Part 1 of 3
I’m going to write about an experience I had after ingesting a particularly potent psychedelic drug, but I want to communicate a couple things quite clearly before I dive into the details of the trip.
Firstly, I’m not an advocate of psychedelics—mainly because I regard them to be a shortcut that will never satisfy our deeper longings for enlightenment, salvation, self-realization, or whatever developmental term you wish to use. That being said, I’m certainly not a prohibitionist of psychedelics either; these substances have their place and time, just as any other radical or controversial activity does. If human beings have proven anything, it is that we will dabble in (and exhaust) nearly all available options at our disposal, regardless of how safe or dangerous, rational or irrational, mainstream or fringe those options may be.
Life is a palette of freedom, a platform for experimentation, a choose-your-own-adventure novel in which each individual claims their own authorship.
So, that’s my disclaimer. Now, let the party begin!
I was working for the Florida House of Representatives as a proofreader, having just graduated from Florida State University with a degree in religious studies, and I was living with my girlfriend at the time. I had grown close to one of my next-door neighbors in our apartment complex. He was a fine chef—and an amateur chemist, it turns out. For the sake of this blog, and to protect his anonymity, I will call him Rob.
Rob had synthesized a small batch of dimethyltryptamine (DMT) for his personal use—not selling it or distributing it whatsoever. In fact, it was only after months of cordial conversations on our shared balcony that he mentioned it to me. We had established a mutual sense of trust.
“It’s the doorway to the world of the spirit, man,” Rob said. “I’m telling you, it’s phenomenal.”
“Well, I’ve done my share of pyschedelics, bro,” I replied. “LSD, mushrooms, even some peyote. But I haven’t touched any of those in a while.”
“I understand. But if you feel an inner calling to try DMT, let me know. I’ll be happy to give you a proper dosage and hold space for you.”
“Alright, man, I appreciate that. I’ll think about it.”
He didn’t press me any further about the matter, but for the next few weeks, the prospect of trying the spirit molecule hovered in the back of my mind. Having already tasted the dark side of drugs and alcohol, I wasn’t exactly trying to slip back into that domain, but at the same time, my recent college studies in Tibetan Buddhism and Christian mysticism had piqued my interest in transcendental possibilities. Also, I felt confident and stable in my current circumstances, so the proverbial psychedelic litmus test of set and setting looked promising.
After lengthy consideration and a burst of curiosity, I asked him for the molecule.
