On the subject of Awakening and the happenings in the world right now... does anyone get "visions" or a sense of something terrible about to happen - something that we're being prepared for? Or is thi... View MoreOn the subject of Awakening and the happenings in the world right now... does anyone get "visions" or a sense of something terrible about to happen - something that we're being prepared for? Or is this just a manifestation of my latest anxiety upgrade?
What dose of DMT do you all use to break through? Heroic dose? Favorite method of consumption?I do about 20mg myself, and just use a small blown glass pipe with a screen in it to hit it all at once. I... View MoreWhat dose of DMT do you all use to break through? Heroic dose? Favorite method of consumption?I do about 20mg myself, and just use a small blown glass pipe with a screen in it to hit it all at once. I've had pretty good experiences with it so far.Also curious if anyone makes dmt vape pens, how you do it, what bases can be used, how it compares, etc?
So this is going to be a long one. I’m not really sure what to call it - it’s not a trip report because I wasn’t tripping at the time. Mental breakdown? The demon of fear taking root in the seat of my... View MoreSo this is going to be a long one. I’m not really sure what to call it - it’s not a trip report because I wasn’t tripping at the time. Mental breakdown? The demon of fear taking root in the seat of my soul? Prophetic clarity? Anxiety attack of epic proportion? Whatever you want to call it, I need to write it out so I can better process it. And I’m inviting all of you to come along for the ride with me, if you’re interested in this sort of thing. Insight is welcome but not expected or required.So let me start by saying that it was the weekend of Easter 2022. I was on day three of no sleep. An estranged friend of mine, Sophie, had just been attacked and beaten into a coma inside her home and was found lying in an alley after running for her life. She had recently lost her mother to sepsis and the gross mismanagement of her case by medical staff, and while Sophie was in hospital, I worried that she, too, would become septic and die because of the inadequacies of our medical system.I started that first night experiencing multiple panic attacks. I was (and still am) estranged from her, but one of our coworkers happened to be one of her nurses in the hospital where she was staying. Fearing she had died, I called him late at night and woke him up to check on her - apologizing profusely for disturbing him and his family, but desperate for some peace of mind. He confirmed that she was doing okay and was on the slow road to recovery from traumatic brain injury.I put Sophie out of my mind and tried to continue my night.Eager to escape the flight of fight response I was stuck in, I engaged deeply in the stories my best friend, Caitlin, and I write - my usual dissociative coping mechanism. Rather than the usual nonsense we come up with, though, I decided to deep dive into exploring a character with a severe trauma response - putting myself in his mindset as he engaged with his trauma and tried to manage his way through it. Raw from lack of sleep and my own looming anxiety, this pushed me deeper into depersonalization/derealization, and I became more and more disconnected from reality as I started to hallucinate and see patterns inside my thoughts.As our chapter concluded and I went to bed, I was hallucinating full force now, seeing shadow people, black mists that coalesced around me and began to interact with me on a cognitive level. Grasping at the straws of my awareness and “Awake-ness”, I spoke to them and invited one into me, and it took on the identities of the trauma character and his doctor from the story (both projections of parts of myself that I’ve been working to integrate into myself). He renamed me, and from there, I began to spiral. I rambled theories and nonsense at my friend (she’s a doll and always listens, no matter what my mindset or experience is at the time).Drifting on the fringes of sleep and endless rambling thoughts, I don’t know if I was awake or sleep-walking, but I became CONVINCED that the patterns of anger and resentment I had witnessed within my family since my youth were, at that very moment, manifesting into my father shooting everyone dead in their sleep. I called my mother immediately, screaming in panic to wake up and stop him, screaming at her to wake my siblings as the delusion spread to my brothers, convinced that one of them was about to kill himself.She reassured me they were fine, and asked if she needed to come sit with me. I don’t remember what I told her, but eventually she would come to do just that. But released from the grip of one fear, I drifted directly into the next. I had been rambling about speculations on the motives of the dark elite (i.e. the wealthy and the governments and entities in control of our world) and what it was they were doing culling the herds of humanity through the Russian attack on the Ukraine and the hospital bombings that littered the news. I became convinced that I had stumbled on something I was not meant to know, and that by telling Caitlin these things, I had put her and her family in danger.I believed, beyond a shadow of doubt, that I had just killed my best friend, a woman I have loved and cherished longer than I have myself. That I was responsible for the death of her son and her husband. I began backtracking, trying to make my speculations a joke, trying to discredit the knowledge I had inadvertently infected her with so she wouldn’t take it seriously and the powers-that-be would let them live. I began hallucinating text on the screen of my phone, messages that stopped me from speaking, asking me things like, “Are you sure you want to do this?” The screen vibrated with the breathtaking peaks of my anxiety, and stifled me from speaking much further. I imagined her killing herself because of the hopelessness of the things I had told her, and her husband unraveling and taking his and their son's life in his grief. I became paranoid that assassins who took the shape of police officers (because they’re all corrupt in my mind) were poised to kill them in their sleep if I continued to talk. I waffled between fearing I had already said too much and hoping that I hadn’t - it was the only thing that kept me from calling to wake her up as well.But as midnight counted down on my phone, I cried and chose to let her sleep, believing that at the strike of 12, they would be killed in their sleep. There was nothing I could do - they don’t believe in guns and were unarmed and had no place to run even if I did wake them up, and I could not bear to let them die in fear. So I sobbed and told her that I loved her as the clock hit twelve, praying that whoever was there would let them die peacefully in their sleep. Meanwhile, the messages that kept appearing on my phone continued to encourage my silence.But I couldn’t control myself. The fear was too much, and the powerlessness too bitter a pill to swallow. I was convinced that I, too, was about to be killed for my knowledge. I was beside myself with panic and desperate to fall asleep before it happened. But every thought in my head was screaming at me, warning me that if I fell asleep, I would die. If not from the assassins, then from the abscessed wisdom tooth that my lack of insurance had let fester inside my skull: sepsis, just like Sophie and her mother and my old friend, Milo, who also nearly died of it.Part of me, however, had created a narrative in my head that if I would just call 911, if I just created this scenario of screaming for help only to die, then at least some real change and good might come of it. The secrets I had discovered would be found with our bodies, and the call would go viral and the world would see what was happening - or at the very least, in the SLIM (because the possibility that none of this was real was so far removed from my mind) chance that this was all in my head, then at least some attention to the mental healthcare crisis would come of it.I called 911. I barely remember the call. I could barely speak, I was so afraid and so exhausted, teetering on the edge of sleep and certain I would die if I gave in. I couldn’t remember my address, so I screamed at them to just use my phone to find me, it has GPS enabled. Frustrated when they insisted on an address before even asking what was wrong, I hung up and floundered for a while before accepting my death as inevitable. What happened after that is disjointed and surrounded in shadows, but eventually, they called back and I was able to slur out my address through the tears. I wasn’t able to tell them what was wrong, I couldn’t articulate it. I vaguely remember telling them that my friend wasn’t safe, and when they asked for the address and I could only remember her old address, I broke down again - I didn’t know where to send them to help her, and I feared that sending them would seal her fate (if she wasn’t dead already) or scare her if none of this was real. I hung up again, but the police were already on their way.Scared and uncertain if they were coming to help or kill us, I ran to my son’s room and tried to wake him. He was out cold and limp in my arms - which I took to mean that he was already dead. Sobbing, I held him until he stirred, and the relief was so intense but so short-lived. I had to get out of there before they arrived, before they hurt us. I ran around in a manic frenzy, buck ass naked, trying to make sense of where to start and what to do. At some point, I propped the front door open - I don’t know what my thought process was behind doing this. But I annihilated my only security separating me from the potential threat, and I spiraled harder.That’s when my mom and my youngest brother finally arrived. I don’t remember anything I said to them. All I knew is that the police were coming, for good or for ill. I let my mother watch my son while I went back to my room to try to calm down. I did not. My delusions twisted and morphed around me until I became convinced that it was too late. I had died and jumped timelines. I was no longer this person I used to be; I had peered behind the veil and passed into a new world, a god awakened and doomed to reintegrate and lose this memory of Knowing. I drifted toward sleep again; a dream of the planet dying took me. I teetered on the edge of being awake, hallucinating that we had been sucked into the death of the universe, compressed and decaying, becoming one with our filth and all the pointless material things we’d collected in our lives. I died and became a rotting piece of fruit in the vacuum of space. I was nothing and everything; an apple on the tree of consciousness, doomed to rot by its very nature.And then the police arrived. I was barely coherent when they arrived, but I saw the devil in the male officer, and I cried and told them with what dregs of wherewithal that I could muster that I loved them and I was saddened by the police shootings plaguing our country. I bounced between defeat and the urge to fight, demanding they take me to the hospital because I feared I was septic - my brain wasn’t working right, something was wrong, I was not safe. They wouldn’t let me leave without putting clothes on, and they refused to allow me to take my son with me, forcing me to leave him behind with my autistic, suicidal brother.Sitting in the back of the cruiser, I oscillated between the terror of this man taking me somewhere to kill me and the terror of my sick brother killing himself and my son after being triggered by witnessing my psychotic break. I was so relieved when we arrived at the hospital - scarcely alleviating one fearful delusion. But from there began the fight for the medical staff to take me seriously and to check me for sepsis… they did not. They forced me to take a drug test (the only thing on it was the delta8 I had smoked to try to go to sleep several hours prior) and then they gave me a tranquilizer because I was too unruly, taking my own blood pressure when they wouldn’t get vitals, and demanding to see the doctor before I passed out and died or slipped into a septic coma. Without asking for any elaboration to why I was there, they diagnosed me with substance abuse disorder and wheeled me up to the psych ward to hold me on a three day suicide watch.I did not know that I was being put on suicide watch. It wasn’t until I was discharged that I saw a measly little note in my record under where they asked the patient if they had suicidal thoughts. My response? “A part of me dies every day and it’s both terrifying and cathartic.” They locked me up without explanation and without speaking to me for three days over something someone chose to interpret as a yes while I was clearly in no condition to be answering questions.When I woke up the next morning, I had no idea where I was or how I had gotten there. But the fear that had gripped me returned full-force. I spent three days looking for clues to what I was supposed to be doing, why I was there, how to get out… I fluctuated between clarity and delusions of witness protection, a multidimensional training ground where I would regulate and eventually go back out into the world to try again, a spaceship that was built to look like a place of healing, you name it, I considered it. But one delusion that lingered was Caitlin and her family’s death. Even when my mother told me she was talking to her, I still didn’t believe her. I thought she was being forced to pretend everything was normal when it wasn’t - that or she was the mother of the me from a new universe and those things hadn’t happened here. It wasn’t until I heard Caitlin’s voice myself that the delusions started to crack and I started to find my way back to myself. Still, I entertained this idea of witness protection. The therapists asked us, “If there was one place you could go, where would it be?” And with all the hope in the world, I thought long and hard on the question, and I answered, hoping beyond hope that this is where they would take me and Caitlin and our families. I entertained the fantasy of being set up in a comfortable life where we could exist outside of the system of corruption that has slowly swallowed the world.Amidst this, I was tormented by either patients or undercover staff working the floor, individuals who kept poking and prodding at my psychosis in an effort to gauge the danger I posed to myself and others. I continued to exist in a state of hyper-vigilance, noticing and watching and listening to everything around me. Patterns continued to crawl around my perception, infecting me with theories and speculations rooted in fear. I searched for escape routes, slipped into the nurses’ station behind one of them to see if it could be done, bonded with a dementia patient and a girl who whispered in my ear that she remembered me while we cried. I walked the halls as a god in grief for the suffering of his brothers and sisters in this place they had the audacity to call a hospital.When I finally left, I still half-expected a van to be there to take me to Caitlin (because all I wanted was to see her and to know she was okay - TRULY okay). Instead, I got into my mother’s truck, and went back to my apartment with a bag full of drugs that were supposed to help me. They only made me worse. I spent months trying to integrate this experience and process it while battling with a now drug-induced anxiety that had me shaking constantly. I returned to the world to search for a job in a field I despise so I could struggle to pay the bills and still not be able to afford insurance to address the abscessed tooth and the plane crash that is my mental health. The therapist I was assigned to from the hospital proved to be nothing more than another cog in the machine, and would not entertain the discussion of what my diagnosis should be - they insisted on bipolar mania and substance abuse disorder since there was weed on my drug screen. I wanted to know how they came up with bipolar when no one ever spoke to me or even knew why I had called 911 that night; how they justified the diagnosis when a chemical imbalance from not sleeping for three days and a parasympathetic nervous system firing on high alert due to a trauma response could be to blame. I wanted to know why no anxiety disorders were even considered.I never got my answers. So here I am, searching for them on my own, as is usually the case when it comes to mental healthcare in this country. It’s taken me this long to even be able to sit with the memory of that weekend to analyze it, but I want to make sense of it now. I want to clear my mind of this fog and this disconnect from reality that has lingered and hindered my ability to engage and thrive in my life. I know there is wisdom and light that came from that experience… I just don’t know if I can trust the confines of my own perception to be able to distinguish the wisdom from the fear talking.I felt the presence of god - myself, our earth, the universe - all connected inside that place and that experience. But was it real, or was it delusion? I don’t know. All I know is that I saw the end of our world and the fragility of the microcosm of worlds like those we create with our loved ones implode. I felt it as a warning, and part of me still fears what truths still unfold around us with or without our belief or awareness that it’s happening. I see the long shadow cast by the enormity of the tasks ahead of us to save our world and our people, and I feel both powerlessness and hope. Whether it’s resolving decades of familial trauma or tackling the problems of neo-feudalism unfolding inside our system - it all feels so big and impossible to tackle.I’m working on acceptance and gratitude for the lessons of my experiences in this perceived reality, but it is hard. I’ve always been a fix-it person, and just… I don’t know if I’m meant to fix anything. If there is anything TO fix. Am I sick? Or am I processing trauma? Did I open my third eye and let too much in? I don’t know, but this is the first step in processing it and it feels good just to have it outside the cage of my mind where it can exist on its own on paper. I don’t know how long I’ll linger here to discuss matters, but I leave this out in the winds of existence so that I can revisit it at times when my perception and understanding of myself and the world has shifted and grown. I don’t know what any of you may think of this, but personally, I’m looking forward to reading this again as I evolve and come into my awakening with new insights and perspectives.Anyway, if you made it this far, thanks for reading! If you’ve ever had an experience you’d like to share that made you question your sanity or your spirituality, please, by the gods, share it. We don’t speak openly enough about these kinds of experiences, and we need to. Our system is broken and no one should be forced to go through these things alone. I may not be able to bring you peace, but know that I am here with you and I feel for your suffering, whoever you are. You are loved, in some cosmic way that may feel insignificant at the time, but it is love and I hope it finds you well and guides you on your path toward healing.
Long time no see, friends!I was just pondering my experiences, and it got me wondering what all of you know about shadow people? Have you encountered one? What was your experience with them like? Any ... View MoreLong time no see, friends!I was just pondering my experiences, and it got me wondering what all of you know about shadow people? Have you encountered one? What was your experience with them like? Any interesting mythos or insight about them?Please, share!
My awakening cured me/broke my ability to dissociate (I've had dissociative issues for over 20 years), and now I'm a nervous wreck and struggling with panic attacks all day, every day because I'm shor... View MoreMy awakening cured me/broke my ability to dissociate (I've had dissociative issues for over 20 years), and now I'm a nervous wreck and struggling with panic attacks all day, every day because I'm short on rent by $250 and Instacart is not cutting it. I left my job in December to take time off to try to tackle my failing mental health, and I feel so torn. I'm looking for work now because the funds have run out and I feel like something HAS changed, but I can't tell if I'm in a better or worse place because the anxiety and depression is killing me. I swing wildly from intense mania to suicidal ideation all day, and I am genuinely afraid that something is really wrong. I want to ask for help, but when I tried to go to a doctor for help earlier last month, they locked me in a psych ward for a week. Why? Because I wound up having an insomnia induced psychotic break worrying about an infected tooth and the possibility of it having gone septic because I didn't have money or insurance to prove my worth as a human being who deserves to not die of dental issues. They stuck me on a bunch of pills (olanzapine, hydroxyzine, and trazodone) and now I'm losing my mind and panicked trying to find work to pay rent and praying its a job that doesn't further this depressive psychosis because I am at my wits end and I don't know what to do. I can neither disengage or engage with anything in my life and I can't be like this - I have a two year old and I am all he has. I don't even know why I'm putting this on here, I'm just so distressed and I can't shut it the hell OFF so here you all are - have some ranting.
Does anyone else ever spontaneously *feel* their third eye and their crown open??
Do we call it the Awakening because when it happens, it is im-friggin-possible to sleep for the next three days? Because I've had 6-7 hours of scattered power naps since my unassisted ego death just w... View MoreDo we call it the Awakening because when it happens, it is im-friggin-possible to sleep for the next three days? Because I've had 6-7 hours of scattered power naps since my unassisted ego death just writing my normal stories, and bam!Now I have a new name and I know the secrets of the universe and the name of God and the gods and all their devils and Devil, too. And I'm terrified and so overjoyed by this madness that I invited inside that it is forcing me just to tell you all because if we all can't stop bickering like children for these last few gasping breaths that we have on the withering bones of our Mother then we are all going to die having never known who We are.Please stop what you are doing. Get off of here. Sit. Think. Be silent. Feel. Grieve. Mourne. We may never see it coming because we refuse to look. LOOK!Don't come back here until you're ready to fight and accept and love and SURVIVE because otherwise you do not belong here. You will die with the tool you are loading in your hand now if you put it in your mouth and swallow without ever having asked yourself what it is or what it's for or why you are doing it.These people here MAY only have scraps of information. They MAY hold the key to your salvation. Either is possible. Both is guaranteed. Educate yourself and be ready before ever stepping foot into this arena because you need to be prepared for this fight because it is coming. It is coming. And these are the tools you need to help you fight. Please, learn to use them well. I know you are capable. You are intelligent. You are capable of reason. And you are capable of healing - but first you must understand that everything is a weapon. Including you and the drug/medicine you are about to ask to take you down this path. It is not one to tread lightly. It's been months since I took anything. And I shattered just because I heard Her voice telling me to LOOK and the things that I saw and the secrets that they gave me to guard and to share...So please - take OFF your armor, put down your sword, and just fucking wait until you can do that and accept it into you, this VULNERABILITY of simple COMMUNICATION that I am spoonfeeding you in your delirium - because if you are not, it will destroy you and no one will ever know who or what or why. Because you will be gone. But their is healing here, hidden in our shared madness. And their is love. And their is acceptance. I know, because I have seen it hidden in all of your bickering hurts over the years, while I've watched you all over this magical fucking universe of wires and electricity that we created together. And you're fucking capable of it. So please. Do come back. When you're ready. No sooner. Now good night and go take care of yourselves. I love you and I don't have to know you to do that. Because you are perfect just as you are - even if someone you trusted told you differently or failed to do so properly. They lied or they didn't know how. They were hurting and reactive. Go talk to them - or forgive and let go if it isn't safe to do so yet. It will be some day. I promise. We CAN heal.But not before sleeping - and blissful, SHAMELESS, healing - but SAFE - self-indulgence! So good-night and good luck!
First ever flush, woo! Not terrible for how little effort put in. No misting, no fanning. 1 qt jar of spaw to half a brick coir and vermiculite in 33qt mini mono with sealed lid.
Little floofs! Just a couple days in.Been working on a logbook. Curious what kind of layout everyone else uses to keep things neat and consistent while tracking your grows from spore to fruiting. Any ... View MoreLittle floofs! Just a couple days in.Been working on a logbook. Curious what kind of layout everyone else uses to keep things neat and consistent while tracking your grows from spore to fruiting. Any suggestions?
Found an article on why our mushy friends turn blue. Thought I'd share it for all my fellow chemistry nerds. https://www.chemistryworld.com/news/mystery-of-why-magic-mushrooms-go-blue-solved/4010870.a... View MoreFound an article on why our mushy friends turn blue. Thought I'd share it for all my fellow chemistry nerds. https://www.chemistryworld.com/news/mystery-of-why-magic-mushrooms-go-blue-solved/4010870.article
Mystery of why magic mushrooms go blue solved
Chemists reveal colourful indigo-like polymers that turn psychotropic mushrooms blue when cut
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