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AluminumFoilRobots reborn! (Back to life [and psychedelics] , thanks to Ibogaine) Options
 
GnosisOfAllogenes
#1 Posted : 7/7/2020 8:23:23 PM

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Hello all

Well, it has wound up being rather a long time since I have been around on the Nexus... dang, years even. Time seems to fly no matter what.

Here's the TL;DR:

I used to post on here somewhat regularly as AluminumFoilRobots, even racking up many hundreds of posts, but slowly slowly I began posting less and less until finally I stopped posting altogether. There's a story behind that -- I should at least give a brief synopsis. I've had extreme idiopathic scoliosis since I was a teenager, and had my first spinal fusion procedure done when I was just freshly seventeen. Long story short, the initial first rod that had been holding the fusion of five on my lower vertebrae broke and that had required a second, more extreme fusion with two more rods being inserted. That was probably the moment that things started really going downhill for me - although all the fertile soil was there for what came next. Like so many people in similar situations and degrees of pain, I availed myself heavily of opioids - and as I used them more and more heavily, my psychedelic use really began to abate. There was a barely-subconscious degree of opposition between the two states - "this town wasn't big enough for the two of them". That period coincides with my no longer posting here.

Lots of bad choices later, I found myself last summer at my wits end juggling several addictions and dangerous use-patterns (primarily to opioids but with a not-insignificant amount of time spent with strong stimulants), and I was lucky enough to have been granted the gratuitous grace of an experience of going to an ibogaine clinic and experienced great healing from it. So much so that it really reactivated my love for and relationship with Psychedelic medicines. I mean, there were periods during the years of 2013-2019 where I had maybe one psychedelic experience in an entire year... now I'm trying to have one at least once a month to every six weeks or so. It really does seem to keep me more sane. Especially if I AM feeling some reticence these days - I'll clear my schedule and if I can get my setting right I can usually find the right set start to bubble up.

Well, no, why not attach this entire essay I wrote on the subject? It is rather... long, so, thanks in advance if you do read it. It's not like Pulitzer worthy or anything but I tried to capture at least the imagery

Part 1, getting there


Jesus said, 
“Blessed is the Lion that the Human will eat, so that the Lion becomes Human. And cursed is the man that the lion will eat, and the lion will become human.” - The Gospel of Thomas, Saying 7

It was a hot and muggy summer afternoon in {the Ozarks}. As it would turn out, every sign apparent was there but in my blindness I’d been unable to take note of them or make sense of any I might have noticed – I had been passing the ugly road signs all along, dark and brooding portents that I was going to be coming upon a blind intersection in my life.. Later, this will become an example for me of how quickly and with how much ferocity an unbalanced system can tumble down and fall apart. But, for now, I miss the signs, and soon am plunging headlong into a madness.


 I tried to explain myself, to transmit some kind of understanding from my own garbled mind to hers that this is how I need to do this and that in some twisted way I am completing a work by a final few displays of madness before the hour of my reckoning comes. Instead, it comes out in a roar and of course it does. I find myself in that moment awash in such powerful and twisted emotions that my anger takes the day, and I am in the grips of that explosive, uncontrollable thing – bane to men across time – rage
 “Just let me put {kid} to bed, Jesus,” she screams, reflecting my own state back at me in harmonizing tones of anger, pity, and disgust.


 “FINE,” I shout back, barreling down the hallway, out into the front of the house.
 What came on this night came like a tornado, a whirlwind of domestic horror, but the more I survey the scene the more it becomes apparent that this was more like a haunting than a storm; the signs were all there in the small dark spaces surrounding us, thickening in the places where we’d – where I’d – failed to sweep up. I am reminded of a phrase I’ve heard somewhere or another – “it isn’t buildings that are haunted, it’s people that are haunted,”.


“Oh, okay,” I scream back like a petulant teenager, “you hate music now? You hate music?!” I rise up like a storm cloud and rush over to grab my guitar, which had been up ‘til now sitting by, innocently watching this whole garbage soap opera of my own creation unfold. “Okay then,” I snarl with a hateful gleam in my eye and a tone like a wildfire in my voice, “then I HATE MUSIC TOO!” As this absurd statement clears my throat, I bring hell down on my poor innocent guitar, smashing her as violently as I can, again and again and again into my fridge until all that is left are splinters attached by loosed strings to the shattered stump that used to be her neck. 


The gravity of the situation began blooming in my awareness. This had moved swiftly from the realm of the squabble, well past the realm of the fight, to the domain of the dangerous conflict. For a moment I was deflated – shocked as I was by the ferocity of my own response, grasping for just a minute the above-and-beyond nature of my retaliation. Retaliation, and for what again? I would not have time to formulate an answer to that question before her calculations were complete, and her response was at hand. She took off her rings, slamming them down on the coffee-table. 


“I’m DONE! Get your SHIT TOGETHER,” she growled as she deposited her rings on the table
.
The next two days I spent in a fog of depression. How had all of that gone down? Thoughts swimming in my head, and there were her rings. I placed them in a space of honor as I tried to shake my head free of the dream, the nightmare. Well, there would be no waking up, the evidence was there, plain to see for all. The plan of action took on a still more desperate tone. “This has to work, otherwise…” my thoughts did not trail off as easily as my words did in those days.

For years I’d heard about this obscure and powerful visionary medicine, years before I’d fallen into the pitfalls that eventually led me here desperately seeking healing for my mind and my body – and if the traditions were to be taken into account (and take them well into account I did), I believed there was good chance some degree of spiritual awakening could result from its application. That was my desperate hope, in any case. I had come to Mexico in search of a treatment for my addiction from a powerful ally I’d heard talk of for ages. This stuff, ibogaine, extracted from the African visionary sacrament Iboga, has a reputation for being able to completely interrupt the process of opioid withdrawal. I’d heard it can put a person whose been opioid dependent for years and revert their endorphin system to an opioid-naïve state. This is basically medical-miracle status powers for a plant to have. I (with Terence McKenna) find it ironic and fitting that, of course, the cure to dependency on certain plant-derived medicines is another even more powerful plant-derived medicine. I’d been talking to the folks at a certain clinic for months and having spoken to the proprietor, lets call him double D, a few times felt that this would be a good place to attempt healing.


 With all this ringing in my head, and with thoughts of all of the wreckage I’d left back home gnawing on my heart, I entered the clinic. The term “clinic” probably doesn’t elicit the right image. It certainly wasn’t what I was expecting. It was a very beautiful place, kindof large but not huge, with unique vaulted brick ceilings, the brickwork laid in this crisscrossing zig-zag pattern that was reminiscent of Arabesque geometry. The guy managing (let's say A) took me out back and had me fill out the paperwork. Amazing how everything today in our society is mediated by the signing of papers, even something like this. Why not?

We finish with the papers, and I’m sick as dog. The familiar putrid feeling, the aching, bone-crushing feeling that makes you want to just writhe around on the floor, kick your legs endlessly and scream or cry or punch things and has you crawling up the walls praying to whatever deity you do or maybe even don’t normally believe in to just let it be over. A introduces me to his wife and tells me for the fourth or fifth time that “you know, go on up, take a shower – get cleaned up.” Seriously I know I certainly reeked; he must have hinted to me to go take a shower no less than ten times in the short time before I’d be deposited in my room. Blessedly, they give me some anti-anxiety medication and something for sleep, as well as a small test dose of the ibogaine saying that they needed to check to make sure I wasn’t allergic to the medicine. I'm not.

The next morning, I am woken up for breakfast after sleeping a hard, sedated sleep, having been able to sleep through the night after finally getting to bed around three in the morning. However, the moment my feet hit the ground the withdrawal symptoms hit me. My back tenses up, my spinal muscles more like the strings of a violin. My feet and hands feel as if there is a ragged, throbbing acid between the joints of my fingers and toes. A quickening anxiety makes itself known as a tiny little lump begins to form in my throat.


 “What a wretch I am now,” I think to myself as I draw myself over to the still-open window. I find myself surprised that even with these symptoms barreling down on me, the beautiful sight outside is unmitigated. The lushness of vegetable life and the multitude of new and unrecognized types of birds in the branches of the trees remind me in that moment that if I am still cognizant of beauty then there may be hope for me yet. Across the fenced in yard of the clinic I see in the branches of a tall tree a very small, very intelligent-looking owl; later on I will do some research and find out that this type of pygmy owl is not a completely uncommon sight in the Yucatan, but to me it seemed like a clear sign that I was entering into something auspicious.


 After what seems like forever, D arrives. He is an older man, but he looks good for his age. He has a very distinct accent, and I ask him where he was originally from – after which he gives me a synopsis of his life-story; he was an Iranian Jew who after the ’79 Islamic revolution had to flee his homeland for Israel, where he had been conscripted into the Army. Later in life he had become wealthy as a real-estate developer in Miami – during which time he had a surgery, was prescribed oxycodone and became addicted to it like so many of us. He explains his own discovery of and healing by ibogaine and tells me that now this is his life’s work. We talk for a while as they prepare me for the treatment, and he goes on this rather long discussion on nature, the universe, god and humankind. It seems like a lot for a person going through withdrawal to listen to but really, it’s what I need to hear, and in retrospect it was an excellent pep-talk prior to taking the plunge.


 “Okay {first name} (throughout my time at his place he would refer to me by my first name even though I don’t usually go by it), we are going to give you the medicine now. Whatever happens, whatever you see, it is what you are supposed to see. Don’t fight it, don’t resist, just sit back and observe, my man,” he said with a smile, giving me six hot pink capsules. “You’re going to meet my little friends now.” 


Pt. 2: The Correlated Experience


As I lay there in the dark of the treatment room, with the music beginning to play softly in my ears, I begin to notice a sensation of warmth all over my body which begins to turn into a tingling sensation, a warmth and a soft vibration that seems to have as its source something internal to me. This grows steadily until it feels as if I am suspended in a field of pure energy, a vibratory field, or then again it also was distinctly like being in a lake of warm butter that was flowing out from my bone marrow. With incredible speed the pain of my withdrawals subsided as I felt something just kind of unravel. It was like a deck of cards suddenly being knocked over by a breeze – all at once. My anxiety was replaced by a growing sense of awe and then strong feelings of joy as the space behind my closed eyelids began to take shape and color until my whole field of vision was covered in these cloth or blanket-like fields of vibrating color and rotating bars of deep mauve and moss and azure – vibrating, it seemed, at the same frequency as that which I was feeling now throughout every cell in my body.

 As I watched, the fields and bars were joined by a new form. A two-dimensional object that I can only compare to a glittering disco ball floated down from the top of my vision and began bobbing and rotating in center view. I was mesmerized by it, and watched intently as it then floating back up, up and the back as if it was moving into my brain. After a moment, a mass of insectoid, alien, parasitic and arachnid forms all interlinking and connected as if in a hive began pouring out of my head, a horrific multitude. As this horde poured out of my head and across my eyelids, I asked my first question. I had heard reports of very promising potential for dialogue with some sort of teaching voice were possible with this stuff, so I gave it a shot. To great effect. 


“What are those? What am I seeing,” I asked in my mind. 

THESE ARE YOUR PARASITES,” came the reply, with great and pithy authority to its ‘speech’. “THEY ARE RUNNING FROM ME.”


This legion of horror dispelled, the vision ended – I had been "de-wormed". Again, I was swimming in the fields of energy, the vibrating bars, and my friend the two-dimensional disco ball was swimming around in front of me, doing his little dance as if saying “look at me, look at me, I’ve got something to show you”. As it danced, it began to take on new shapes, new forms as it grew and stretched and began to shimmer with new colors. Before long, it had changed completely into some sort of fish gracefully swimming back and forth in my sight. The fish would swim around and then come very close to me – so close I could even see the scales, the texture of the fins. It was uncanny. It would swim further away and as it did, so it would become the ball of light. It would dance, then become another creature. Innumerable types of fish, whales, and sea animals. Then it became the first creature to walk on dry land, some creatures unknown to science – bizarre mega-fauna with antlers and strange, alien appendages.

The transmorphic discoball of Light began to take on human forms, that of extremely tall and stretched out African women in deep blue robes covered in beautiful patterns. The women would be then holding the disco ball, throwing it up into the air and catching it, all in slow motion as if it were happening underwater. At the end of this display, one of the women gave me a sort of wide wave with her hand and with the other just “tossed” the ball to me It would be my turn now to hold the Light. 


“Who are these people,” I asked the medicine. 

“YOUR ANCESTORS,” came the reply.


I thought about it for a moment; wondering then about the multitude of animals. I hadn’t been specific.
“And the animals? What were they?”

“THESE ARE YOUR ANCESTORS AS WELL.” So, ibogaine is an evolutionist.


I saw an image of my own face, my own disembodied head floating by, and when it was in the center of my vision it turned to look at me. When it did so it began moving towards me until it filled my entire field of vision. I was “face-to-face” with myself, and I was able to see how skinny, how sick and how terribly unhappy this face looked. I was literally face to face with what I’d made of myself, and I began to feel a deep remorse – such a deep and wholehearted remorse for all of the shit I’d put my family through and the precedent I was setting for my son and for my life of sin generally and I began to cry sincere and healing tears. “CRY IT OUT,” came my threefold instructions from Dr. Ibogaine.

As I wept, the skin began to liquefy and melt from the face, then the muscles, finally just leaving a skeletal sapphire-blue skull with deep eye sockets six inches from my face. As my remorse began to turn into the beginnings of a self-forgiveness the muscles and skin began to regrow over the skull and once it was complete, I saw before me a new and shining version of my face – washed and full and vibrant and shining with color and beaming.


 When the Light Ball was back, and this time it began taking on more spectacular forms still. I began to see the images of Angels swimming behind my closed eyelids. They were tall, stretched out and exaggerated like the African women had been, and they were wearing white robes which flowed gracefully in the zero-gravity medium of this visionary space. They would fly towards me, and I would see their features – they looked almost more like skeletons than what you might consider a prototypical ‘angel’, but they had the wide wings and halos and they overflowed with a serene and holy energy. They would fly close by and make mystic-seeming hand gestures, the sight of which would have various effects on me throughout.

I saw an enormous sea turtle swim by with a yogi sitting atop his shell, deep in meditation. There was what I can only describe as a sort of alien spacecraft but with heavy Mayan or Tibetan-like artistic design being piloted by one of these angelic beings. I saw enormous crosses, crosses which then began moving and walking around without any legs – when I saw these crosses, I asked the medicine who it was, who specifically am I talking to? I had assumed for various reasons that the plant had its own mind and that any communications going on would have been between me and the plant, but this is not the answer I’d be getting. “I AM YOU”.


 Looking back on all of this, taking note of who I was then, who I am now, and the threads that connect them together – I see that in the tapestry of my life, this experience will always have a prominent place. I remain enlivened and brightened for having gone through it, the colors of my soul still have their deeper luster for having gone through this process of dyeing. So many wounds that I had been unwittingly keeping open, leaving room for the flies and the festering; these now have healed over. Still, of course, there are scars on my body, and in my soul, from all of the damage I‘d done to myself and to my loved ones – but scars have their purpose as reminders of mistakes made and lessons learned. Also, my wife didn't leave me and our family is doing so much better - looking at it retrospectively now a year later exactly.

I remain eternally grateful. That Ibogaine stuff really changed my life. It hasn't been all roses since I got out, but all in all, from a mental health and spiritual well-being perspective I am doing leaps and bounds better than I was. And I made some wonderful friends in the "IboGang". And, of course, most relevant for my wanting to return to this online community -- I got my passion for psychedelics back, now that I feel I have returned from a long sojourn in the Darkness and stepped again into the Light.


Thanks to anybody who got through that whole monster of a post! Looking forward to all the legit discussions on the healing medicines with y'all!
 

Good quality Syrian rue (Peganum harmala) for an incredible price!
 
null24
#2 Posted : 7/8/2020 1:16:53 AM

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I could only scan the essay you pasted, some editing for line breaks and such would be helpful and make it less painful to read, I scanned it and it worth sharing, for sure.

I can empathize with the opiates, I'm not saying much about it around here as I feel my way through the early stage, but I just recently titrated off methadone after having been on it for years. I never was able to avail myself of ibogaine, although it is something I want to do before my advancing age precludes doing it safely (like effing soon!), although it was a powerful experience with 5meo that led me to be able to put in place the things I needed to get to where I am now, which is not much more than alive, but at least that.

I don't think that any of the deep personal resons for my addiction to heroin were actually revealed to me throughpsychedelic experiences, but rather that they helped center me in a place that allowed me to do so. Eventually, armed with a deeper sense of my intrinsic and inconsequential place in space-time, I was able through various methods to discover and unravel the thing that kept me in fear of living for so long, and approach a place of well-being and peace. Psychedelics are a wonderful tool, like methadone even (admittedly on a very different level), but are only that, a singular tool for a job for which you need an arsenal.

I wish you peace too, and all the suffering addicts as well. We have to "fix our heart or die" of this shit- because you will if you stay out there-or go back, and I hope that the experience is able to help you create a new life free of dependance. I'm always down to talk about it via PM too.
Sine experientia nihil sufficienter sciri potest -Roger Bacon
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GnosisOfAllogenes
#3 Posted : 7/8/2020 3:15:18 AM

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Hi man, thanks for that. Yes, I agree, psychedelics are just one thing in the kit bag when it comes down to the struggle with addiction. But they seem to be one of the deepest allies in that struggle... the struggle against? It (the drug)? It (the nature of addiction itself)? Psychedelics help the people they help to sort out those sorts of minutiae . And the ibogaine's particular efficacy against the tortures of opioid withdrawal, it's very deep soul medicine and deep deep body medicine.

Oh, I tried to fix up the essay a little bit - maybe its a little more readable now.

Quote:
I wish you peace too,


Peace be with you as well!
 
Phangz
#4 Posted : 7/8/2020 10:26:12 AM

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Hi there,

Firstly, congrats for been able to kick the habit. Thanks for sharing your story.

Just wanted to ask a couple of questions. Did you go through the treatment while still in withdrawals?And does it stop the withdrawals in its tracks or is it like normal like a cold turkey detox? And once past the physical withdrawals, does the treatment help with the long term mental battles? (where most people with relapse) And if someone was on the methadone program, would they be able to have the treatment or would they have to get off first?

Cheers Mate.
There's never enough dirt but......the best time to plant a tree was 10 years ago.
 
null24
#5 Posted : 7/8/2020 1:52:53 PM

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Who was your ibogaine provider? As long as they are operating legally, that is.
Sine experientia nihil sufficienter sciri potest -Roger Bacon
*γνῶθι σεαυτόν*
 
GnosisOfAllogenes
#6 Posted : 7/8/2020 5:03:38 PM

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Hi Phangz, thanks for the reply.

Quote:
Did you go through the treatment while still in withdrawals?


Yes, I was. I had stepped myself back down to kratom in the weeks leading up to my going to the clinic, just to try and make it that much easier. But really, I don't know how much more advisable that was than just going down with the regular oxycodone habit. They prefer it if you can get stabilized on a short-acting opioid, especially when compared to methadone or buprenorphine. On the first night they give you some sedatives and then the next morning was the first flood-dose.
And no man, its not normal w/d's. It does seem to just stop them by at least 95% on that first dose. Actually, as I noted in the second part of that essay, the experience I describe there is culled from all four of the flood-doses I received down there (correlated for space); actually on the first dose (which I was given at around noon after arriving the previous night at around midnight), I was in full withdrawal. And since it was going to take a little while for the provider to arrive, I asked for and received a dose of lorazepam to hold me over from 8 to around noon. Normally that would not have been the protocol, as they want you to have the full experience -- but they were also quite concerned that you have a few w/d's as possible and I was pretty miserable. Anyway the dose of lorazepam, though being a great mercy, also caused me to be so sedated that once I finally was brought into the treatment room and given the dose, laying there in the darkness for 45 minutes was enough to make me just fall straight into a deeeeeep sleep. Deep enough that I awoke 4 or five hours later at the verrrrrry tail end of the experience - just in time to see giant Pillbugs walking across and behind a mauve "blanket" and to see one of the "House-dogs" (a pug) walking behind my eyelids. So, I was slightly disappointed that I'd slept through my first treatment BUT after getting up from the beg and shaking off the residual ataxia I realized "Holy God, I'm NOT SICK!". At LEAST 95% reduction in W/D's -- and my genetics are such that I usually undergo a profoundly painful withdrawal which is exacerbated greatly by my organic pain levels. But I felt, as the guy told me, like "A Million Bucks".

However -- when battling the long-duration synthetics like methadone or buprenorphine, more than one treatment may be needed before you get full relief. I have a buddy who was down there with me who was coming off of BUPE and it took her 4 days and two treatments (with "Boosters" between -- smaller doses but still psychoactive that they would give us between sessions) before she ever felt good enough to even come out of her room.

Quote:
And once past the physical withdrawals, does the treatment help with the long term mental battles? (where most people with relapse)


Well, it does have these looong (like at least 2 weeks usually longer) "Tonic" effects... you just feel... better about most everything, more energy, stamina, mental clarity being the most profound difference in the weeks long "POST-ibogaine" state for myself (I am usually dealing with some degree of mental fog)... and THIS is the time to do "regular" treatment work -- while the medicine is still subtly working on you. I actually did a 28 day "regular" rehab after the ibogaine - which was a good idea but I wish I would have just done 2 weeks of regular rehab so that when I got back home I'd've been able to build new memories back home while the ibogaine still "boosts" you up.

 
GnosisOfAllogenes
#7 Posted : 7/8/2020 5:08:07 PM

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Quote:
Who was your ibogaine provider? As long as they are operating legally, that is.


They were! Totally legal-beagle in Mexico. Is that OK to post in this section though?

 
GnosisOfAllogenes
#8 Posted : 7/9/2020 5:23:17 PM

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[EDIT]

No longer feel right about advertising for this particular clinic.
 
null24
#9 Posted : 7/9/2020 5:37:46 PM

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I was curious if it was the people I am familiar with at Awakening in the Dream House, Rocky and Asha are awesome folks. Ibogaine seems like an amazing thing, I have talked to people who had success, others who felt it failed, but it does seem to arm one pretty well for first-stage recovery. Anything that can almost eliminate w/d i just want to run up to and hug. I really do wish you all the success in the world which you deserve. I am surprised someone was there for bupe, I have been told that it is a near impossibilty to shake those molecules using ibogaine.

I don't think naming a legal provider brings them or you under any potential unwanted scrutiny, therefore is exempt from sourcing rules, but if I'm wrong, mods accept my apology for making a new member break the rules, although I dont think they did. Just an ass-covering thereNeutral .
Sine experientia nihil sufficienter sciri potest -Roger Bacon
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GnosisOfAllogenes
#10 Posted : 7/15/2020 6:02:37 PM

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null24 wrote:
I am surprised someone was there for bupe, I have been told that it is a near impossibilty to shake those molecules using ibogaine.


Yeah, that seems to be the wide-ranging consensus. However, the place I did go does take people for bupe and methadone. My friend who was there for that required two flood doses and boosters every day in-between (plus gabapentin and low-dose benzodiazepines at night) before she started really feeling better. Like I think I said above, I didn't even see her get out of bed until her second full treatment. Whereas us other two whop were there for short-acting opioids and stimulant abuse were healed and downright peppy after our first one.

It does seem very "individual" to the person though - everyone experienced the deep body-healing but NOT everyone experienced the level of psychedelic/visionary effects. For me, they were front-and-center, undeniable and vivid CEVs. But at least 50% of the "alumni" from that particular program (we all keep up with each other on a groupchat) did not experience much if any visual effects -- just I suppose some dreamlike effects. Verrrrry strange that way.
 
 
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