Musings of a Psychedelic Inch-Worm Ch. 1: The introduction to the mind of a Pisces on psychedelic mushrooms

Musings of a Psychedelic Inch-Worm Ch. 1: The introduction to the mind of a Pisces on psychedelic mushrooms

I LIIIIIIIVVVE…that’s a Mushu reference. Get it? Little dragon (cuz he doesn’t do that tongue thing), Eddie Murphy…Mulan?? CMON! I’ll make a man outta you? (the only Disney song that a metal version needs to be composed. Ever.) Know what? Don’t worry about it. It’s not important.

tell ya what is important. It’s extremely important that I attempt to communicate to you beautiful people my first ever trip on psychedelics.

Do I have your attention? excellent. (by the way “fish on psychedelic mushrooms = Pisces (me) indulging in opening my mind’s eye for the first time) cuz that’s exactly what the fuck it was.

Now, for those of you who haven’t X’ed out of your window in disgust, I will admit that I have experienced a revelation of sorts (as most drug induced realities are wont aid in) Almost everything that I was told about drugs was negative and toxic and only ever that they’re mind-alerting (yes), dirty (sometimes), disgusting (sometimes) pieces of expensive (yes) shit (not always) that will ruin your life upon indulging in them even once (neRP. no.)
I was also under my unfortunately impressionable mind’s impression that all the people ever to do/deal in/deal with/hang around/ think about drugs are not worth my time (muthafuckin’ LIES) LLIIIEEEEES. lies.

The truth that I have discovered is that (like ANY.FUCKING.THING) the individual should moderate their drugs and the usage of them to make that individual feel the things they feel. Everyone has their drug (don’t act like you don’t) and any thing can be a drug. Food. Sugar. Alcohol. Exercise. Gas Fumes. Meth. Heroine. Acid. Pharmaceuticals. Cocaine. Weed. I could go on. SEX. but I’m not gonna. PAIN. k I’m done. But do you see what I’m getting at? Some drugs, of course, (and not without a little over-exaggeration) are much more harmful than others, and I’m not saying that the continued usage of these drugs is healthy; (as with any fuckin’ drug) some even destroy lives.
What I’m getting at is that Open-mindedness is the key, my people. There’s more to say on it. There have been countless book written about the separate experiences (most likely while high as fuh) that certain drugs do for people. Read one. It’ll make you…
*gasp*
gawd forbid
…think…? (sh, the government is listening [you’ll have to catch me first mutherfuckers])

I’ll start, I suppose, as one does, at the beginning. And when I get to the end, I’ll stop. But only until the next time. Because, *sigh*, and I apologize to the people who would not advocate my experimental drug usage, but I will be doing this again. (author’s note: having written much more than anticipated and finally finished, I will warn you that the italicized narrations are meant to illustrate as close as humanly possible, the interactions in reality and in my mind that had happened, combining them into a story that I can only hope is easy to follow. My compliments and gratuitous appreciation to Mr. Lewis Carroll for having set this illustrious example)

The spiritual experience was far to fulfilling to limit to only once. Let’s being then, shall we…
Kava, from my exceedingly basic understanding, is a root that can be diluted in a tea and drunk in order to ease anxiety. A natural muscle relaxing agent. Something meant to ease one such as myself into his first trip. The root also doesa crackerjack job of igniting ones metabolism while simultaneously tasting like a pair of pitbull testicles (a flavor I’ve never sampled, but I can imagine tastes something like an ounce of vermouth mixed with stale pickle juice…shit’s nasty). A truly toxic tasting beverage with magical properties, both mouth numbing, and anxiety reducing. The two cups of kava were then followed by 2 cups of mushroom tea and half a shot of orange juice that had been infused with mushrooms in a way that our ‘guide’ (a very good friend who claims this sort of shamanic spirituality to be his religion) essentially wrung out the rest of our drugs into the juice that naturally has chemical properties that amplify the potency. All this combined with an 8 hour fast both nutritionally and sexually would equal something that I was prepared…but entirely not ready for.

5 minutes or 332 hours (whatthefuck is time?)  later, I was grabbing onto the counter-top of our other dear friend’s kitchen, either bracing for impact or trying to stay on my feet, my mind wasn’t sure all it knew to think was that I was “taking off” a sensation for all you non-druggo-peeps known as “the come up” (as opposed to “the come down” naturally).

My brain was swimming. A sensation I’m unfortunately quite familiar with, and consequently, a sensation I utterly detest. I cannot stand (in fact it makes me angry sometimes) when my equilibrium is offset, especially if the cause is drug induced (which I’m quite aware I have myself to blame, shut up). I promptly grabbed my notebook and pen  (having previously made the conclusion that I was going to document my trip, completely unaware that I would remember each kaleidoscopic moment) exclaiming that “This is stupid (and) I’m sitting in a corner.”

That advertisement was the last thing I wrote down amidst the laughter of my friends who were also on their come up before I realized that I didn’t want to hold anything, anymore…ever. And so I sat. In the corner of a little kitchen in a little apartment in Hollywood. Flanked either side by the cathartic 101 freeway and the beautiful, yet suspicious Scientology Celebrity Center. I sat and my mind swam deeper into itself.

[After a sabbatical, it’s incredible how vivid the experience still is]

One of my favorite people joined me on the floor of her kitchen. From my perspective, her beautiful face drooped and melted, then returned as she smiled. She told me to experience the lights.
I looked at her like I was crazy and put down my notebook. This, I realize only now, was an essential step to take. As I’ve said before, I do not enjoy being impaired by substances (a detail that my favorite girl had the wherewithal to point out). So realizing, and having the ability to finally let go, and allow my mind to swim was incredibly liberating. Liberating indeed.

(Colloquially) the “come up” I experienced was something akin to a rocket’s lift-off, through the atmosphere, into space. At the time I was unaware, but being completely aware now my personal “come up” was something closer to being shot into the water in a rocket propelled submarine. Shot airborne from a dry dock onto the stormy sheen of the ocean. Exploding through the waves and white-caps in a flurry of bubbles, and smooth friction that only the sensation of traveling underneath a body of water can provide.

A loss of gravity (or at least the sense of it). Down was up, left might have been right, and the only way I could think to maneuver myself was by slinking on the hardwood using my heels and butt like some kinda upright, psychedelic inch-worm.

(“isn’t it sad,” thought the inch-worm as he slunk about, “to have feet and have no desire to use them?”)

After which I had the clear, concise, and not-at-all nonsensical thought that I understood why people roll themselves in butter (…what? oh, as I’m tripping balls I STILL manage to make pop-culture references to myself about things that may or may not be widely known within the interwebal-hemispheres…)
(“but I get it!” thought the inch-worm, triumphantly. “I finally understand why people would wrap themselves in a sleeping bag, roll around in butter, and slide around the kitchen floor!” The inch-worm was so wrought with exuberance, that he, himself, slunk about jovially.) 

Turns out, I’m an asshole. (whothefuck knew?) On the back end of my ‘come-up’ I was not very nice to a couple of the more sober spectators of our party due to reasons not quite known to me other than the fact that I am, in fact, an asshole. I’m not going to ask for forgiveness but I will say considering the chemical reactions happening in my brain…the content of my outbursts was simply myself amplified.

(“is that her?” asked the inch-worm, concerned. “Yes, inch-worm,” replied the Voice. “is she crying?” “Yes, inch-worm, she is, but it’s a happy cry,” assured the Voice. “does she need me?” asked the inch-worm, not convinced. “No, inch-worm, she’ll be just fine,” replied the Voice, patiently. And something about that answer comforted the inch-worm, who then slunk back to his place in the corner to watch the shapes.)  

I didn’t quite know what to do with myself as my brain dove deeper into itself, so on the kitchen floor. I inverted my body, laying on the floor and crossing my legs to rest against the cupboards closest to the floor and contented myself to close my eyes. Geometrically perfect shapes and colors burst against the backs of my eyelids, each more pleasant than the last as I still dove deeper into the ocean of my mind. I understood almost immediately why some artists created the things they created…because, in short, they were tripping their faces off.

The only thing I wanted to do at that point was to explore the ocean inside my head. I was on the verge of of coming into my own, when our friend (and guide, if you will) a man whom I love, invited me, and with the best of intentions, to stand up and experience the wall hangings in one of the bedrooms.
The absolute last thing I wanted to do, in fact.
I was of a mind to yell and curse at him for attempting to slow my progression into myself. A compulsion that may also be due to how my brain-type functions under stress. Solemnly, I was stressed, I can admit. My mind was experiencing a release of chemicals that it had not known was ever going to take place and I was going to handle it on my own. I managed to answer with a smile and a shaking of my head.

(“Stand?” said the inch-worm, scoffing to himself, “in my inebriated state? No, thank you, please.”)

Suddenly, the room that we had cultivated to be our sanctuary became too bright, and the few people, who, to their credit, were speaking lowly, became too loud and I needed to escape. My submarine was diving deeper and it needed to be darker. I realize now that in my rantings about things being too bright and too loud I was really referring to the big picture. The world…there’s too much noise, everything wants to be heard and advertised and bought and shown off. I wanted way from all of those things.

(“It’s too loud in here,” said the inch-worm to the Voice. “do you need me to turn down the volume?” asked the Voice, concerned. “no,” said the inch-worm, “that’s not quite what I mean…” the Voice was confused, but let the inch-worm slink about anyway)

I found solace in the bathroom. As it happens, the bathroom of a 2 bed/1 bath apartment in Hollywood is not the place to be when the are 7 people occupying it, 5 of which are experiencing the distinct sensation of attempting to occupy their own mind as well as a space in the world (let alone an apartment. Psychedelics are a hell of a thing, man).

(“inch-worm, could you move, please?” she asked, politely. “I don’t think I can” said the inch-worm. “Of course you can, inch-worm, don’t be silly,” said the Voice, smiling.)

After a bit of mild coercion, I relocated to the bedroom that, at first, had the lights on (an ailment that any room might experience, that can be remedied simply by flipping the switch…who. knew.) and remembered why I had slunk to the bathroom in the first place. Attached to the wall was a blue night light of a classic crescent moon and star (what I originally thought to be a wave, go figure, Pisces…shutup)

(“Inch-worm, would you like to move to our room?” asked the Voice. “We could even turn off the lights and cover the windows.” “That would be delightful, I think,” replied the inch-worm slinking over to the darkness. “Can I bring the blue light?” asked the inch-worm. “Of course, inch-worm,” replied the Voice, smiling.)

I was finally where I wanted to be; where everyone wasn’t (the first of my revelations). Not that I didn’t want their presence, of course. I love my people. It’s just…I’m extremely introverted. You wouldn’t be able to tell because I’m also moderately charming and mildly articulate in social situations. Something of an anomaly, me. After those interactions, however, I want absolutely nothing to do with anyone. At all. Ever….until I get invited out again (which totally happens sometimes. Besides the point). I wanted to be away, but still close by. I wanted to be in my ocean observing everyone on top from under the surface. But not yet, there was exploring to be done.

The darkness was delicious.
Not a pitch, or even something that was ominous, the nightlight saw to that. The crescent and star cast a liquid, blue light on the ceiling that came and went in flows as if I was, in fact, a fish swimming deeper into an abyss that desired to be explored.

(“Shall I shut the door, inch-worm? asked the Voice accommodatingly. “No, please, thank you,” replied the inch-worm as he settled, finally, onto the floor to squirm about contentedly. “But if you would keep it open just a crack?” “Of course, inch-worm,” the Voice smiled)

I laid on the floor and closed my eyes, moving and flowing and feeling the music playing in the background. Upon closing my eyes and reveling in my space amongst the delicious darkness, I experienced colors and creatures and motion and warmth. I remember very vividly feeling the kind of warm that one feels when their body is submerged in a pool, acclimated to the water.

I flowed and swam deeper until I reached the bottom of my trench, it was there, in my mind’s eye, that tentacles appeared. They flowed with me. Encouraging, not menacing. I don’t particularly remember being curious as to their origin but I followed them anyway. What they led to was an entity, one of four that stood out to me that evening. This massive kraken that invited me into the corner of my ocean that it occupied. It spoke to me, more a telepathy than actual articulation (cephalopods don’t exactly have mouths).

(“Welcome inch-worm, you’ve finally made it here,” said the Squid. “What do I call you?” asked the inch-worm curiously, “‘The Squid’ seems a little mundane,” “You may call me whatever you wish,” said the Squid, it’s eyes closed slightly, as if in a mouthless smile.” I think,” thought the inch-worm, “I think I’ll call you The Monolith.” The Squid thought a moment then its eyes smiled again. “Then The Monolith I will be.” “I have quite the amount of questions, probably more than I can think of right now,” admitted the inch-worm. “Don’t think about those,” replied The Monolith, “instead savor this place you’re in, explore it. Then mediate and return.”)

And so I did. I gazed upon that kraken for a few moments more until I let myself wander my mind. This is when a few other entities in my mind made themselves apparent to me (and I would be very curious to see if they appear in future trips also) I remember 3 plus The Monolith. One was a beautiful, shapely, redheaded woman with blue skin a red lips, another was a three eyed Siamese cat (I know, cliche, but fuck man, I didn’t think it up on purpose and the last was a little sprite, that was only a beautiful dot (which I would later come to find was manifested through little more than the reflection of the blue nightlight on the underside of a spoon’s handle, hanging out of a bowl, that had been left on the bookcase…curious) It was only a beautiful reflective speck, but for more than a moment that speck was my universe. And as I explained, I would be curious to see if these entities returned to me. (I wish I could draw)

There were themes that coincided very much with how I conduct myself that I was unaware of until my being was amplified through psychedelics, the first and most prominent being my hands, They flowed like I was improvising some sort of contemporary water choreography and they wouldn’t stop. Not even after I left my ocean. They were incredibly flamboyant throughout, which led me to consider, subconsciously, how I conduct myself, there are times where I find I exude a bit of a sassiness that can only be described as flamboyant. My hands made sense.

The quiet, and the darkness came as one beautiful encompassing entity. Something that I always knew I would relish in, but wasn’t aware of just how at-home I would feel surrounded by a soft, opaque, blackness and a little blue light. I believe it was the combination of the beautiful darkness and the hour(s) long musical track that brought to the places that this inch-worm affectionately refers to as “His Ocean.” The deal with this Ocean in particular is that all who enter have to be quiet. Any and all are allowed, they just have to be quiet.

(“Inch-worm, can we come in?” asked his friends. “Of course, my loves,” said the inch-worm pleasantly, “Everyone is welcome.” And everyone played in the ocean. She stopped and had a thought. “Inch-worm?” “Yes, Darling?” “I love your mind.”  “Thank you Darling.” and the inch-worm let his hands flow in the water of his Ocean as the others played.)

 

I have found that I have significant ties to the ocean and its dark wonders. But this is where I’ll leave you for now. Thanks for listening, until we meet again.

(editors note: This post is currently unedited, ain’t no one got time fo dat)

Cheers, beautiful people,
TOSWG

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