Huasca Brew (Syrian Rue & A. confusa)
Citation: Xinbulao. "A Feast of Fools: An Experience with Huasca Brew (Syrian Rue & A. confusa) (exp99508)". Erowid.org. Jul 1, 2016. erowid.org/exp/99508
Dosage per person: 30~35g fresh Acacia confusa root bark from a mature tree, taken just before flowering. 4~5g Syrian rue.
Tech: the root bark was ground using a coffee grinder, boiled with mineral water and lemon juice for 3~4 hours and filtered. Repeated once. Stored in freezer for one week.
I knew it was going to be full on: within 30 minutes of drinking the brew (just remembering the taste as I write this makes me nauseous) closed-eye visuals of colorful geometric patterns were coming on strong. 10 minutes later I was staggering outside to puke in the koi pond, a bit disappointed that I hadn’t been able to hold it for longer.
I stayed outside, bracing myself against the cold wind that had howled all the way down from Mongolia. Menacing grey clouds scudded across the night sky, blanketing out the December full moon. The fine collection of indigenous and non-native trees that I’d admired on previous visits to the garden were now anything but huggable: one brooding, spiky-leafed sentinel at the gate screamed silently and clawed at me every time I staggered past. Snake-like objects flashed through the undergrowth. A waist-height bush transformed itself into a snarling boar’s head, replete with huge tusks, barking at the small quivering teddy bear of a tea bush in front of it: I later hallucinated a female figure standing in the zhanzhuang qigong posture right next to them. The palm trees were crashing against the tin roof of the cabin, adding to my discomfort, although my companions later said that they’d enjoyed the power that the storm had brought to the occasion. My wife convinced me to stay inside as I was reeling around like a drunk but sitting didn’t help. Fear crept over me like a clinging vine: I’d gone into the trip with lingering doubts about whether or not it actually was an Acacia root that I’d dug up (I’d only had online photos to go by) and now I became convinced that I’d poisoned the three of us. Time slowed….and slowed more…. and my agony intensified: at one point I was ready to kill myself rather than face a life of insanity inside an institution. I started babbling to try and bring myself down, incoherent nonsense that my wife recorded and took delight in playing back to me the next day.
But then, about 3 hours into the trip in the middle of a Sean Washburn track - with Jez still kneeling forehead-to-mat in humble prostration - I began to feel that we were recreating a powerful ancient ritual and sensed an awesome presence in the room.
I began to feel that we were recreating a powerful ancient ritual and sensed an awesome presence in the room.
My wife said something amusing and we laughed together. I could feel myself beginning to come down. The fear faded quickly and the desire to express myself came on strongly. I started dancing quietly, rejoicing in the feeling of having survived a close call with death. Love for my wife spilled from my every pore. WJ sat up and we started up a conversation. We found that we had something in common: she’d felt like she’d just received a message from her elder sister - who had committed debt-induced suicide many years before - whereas I’d had a message from my dead brother during an intense ketamine trip in 2002. Jez – still prostrate after 4 hours – mumbled something inaudible, the only thing he said all night. He later recalled floating somewhere in space, trying to anchor himself down with the sound of my mutterings, and having conversations with Jesus and Gautama Buddha, but not much else.
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