LINK TO PART 1LINK TO PART 2LINK TO PART 3HERE IS THE LAST INSTALLMENT (FOR NOW!!):
THE SALVIA DIARIESTUESDAY, August 5th, 2008
I needed to face salvia again after that last one !! I had acquired some plants since last smoking, and had bought some 5x as well, determined to try plain leaf then the less powerful enhanced leaf instead of the 20x that had previously sent me vortexing. So I loaded a small bowl of dried homegrown and, with some apprehension, smoked it all in a few long hauls. Strange shift – no other word for it – in perspective and consciousness, strangely alike and dissimilar to my other experiences. It was actually calming, sedative !! I waited a few minutes, looking out over the lake from inside the chalet : it was slightly altered, but I felt more that I was the one who was altered, seeing it as I had never seen it before, despite the lack of any visible transformation or apprehensible visuals. It just was. It was just. It was just different.
I decided to try drawing with some children’s crayons. I drew some sort of steepled structure. It was a building but it wasn’t. It was orange and blue and seemed divine to my eyes (later it would look like the drawing of a disabled child, but hey…). I felt certain I had drawn something from somewhere else but what, I could only guess. Strange yet familiar, as so many of the feelings and experiences on these substances are.
I smoked another sizeable bowl of the plain leaf, and the same serenity deposed itself upon my being. I was at ease and sleepy and alert and there and not there – very pleasant but for one thing : a voice that was not a voice beckoning, saying and not saying « more MORE
MORE ! » I realized this voice had been there all along, from the first bowl, but I was only just acknowledging it. I chose to ignore it, but felt its presence nonetheless.
I lay down on my sofa facing the high steepled ceiling above. The lower part of the ceiling is white before it gives way to a wood paneled wall leading up to the steepled mezzanine above, also panelled with wooden lats. The wall and the lower ceiling form a 90 degree angle, and from my perspective they both merged so that I could not tell whether they were now a uniform plane leading up or one leading across, or both – or some other form of plane entirely. It was beautiful, meditative and entirely serene again – but for the voices. The wood was brownish orange, the lower ceiling cold, bluish white…
I realized that perhaps what I had drawn previously had been what I was seeing now : an orange blue steepled structure, but not, however, from the outside, but rather from inside ! How had I known ? That I was to lie down and see this ? And how had I mistaken
without for
within ? Is this metaphor, allegory, prescience, divination ?
Just then the sun came out from a cloud, reflected off the lake below and sent rays through my window that cast translucent and shimmering ripples on the white surfaced part of the lower ceiling ; it was gorgeous. Dancing mutating light beings pirouetting and oscillating in waves that compounded and interfered and glowed and shone. I was mezmerized. I mezmered with the waves, and they merized back through me. And became clouds. The clouds danced on the white surface. The surface was the sky. The wooden wall was a lake and the steepled structure was now outside. Inside in outside and outside in inside. Without and within. As one. I was outside. Outside the structure and outside myself.
And the voices spoke and mind uttered : you have seen nothing young friend, « more MORE
MORE ! ». So against what would have been my better judgment had judgment still resided in my mind, I broke open the 5x and loaded a TINY amount and smoked it
And was gone gooooooooooooone.
Struggling in rippling vortexes of shapes and walls and colours the hue of fear and the harmony of terror and the blinding glow of the not-being and never was and the shrill shriek of the never will be… pulled pulled pulled, compelled and come pulled…
And then there were no shapes. Just the purist feeling. A nerve ending tweaked and ripped and pulled, yes pulled down down down and sliding, sliding along nothing that began to take form, morphing and arising blue squares and thick black lines delineating and water and a feeling of slime and liquid and climbing and rising and a white brilliant form that – yes, I remember ! – is a
rectangle, an equi-angular polygon, a quadrilateral, a definable mathematically sound entity taking shape before me, its white surface now mottling, taking on texture, coalescing, being, solidifying, existing, becoming :
MY FRIDGE.
A shape appeared before me, outstretched. It moved to and fro and had five elongated and articulated appendages attached to it. It closed in upon itself and shot back open.
It was pinkish and belonged to me. I was the one moving it. I made it stop and remembered what it was. My hand.
What really happened ? Or the « really » I came back to ? Really, in this really, that just might be the same really as before or even some other really - however can one really know ? - I fell off the couch, slid along my cheek through the slime of my own drool into the kitchen along the blue mottled tiles, rose up clinging to the stove and turned to face the fridge. REALLY. Really ?
I gasped. And marveled at the breathing apparatus. It felt like my first breath. And with that breath I was born.
And BORNE.
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Thanks for reading along (those who read all the installments!) and if ever I should decide to delve the depths of this strangeness again, I'll be sure to post the next part!! Although it likely won't be for a while...
Cheers,
JBArk
JBArk is a Mandelthought; a non-fiction character in a drama of his own design he calls "LIFE" who partakes in consciousness expanding activities and substances; he should in no way be confused with SWIM, who is an eminently data-mineable and prolific character who has somehow convinced himself the target he wears on his forehead is actually a shield.