Lost Voyages

Mescaline Meltdown

A collaborative of Eagle of the North and Condor of The South ~This is a collaborative effort of two psychonautic partners embarking on a journey. Recorded by my psychonautic partner, Eagle of The North. The story entails moments of insights and moments of psychic resonance.

...The following are in the words of Eagle of The North circa 2009

From what I have in the notes recorded during the trip and memory, we’ll start with the walk, after drinking the sandy coughing cactus volcano liquid. Watch the world. Find within it what exists that becomes. Besides us and the cactus, there was another. October. Filling in the dark spaces of the night in between the trees and the fallen leaves, it was there and all around, with it’s gentle rain that has a notable difference from last month’s showers.

There was a house. A very simple house – one story and plain, but it was beautiful. It had something about it that made it so, more than the houses that are made to be so. It was lived in, and therefor special. Simplicity has more meaning and beauty by just being, rather than the complexity that tries to be meaningful and beautiful but misses out on being – being alive, which is what the house had. That it is just enough to be a place in which to live makes it alive and more beautiful than the endeavors (and money) that put together magnificent houses that lack any soul, because money beats soul every time.

Part II: The escape

I could drive. That became evident, although the car was rather gliding. As this began I felt light, as if movements were no longer restricted, and I could feel everything perfect, fitting together. It was while I was waiting for the cigarette runner to run back I felt it – a lifting, as though I either broke free or dropped an enormous amount of my unnecessary self, and I could feel the weightlessness in my hands as this freedom of movement that still propels me came about. Everything was clear and perfect.

Part III: The room floating amongst the stars.

The room was a quiet place, ripe with thoughts. All the thoughts that had previously been thought in there continued to leave their energy, as if we were inside a pipe surrounded by the resin of thoughts and ideas. The low light of the candle helped, its movements at times being controlled by Condor of The South. Effortlessly, the flame was directed to dance, happy to do so. Words were shredded onto paper, but caution was important, as the words were prone to fall off the page if tilted just right; care was taken to handle the paper, and the dripping words stayed on the page.

Part IV: The leak

Rooms switched, and in this new spacious one, more was discovered. A drink of water sprung a leak in Condor of The South, and the strange tears were wiped aside. Maybe it was because he was tilting his head? Immediately following a check to see if that were true, his head went back to upright, the words being uttered, “Oh god I’m leaking!” No more water did he drink.

Time… I felt it, and it rushed to and through me, time, I was time, and I see its river. There were many rivers without water. Again, that feeling of weightlessness persisted. It’s like all that had been smothering my soul had been lifted, and I could feel my soul breathing, the weightlessness that set me free.

Another conclusion: we are hollow corpses with vibrations of music passing through. I am a hollow corpse with a loving music soul. Because that’s what this body is, just something that I’m inside. I feel my body as if it’s a faraway place.

Part V: Fitting the pieces

It seemed as though I was restless. Condor of The South believed I needed to get out of the room, although we had already found that the wild breeze outside was full of discomfort. But I could not be constrained. I was released from what smothers my soul, and in my new liquid form my mind was no longer able to be prisoner to the realm of my body.

Condor of The South, on the other hand, couldn’t remove himself from the bed. He was a bag of thoughts and nothing more. And then the universe again, throwing things around so that they fall into place. Things that need to be brought together are given by the universe, where we find that it’s like a game of Tetris, just adding the pieces that fit together.

The universe also makes itself happy, talking to itself, for all of us are the universe, which is a living organism, made up of everything in it, so that when we talk and are happy, the universe smiles. That’s what our experience is for. In spite of our finite bodies, there exist limitless possibilities.

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The following are my own entries from pyschonautic voyages circa. 2009

Saturday Psychedelics

Tribal beats thumped around me. Every part of the tempo was in direct correlation between rain drops and leaf fall. My mind slipped off into a deep meditative state, where I had huddled down on the ground in a dark room and slipped off into timelessness.

The world decided to wake me up, a good friends birthday – and many drinks to go around. I would have no drinks, and my journey was to begin. So my psychonautic partner and I, with the cactus powder running through our veins, decided to drive to a more peaceful locale.

The car glided across asphalt without wheels. Sounds on the radio emitted frequencies I have never before heard. Light played across the windshield in a manner that matched the harmony of the music.

The tempo intensified, the tribal ritual being played out. We finally made it into a secluded house, where dim candle light danced to music. Incense burned and created a smell never before sensed in my life, and I became a bag of thoughts. Motionless, but speaking. We philosophized the oneness of the universe, and as we got higher – we looked out the window and realized the house was in space.

We laughed as we wondered what scientists from other planets would say if they saw us. We were just there, in the vacuum of space. If you aimed your Hubble telescope at our star, you would see a floating house with two beings waving out the window at you. The only people or thing that existed in that universe, was that house and its denizens. We were happy, and the cactus was too.

~Mescaline

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Psychedelic Saturdays

Sometimes I wonder if I’ve lost a few bolts. A question of sanity comes to mind when everyone around seems to have a set plan, and I just don’t. Am I crazy? Or do I just have too much psilocybin running through my veins?

A moment when a psychedelic leaf came into play. A bit of a color, touched and splattered, and hold onto the moisture of rain. It helps to see these times of day?

Ahhh, mushrooms. I need to come down, but then I question if there is a down at all. Am I sane, or is it real? I kind of turn around to see a dog doing a jerk or two, the dance of senile twins at the age of seven. But, then again it doesn’t matter. It just goes to show that I’ve known my friends for 10,000 years.

I wonder what happened that long ago?

So I grabbed a book, stowed away, and laughed as the breeze tickled through night and day. I need to pump feet to the ground, where movement emits every sound.

I am actually coming to a unanimous agreement within my own mind, I would be happy to be insane.

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Psychedelic Saturday

It had originally been planned that we would make our way across the world to Crow Pass. A hike of 23 miles, and under a cloudless sky. The psychedelic, 5-MeO-MIPT, still courses through my veins. We didn’t go to crow pass, we didn’t hike.

We did trek across the country, in the city. Ingested the research chemical at a time where titans carved in the walls, then drifted on into the cosmic flare of all that is. Singing the tune of foxy methoxy, but rewinding and rewriting to moxy, we had danced a jig…a tune to four.

Hours drifted on like maple syrup, and the ripples that I witnessed in the lake reflected that syrup so perfectly. A lune drifting by, but interrupted as time interrupted into its life.

I stopped to look at a bushel of flowers. The flowers were breathing, moving, dancing even. The colors swirled and swooped and fluttered. A flutter in my heart that keeps the patter pittering.

I somehow had lost track of all company, left to my sources beneath a spectrum of stars. I fell back into a sleeping bag, lost skyward, I see objects move around and dart across the sky. The stars are all interconnected with a beam of the sacred geometry.

The stars all begin to flash a certain color. Bright pinks, greens, blues, swirls, swoop de woops. Mosey in on inside where flesh begins to hide. Still the research chemical pumps through gentle pitter patters, and I still think that Psychedelic Saturday is the day.

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Mescaline Meltdowns – Part 2

A grain of sand that eventually grows the potential to create a seed, and then blossom into a flower. Would you believe it if you see it? Of course not. Such is the way of things that happen, yet leave you in disbelief.

Because really, it is common knowledge that we were all once a tiny grain of sand. Before the generations began booming, back in the time passed dinosaurs, yes even beyond all human history, back to the genesis of global birth. There was that tiny grain of sand.

So you tell me, when life is rough, you’ve had enough. But quite seriously, you know that everything and anything is possible. From shit to top, from down to up, and from side to side.

Now think before global birth, before the birth of our very own galaxy and yet the entire universe. You see it, a grain of sand. Not just any grain of sand. Grab a microscope, and you will see a particle the size of a green pea.

A small particle blossoms as a seed with the nourishment of consciousness, through the ebb and flow of all that we see, whispers the voice of that seed. Calling for us to remember it, calling for us to realize we are but a part of it.

So why would a seed that birthed us struggle to regain self, when we are not but our very own particle on the universal scale? Why, when we are little nothings in the shadow of stars far larger than our own, would the collective want us to return?

The same reason you try to hold dear to those childhood memories of yours. The same reasons you hold dear the things that make you who you are. If your finger decided to deviate from your body, and downright shouted at the rooftops that it was not yours, would you not be deeply vexed?

Such is the plight of the seed we all belong to.

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Mescaline Meltdowns

When fingers touch earth, earth changes to star. When star touches sky, tears build up in the eye. Cactus potion clear on through, magical emanating without you. Without me, without her, without him, without them, we are still here.

Tell me why every face that I touch, experiences the magic. Tell me why every person I meet turns their eyes skywards. Tell me why when you speak to me, you feel a slight tinge of unease.

Spokes spinning, towers crumbling, pyramids drowning, sands engulfing. Shadows looming over crescents in the air, no one utters one breath of despair.

Sparks that ignite within hide will choose the side when all comes crashing down. Speak your words within me, because I can hear them. Show me your fingers, because I can see through them.

Between these lines a man swims through a sea of memory. Fingers flow across sounds that escape grips, trying to hold on, but always slipping through. Change in the memory, the future, this isn’t how I remembered it. The future has changed, but it is always changing. So what’s new?

Take within me, your heart and agony, because when I am through with it – you will never know why it ached to begin with.

Storms and seas, lands that breathe, homes that speak, moments that are here sitting beside you. Lover’s despair, victor’s vivacious grin, matron’s vigilance, we see it all in you and me.

Next to you the stars shine a color that reaches a spectrum and screams words of utmost benign. Hold this flesh, and feel the breeze, because in it all you feel the universe squeeze… so tightly, like a hug. Gentle and fresh, caring caress, love always.

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It feels awkward to type on this keyboard. It feels wrong, unclean, just not right. Though, I have for some reason convinced this…thing…to write about what happens, a journal. I realize now that most of what I experienced, cannot be limited by language. Any word that could be used as a descriptor will not do. No word does what is being experienced any justice. I will try, though.

Saturday, June 27th, 2009

1:30 AM

The day was rather hectic, and surprisingly unruly in its sheer chaos. Plans made the day; it was all mechanical correlation between every action being done. First thing was to wake up and do my self propelled job (yard work), and obtain money for the gram of Salvia Divinorum. After the work was done, it was then off to find the store downtown, which was not so surprisingly difficult.

After dodging through tourists, consumerists, and asinine motorists, we finally found the store. Upon buying the plant, the store owner kindly reminded me that this was not for a ‘high’ that so many young people these days do it for. A kind reminder, but unneeded.

Most of the remainder of the day was left boiling in this emotion called excitement. The sort of thing where you can’t stay in one spot, and maybe even obsess over the goal ahead. This lasted about five hours until it was finally time to head out.

We found a nice little field surrounded by trees. Outdoors, the ever expansive sky looming above us, and blades of grass licking tentatively at our bodies. A couple drags from the salvia proved nothing out of the magnitude that people made it out to be. The best I could describe was being sort of out of my body, yet still attached. It was like my soul was a puppeteer, with ropes attached to me, controlling my every movement.

I became slightly disappointing, and rather volatile in my behavior. I mean, who wouldn’t? I had hyped myself up the entire week for this, I was thoroughly upset. The wind was blowing, and it was really hard to even get a lot of smoke with simple flint lighters.

Later my friend Kelly came to witness the experience with us. We sat in a forest, smoked more, and I only got the same feeling. We all decided to pack ourselves in an orderly packed car, where the wind was not strong. I was still thinking it would do nothing to me, but I took another long pull regardless.

It caught me off guard. Immediately as I looked up, a leaf was presented to me, one that was ideal for holding large amounts of fluid. The fluid was not water, a bit thicker; best described as a conglomeration of numbers, letters, and color. All space and time morphed around the dropping of this substance, and it dribbled on my lips.

As soon as the substance touched my lips, I found myself incapable of speaking in this time. Everything became slow motion and my speech reflected that. I could see the bewildered faces of my friends as they turned to each other in awe at my perfect slow-motion speaking.

The leaf began to overflow, and soon the entire inside of the car was flooded with this substance. It was hard to breathe in, and it was overpowering. My friend Kelly, who was sitting next to me at the time, must have noticed this. I remember her opening the door next to me, and the way to describe it would be if a car was filled with water, and a door was suddenly open. I was swept out of the car as the substance poured out in pressurized waves. I remember landing hard on the concrete parking lot, and seeing a beach around me.

I couldn’t understand why people were still sitting in the car, soaking themselves in the substance. After a small amount of time, the substance cleared out, and I was able to sit back in the car. I decided to take another drag as it began to wear off. This time was so much more different.

The ocean came again, but this time I did not fight it. It overcame me and soaked into my body. With ease, I lifted my arm out of my arm, and grabbed ahold of my other arm and pulled my other arm out of it. I took my body off like dirty laundry, and it felt like the ocean was a sort of adhesive remover. I remember wanting to walk out and experience myself in this natural form that was not my body, but my friend seemed to be stuck (he too was taking a drag).

I came back to my body and tried to control it to help him. It did not feel right. It felt like my body was this awkward and clumsy suit. I had been experiencing myself in the most purest form and could not communicate with this…I wouldn’t even say these things are worthy of being called bodies.

I said odd things like, “Whoever made these things suck” and “What is this for? For what reasons do we have these? They are so limiting!”. The best way I could describe the feeling is this. Think of an over oiled piece of machinery, it is too slippery, and you can easily over-anticipate the movements. That’s how integrating with this body was like.

I could remember trying to pull him out of his body, as I was slipping out of mine. It wasn’t working. The entire time was spent trying to show him, and so once again, I slowly drifted back as the adhesive remover dried.

Again, something was needed out of this. I went outside after the wind had died down, in a field, and took another long drag. This time I let go of everything. In a sitting position, my body went limp, and I saw my head bash into the grassy floor, and my friends giggle.

I didn’t smile, there was no need for a smile in this form, no awkward lips to smile with. I felt a smile though, and I could feel the universe around me feeling my happiness. It welcomed me forward and allowed me to explore in this form, leaving that putrid husk behind.

I saw past even the husks of the trees, and saw the energy in them. I saw the energy of the planet below me, and the birds flying overhead. I felt everything come together in one pool inside of my mind. I felt at peace…but then I started to float back. The adhesive remover began drying once more.

I was shocked. Everything I had saw in whatever time frame my husk existed in, was like a day. I was immediately disgusted by everything around me. The husk I was in was sweating profusely. I hated it. This suit, this shitting, pissing, snotting, bleeding, suit. It was clumsy, and awkward. It felt like I was in an astronaut suit, trying to close my hands enough together to integrate with this…”world”.

I came home immediately. Friendship was nonexistent to me. I didn’t want to be around people. So many facades, so many barriers. I had a shot of whatever it was, and I needed to think. Immediately after getting home and speaking with my parents, I lied in my bed. I slipped out of my body and sat on the edge of my bed and thought.

Two hours pass and I am back in my body. Though, I was slipping in and out. It was like being a character on a movie, where the camera is focusing in and out and creating two images of the person, one fainter than the other.

I feel useless for putting a plant on a schedule and expecting for it to work for me. That is all we ever do, is want nature to work constantly for us, but never wanting to work non-stop ourselves. I will definitely be experimenting with Salvia Divinorum very soon…but for now, I have too much on my plate.