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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