DPT & Cannabis - Meets the spirit being of the drugs
Type of Spiritual Experience
Ego death without help - he is lucky he came out of it without brain damage and mental problems like paranoia - or maybe he didn't, we will never know
A description of the experience
Extract from ‘Psychoreal’ (Through the Eye of a Needle) - DPT & Cannabis - by Nuages Gris source EROWID
Well, I did the high dose. I tripled the amount used for my first experiment. The trip took place in my bedroom starting at midnight. I snorted two lines but I was feeling little after twelve minutes, and I didn't seem to be coming up. This is the first time I've tried DPT without being on cannabis already, so I was having trouble recognizing the onset. I snorted another line of the same size as the first two.
I would estimate that at this point, I was on anywhere from 80-120mg. In for a penny, in for a pound, I thought. I smoked a little weed. Almost immediately after toking, I felt the first two lines kicking in. Stupidly, I got nervous and started worrying that I'd done too much. It was going to be another 'more than I bargained for' trip. Even before it kicked into high gear, I was going into emergency-mode in a desperate effort to soothe myself: 'Hoooold on, hold on. It's okay. You'll be alright. You're not going to die. You're not going to freak out.' I knew it was all bullshit, these assurances. I disgustedly waved them off as my room became a funhouse of living furniture and breathing walls. This was the big fucking leagues, and no assurance was going to make any kind of good olde comforting human order from this sweeping hallucinatory hurricane. I was falling into pure novelty. This is what it meant to enter the higher dimension. I had to leave my paradigms at the door - all of them. My current model would not work, my past models would not work, my future models would not work. All was hallucination. Soothing myself here was like trying to plug a leaking submarine with my pinky.
During the ride up, the power of the trip seemed like an omnipotent force (oh my god, anything can happen) with its own inscrutable motives. It could kill me, it could make me immortal. But I had no control over it. My attempts to take control became screaming cognitive dissonances as I struggled to dig up a SELF to take control. The confusion was intense - this flickering sense of self was an ambiguity as to where my intent existed, or if it existed at all.
I could not face hallucinations. I could not keep my body's eyes or my mind's eye focused on anything because it would quickly start to scare me. Any visual was possible - anything could become anything. This freedom terrified me. I was learning volumes on my unseen insecurities. I thought of Leary's 'comfortable chaos'. I tried hard, but I could not be comfortable in it. It had gotten far beyond an aesthetic trip. The hallucinogenic possibilities were endless but way down the list of priorities and not granted much attention or appreciation. My self-identity as artist was immediately challenged and finally shattered - I felt the synthetic alien intelligence was somehow offended by my attempts to use this experience for artistic purposes. The trip had little if any respect for art - the irony being that it was showing me more art per pixel of perception than I'd ever seen in my life.
I tried to think of it as an entity, but I found that hard since I was dealing with a lab creation, not a plant. I could not connect to the gaian mind, not even synthetically. Nevertheless, it did seem to have a character. It hid itself in kaleidoscopes, in cognitive telemetry, in emotions and stimuli, in synchronicity and auditory phantasms, only to pop out when I least suspected it and assert itself and its views.
Slowly me and it collided in a crunching wreck and began to claw at each other's reality, clinging, destroying, intertwining in an ill-conceived sado-masochistic tangle. We couldn't reconcile with each other. My ego was taken and twisted, reformed into a thousand things at the whim of the alien force possessing me. …………..
Perversely, it snapped to eastern mysticism. I bargained with the universe, the alien, the self, whatever it was. I said I will do whatever you want, just don't hurt me – let my hang on to my sanity – let me stay out of the nightmare. I will be passive in all this, I will be the yin, I will not impose my will on things….
But somehow this was false, because I could not REALLY let go. I CLUNG to my role as yin and refused to take charge of anything. The entity said to me: “Look at you. You invoked me, so listen to what I have to say: look at your shit. You are a coward. You can't escape from your cowardice when the alien is flanging you outside yourself, to become a massive cast of transitory selves.”
This had a definite CHARACTER to it. I wasn't being filled with a complete void, the void had a face - an alien insectile face. It was hard edged. It was magical, but more like alien-induced holographic magic (which is sufficiently advanced technology), not the gnomish fairyland magic of the mushroom.