How Do I explain…

via Daily Prompt: Atmospheric

I wasn’t sure if I was ready to experience a DMT trip for the first time. My close friend I was with ordered enough of the substance from the dark web to stash away for moments like these. Sunday night was closing to an end after a exhaustive workout together. I dreaded the thought of another mundane work-week that resembled the week before – and the one before that – and the past year that seemed to be a blur. We fell into the “what and the why” type of conversation. We’ve had these talks more than the formulaic individual. I expressed my concerns of living in a rut; forgetting our human nature of seeking purpose and meaning.

“What did you take away from your DMT trip?” I asked.

We bantered back and forth, and I wasn’t hearing what I hoped for. Unable to get through to me, he called a mutual friend, an “expert” on the drug, who has fascilited the journey for many first time users. He answered the phone and coincedentally was in the neighborhood.

Now, I hadn’t agreed to anything at this point and I don’t fall for pure pressure. It’s always good hanging around the guy, so I welcomed his company. During our discussion I began to feel nervous. A visceral sign that I might follow through. If not, that anxiety would appear every time this subject would come up again. Also, I could not live with being afraid of exploring a realm accessible in the mind.

I’ve used LSD and Pcylicibin before. When explaing to someone who has never used psychedlics, a common hinderance between us who’ve used and those who haven’t, is that they think of the drug doing something to them rather than the drug allowing¬†access to what is possible.

It was about time I tried DMT. I don’t know my purpose in life, but I am searching. My heart sank to pit of my stomach. I ran upstairs to use the bathroom. When I came back down, music was playing, the lighting was appropraite, an incense burning. My friend approached me on the couch holding a pipe packed with marijuana and DMT sprinkled on top. Before handing it to me, he went into what sounded like an elevator pitch clearly practiced before. I was sold. I felt at ease. There was no better time but then to take the pipe, put it to my mouth, and take a rip.

As instructed, I gently brought the flame back and forth directly above the DMT so it melted down, making it burn evenly with the pot. A harsh taste hit the back of my throat. “Again, Cole.” He ordered. I hit it again. My shoulders tensed up. My face turned clamy. I felt shivers run throughout my body as the room began to vibrate and dance. It was a familiar feeling and so were the visuals. “Again, Cole. Crusify the ego. Let go.”

After the forth hit, I layed back onto the couch cushions and closed my eyes. I placed my hands on my bare chest. I was warm. The music became apart of me. Fluttering lyrics and geometrical pattern syncronised together. Unexplainable data seemed to be dowloading into my consciousness; similar to a computer linking with a network, I suppose. I was convinced to be inside of a portal inside the universe. I thought of myself as a math problem being solved; an intelligent form of its own doing the homework for me. There was a sense of “I,” but “I” seemed to be going somewhere. At that moment, I reached a state that was in definition, atmospheric.

 

 

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