. I am beset by the suspicion that my suicide will be frowned upon.

That suicide had been making its presence felt throughout the trip. At one point, I was looking out M’s window and I saw myself dead on the pavement after jumping out. I could smell my blood, and I ran my tongue over my shattered teeth. I now know what it tastes like to die. It seemed as though my suicide had happened in one of many concurrent realities. The impact of my death had sent shockwaves through all of my other realities.

I left my room, probably to escape the constant feeling of discomfort. Outside, it seemed like everyone on campus was a stranger. Aware that my behavior was extremely erratic, I was apprehensive about being in the public eye. I tried to maintain in front of the strangers. I doubt I did a good job. I somehow made my way to my friend C’ dorm in a neighboring quad, but walked past it, out of his building, and back into mine. I was far too nervous to deal with people face to face. On the door of my building was a reassuring red sign with a heart on it saying “Love saves lives.” Amen.

Back on my computer, I spoke briefly to G, a friend from home, on the instant messenger. I told him I was tripping and he said he would give me one word to think about. It was “racecar.” I wrote it down on a blank envelope, and added a reference point for my own benefit: 5:54 PM, 11/19/2005.

Armed with my new prize, I wandered back into AJ’s room. Z and his cohort were gone, if they had ever actualy been there.
“Yes.” she said. “A palindrome!”
She proceeded to give me an even better one. I now own a piece of paper that reads: “A man a plan a canal panama”.
I had no idea what to say to her.

Returning to my room, I felt a need for a plan. I proceeded to type one out.

'A Plan:

I am going to go to the Hampshire Tree [A campus landmark]. I will urinate there. It will be cold outside. I will return inside where it is warm.

A Spiritual Journey:

I am going to go to the Hampshire Tree. I will urinate there. It will be cold outside. I will return inside where it is warm.

..reframing….'

I grabbed my iPod, because it was my compass, put on my hoodie, and set out. I ran into Z again as I left. Our conversation was short, but it looked to me like he was tripping too. I told him of my plan, and ventured into the darkness.

Light became a problem in the woods. Initially, I couldn’t see very well, and kept walking into bushes. After getting a decent way into the woods, I turned around to look at the road. The streetlights seemed to be growing, and it occurred to me that they might be coming for me. I brushed that thought aside, and Tool’s cover of No Quarter played as I continued into the dark. Here, my mental map did not fail me. Once I got walking, I found my way to the Tree’s clearing by muscle memory.

My goal within sight, I became exhilarated. I sprinted the rest of the way to the Hampshire Tree. The song’s apex occurred as I penetrated the leafless brush surrounding the tree and urinated against the trunk. I sang along until the moment passed, and when it did I grabbed a young branch and ran back to the forest. I was euphoric. All the fear and discomfort from before had evaporated. The branch in my hand was a racecar. It was also a poem. I put it in my mouth, and ran my tongue along its tiny soft hairs. The texture was fascinating.

Walking through the door of my building, I was overwhelmed by the scent. As I ascended the stairs I noticed that every floor had a different smell. On the fourth floor, I ran into A who informed me of E’s location. E was with C and other friends of ours in C’s room. I walked to one of the many doors of his building and called him. Telling him which door to find me at proved impossible. I was still unable to grasp concepts of “there” and other vague terms, and I did not have a good enough mental map of the area to tell C where to find me. Informing him that I was near a small parking lot was the best I could do.

It just occurred to me that this college has as many parking lots as it has trees. An odd balance.

They let me in, and I stayed long enough to don sunglasses, put the branch in my mouth, and strike a pose. As I left, I stuck the branch in the garbage can. After a short walk, I returned to my room, stripped naked (so I could visually reaffirm my corporeal existence), and began this essay.

------------------------
Admittedly, it's very tedious in places. I chose not to edit too much because I was still tripping when I wrote it. Still tripping even though some 7 or 8 hours had passed. This was hands down the most intense mushroom experience I've had, and not just because it was my first time. The mushrooms were of an especially potent strain (sorry, don't know which). E, an experienced mushroom user, was just as thrown as I was. I've taken mushrooms many times since, and even took 7-8 grams at one point, and nothing came even close to the massive level of ontological disorientation I experienced on that first trip.

I got a lot of valuable lessons from this experience however. First of all, mushroom potency varies WIDELY. As a matter of policy, I now consume mushrooms very slowly and gradually. They come on quickly enough that I can usually sense what I'm getting into within the first 20 minutes, and can adjust the remainder of my dose accordingly.

Secondly, the Tao Te Ching became my Bible. I have read, re-read, and will continue to re-read the book since that experience, as it's the only literature I've found (save the Alan Watts canon) that accurately describes the subjective barrier between consciousness and reality.

Thirdly and perhaps most importantly, I started coming out of a five year long depression. I had been unable to find a social niche of any kind, the important women in my life were mean, vain and selfish, and I had dropped out of music school and given up my dreams of being a professional musician. I was more or less ready to die, and had no real desires other than to find some sort of deeper connection to anyone or anything. I had been desperately trying to find that connection in the opposite sex when my friend A began telling me about mushrooms. I was captivated by the possibility of discovering the connection I sought in a whole other manner (especially one featuring pretty colors).

As described in the experience itself, I became aware of how ridiculous it was that all I desired out of life was to run off with some woman to a tropical beach and escape reality. My subsequent mushroom experiences not only pushed me to find something meaningful in my immediate existence, but enabled me to find it in music (which I had thought was gone from me forever). Psilocybin encouraged me to sing when I felt I would never have a voice of my own. During my third mushroom trip, a year later, I realized I was happier in that moment than I had ever been in my life.

I can't chalk it ALL up to mushrooms. Tripping has shown me time and again that the dense web of causality has very few straight lines. However, they've helped in a huge way.

I still feel out of touch with, and oppressed by, most other human beings. I'm still mistrustful of romantic relationships. But I've also developed some incredible, warm, lasting friendships, something I was not capable of before these experiences.

As a final note, I do NOT recommend mushrooms for just anyone. Any drug effects anyone differently. Not everyone needs mind expansion. Not everyone needs to question the nature of their desires or their place in the universe. But from the moment mushrooms were described to me, I knew they were exactly what I needed, and my experiences with them continue to be rewarding. They have a remarkable and long lasting anti-depressant effect on my psyche, and are truly a valuable medicine. With the exception of DMT and a select few of my LSD experiences, most of the other psychedelics I have tried (various 2Cs, MDMA, salvia, LSA, and various tryptamine analogues) have not had any lasting positive effect on me that I can discern.

I apologize for cramming a retrospective on the end of an already agonizingly long report, but I want to make it clear how kind Psilocybin medicine has been to me. My mushroom experiences may be fun, but they are NOT about hedonism. They enable me to feel contentment in a world that, in all honesty, is horrendously fucked up.

Trip safely and respectfully.

Exp Year: 2008	ExpID: 80810
Gender: Male
Age at time of experience: 20
Published: Oct 10, 2022	Views: 400
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Mushrooms (39) : Various (28), Depression (15), Retrospective / Summary (11), General (1)