I recently had an astonishing experience that seemed to reach directly from hyperspace, into this world.
Despite my tendencies to remain agnostic on "woo" type phenomena, this was extremely convincing. This experience was so weird, that I'm not even going to try to rationalize it, but instead, continue to integrate the lessons, and recount the event, with the fascination it stirs in me, without apology.
It was so powerful and real, there's no room for material reductionism, rationalization or explaining away of any kind. I'll let the skeptics among you do that.
This experience was so resonant, I'm gonna let it ring.

I took MDMA several times in the 1980s. I was a teenager and didn't use it to it's full potential. I had interesting and fun experiences, but the after effects were devastating to my insecure and depressed, young brain, so I left it behind. Choosing instead to abuse LSD until contact with any remotely psychedelic substance, including the slightest whiff of cannabis smoke would send me into a spiraling, howling panic.
Then I made a further step into wisdom and started going to bars and drinking alcohol, which wasn't an addiction, but did not help me psychologically.

Then I found heroin again.

I had been addicted before, at conception and in the womb. So, for me, it was like coming home. A home that was even more destructive to my psyche than the home of the abusive parents that adopted me after my biological mother died of a methadone overdose (that looks a lot like suicide in hindsight.)
I had finally found something that made me feel at ease. Something that made me fully functional. Something that wiped away all depression and anxiety. Something that made me feel like a normal human being for the first time in my life.
It was the key. The missing piece.

Needless to say, heroin took me down, and fast. I took a decade to recover, in complete abstinence from all drugs of abuse and/or recreation. Including psychedelics.

Being a child of the 70s and 80s, D.A.R.E. and Just Say No, I thought that my ideas about psychedelics actually being healing, spiritual medicines were just wishful fantasies of a drug seeking mind.

I'm so glad I was wrong. Because I love them dearly. And they have loved me back. Especially, now that I've learned to respect them and use them properly. They give so much more than they take. Unlike opiates. Psychedelics have been the true key to breaking my opiate addiction, among other things.



Now for the experience:

MDMA: 100mg oral
DMT: 10mg, 10mg, 15mg vaporized in GVG
Set: Very good and very positive due to ketamine therapy in the week before.
Setting: In my bed, in the dark. Some quiet instrumental music over headphones.



I had cleared my schedule and done some chores. A helpful addition to a positive mind set. For me, a sense of accomplishment, even minor in scope, seems to solidify my sense of general well being. I find this indispensable before a trip.

I swallowed the MDMA and continued preparation for the experience. I ate some crystalized ginger for possible nausea. I find that pre-loading with ginger really works. Also: There is some evidence that ginger may attenuate neurotoxicity from MDMA. Not really an issue at clinical doses, but it’s still reassuring.

When I started to feel the MDMA really coming on, I got into bed. My wife came into the room and I asked her: “If you see Huxley can you please bring him in here?” I don’t like to do MDMA alone, and I’ve found that a cat will do the trick. The cats also seem to enjoy the experience. They are extra lovey and attentive, but not overbearing. It’s as if they choose the proper time to engage with their tripping human.
She brought Huxley in, wished me a productive voyage and left. She had some errands to run, including driving our 13 year old child to a nearby town, a halfway point, where they would meet with their friends and complete the drive to a nearby beach town, for a winter weekend.

Everything is fine. Some anxiety, but soon I pass that and enter a realm of calm bliss, self acceptance and deep peacefulness.
A realm where I can accomplish anything.
A realm where I can calmly disassemble my psychic history and examine it. Then put it back together, with no puzzle anxiety. Without self doubt. A realm where I can bathe in oceans of memory, where the warm waters turn amniotic and I’m womb bound again. Where cold waters of indecision, anxiety, fear, self loathing and all vile emotions, flow in to replace the warm comfort.
Instead of being chilled into emotional hypothermia, which would saturate, paralyze and sink me to the bottom of a sea of depression, I am buoyant. I'm able to navigate these seas with the skill and abandon of an otter at it’s prime. I keep my eyes open under water, and no salt stings them. Instead the saline solution that would cause pain, is flushed by tears that heal and protect the the delicate membrane of my alien eyes.

I am whole. I am good. I am love personified. I am really and truly okay. Despite decades of believing the exact opposite. I am talented and loved. I am cherished. I am graceful, and I know that even at my most difficult moments, I dance through life, instead of stumbling blindly, which is what I usually perceive when I look at myself.

I am warm. I am worry free. I will make it through. I have been lied to by cruel, unhappy parents and "friends" who were jealous of my gifts.
I am not a selfish person. I am the opposite. Suddenly, I am engulfed in childhood memories of my adoptive mother, scowling at me in disdain, and at the intended recipient in suspicion, as she stops me from giving a toy away. Something has had to do frequently. I see myself secretly doing good deeds, and feeling bad about it because it’s not enough. It's all a lie. I've been told that I'm a bad person, so often, by my mother, that it must be true. With the help of MDMA I am able to absolve my self of that useless guilt.

I am glowing. I am radiating love out to the world and equally inwards at my self. I deserve it. I am good. I am... I am... I am touching fur. I am being vibrated by a low buzz.

I am not alone.
My cat Huxley has left his pillow and is pushing his body against mine. Purring with an almost desperate intensity. He is rolling and gyrating against me. His 14 year old body, as lithe as a kitten’s. He is rejuvenated by the glow. His joints are warmed and lubricated by the love pouring out of me.

After awhile, I suddenly realize he's gone.

I am not alone though. Two entities flank me. I can feel them there. They are from the DMT realm, but have invaded this MDMA space.

I open my eyes to look for Huxley. He is sitting just out of my reach. Staring ay me intently. He rarely makes eye contact. Never prolonged. Not like this.
I stare back at him until my eyes are dry and I have to blink.
As I do, I hear out of sync breathing on both sides of me and a third presence.
A voice starts to speak: “If you want me to, I can...” I was just blinking, so I open my eyes before the sentence can be completed. Huxley is still staring at me. “As I was saying,” he says “If you want me to I can be your purging vessel. You won’t purge on these substances, but you really need to. Tears are not enough.” I am not totally surprised by this communication. I’ve sensed him trying to talk to me once before when I was on mescaline.

I ask: “Will it hurt you?”
He replies, inside my head: “Not really. It will be uncomfortable,
but I'm willing to help you. I love you, Mother.”
"Mother?"
"Yes. All three of you are Mother."
I answer: “Okay. I love you too.” and close my eyes.
He returns to my side and basks in the love.
I hear one of the entities murmur to the other. Something like: “He’ll be ready soon.”
I float for a brief eternity and the ask: “Ready for what?”
“Oh, there you are. We are doctors. You’ve prepared our medicine properly. When you are ready, we require 10mg, vaporized. Do not burn. You know how. You have plenty of practice.”

“Is that why you can be here in MDMA space? Have I primed the pump, as I suspected?”


“Yes. Sort of, but we are always here. We are you. You are us. We are alien entities and we are earthly entities. We are merely projections of aspects of your personality. We are also aspects of God. All of your suspicions about us are correct, even when they contradict each other”

“I... ummm, uhhh...”

An entity on the left says: “Stop stalling please. Take the medicine. 10mg.”
“Be nice” says the one on the right.
“We have a lot of work to do, and I don’t have all day.”
The other one chuckles at the cranky one's impatience.
“You barely know what a day is!”
“WELL, he DOESN’T HAVE ALL DAY. Let’s get this done if we can.
We’ve failed plenty of times.”
“Shhhh.” You’ll scare him.” Says the nice one.


I unzip my case and take the vapor genie out. It is preloaded with a copper mesh disc with 10 milligrams of DMT melted into it.

Without and hesitation or fear, I light the torch and vaporize the 10mgs, perfectly. I hold my breath, knowing that as soon as I breathe out, I will be in hyperspace, at least partially.

I breathe out, and I am blanketed by the tryptamine glow. It’s not super deep. There doesn’t seem to be much synergy. Both substances are present, but separate. and at appropriate levels for their individual doses.

The room I share with the entities has become more clear behind my closed eyes and their voices are clearer. I can feel their bodies become substantial. I can feel their gravity, even though they are probably made of light.

I can feel two chunks of something in my chest. One on either side. One right below my left nipple, the other almost at the bottom of my ribcage. They are distinctly uncomfortable. Like an incomplete peristalsis, but doubled and in the wrong places.

“Let’s see if we can get these things out. We’re going to need you to breathe in.”

I do. As I do I feel long fingers slip through flesh and bones. I feel them grasp the objects, which are malignant star tetrahedrons, swirling with grey and black soul cancer. I feel them move upward, slightly. They are like an insufficiently chewed apple that the body is trying to vomit out, since swallowing is out of the question. Stuck in my soul's esophagi.

“Shit!”

I hear this from both sides as the objects slip through alien fingers and return to their original positions, where they oscillate quickly, back and forth like cartoon rocks, suspended in Jello.

“10mg more please.” from the one on the left. Cranky and bored, in the way only a high end surgeon can be.

I oblige. Once again I feel the DMT wash over me as I exhale. I am a little bit deeper, but not too deep. I’m surprised. Usually 20mg, even spaced by five minutes is enough to get me very close to breakthrough. 20mg in one inhale out of the GVG is usually a deep breakthrough.


The doctor entities repeat their procedure with the same results. I hear them speaking to each other in fast and inaudible wisps of language, that convey disagreement and concern from one side, professional detachment and uncaring resolve from the other. I make out the phrase “It’s the only way.” Then a phrase that translates roughly to: “Are you sure? That’s kind of (alien cruse word for “fucked up”)

“Okay. 15mg please."
I’m starting to worry, but I vaporize without hesitation.

I trust these guys.

The nice one says: “Oh! Uhhh.
You’d better sit down for this.”
“I’m laying down.” I think to him, laughing, as I exhale.
In a grave voice that is growing louder and becoming a buzz of cancerous flies, he says:

“I know you're laying down. You’d better sit down anyway.”

Then I am confronted by a yellow blue and gold tapestry of interlocking entities, like bat wing finials. The ones with red lines inside of black are spread out evenly across the tapestry that ripples in a calm hypserspace breeze. The red ones are pulsing.
Pulsing.
Pulsing an emotional klaxon.
Pulsing an alarm.

“CAR ACCIDENT! CAR ACCIDENT! CAR ACCIDENT!

I feel panic and horror unlike anything I’ve ever felt. It’s getting faster and faster. Worse and worse. The nice entity leans close to my ear and calmly and kindly says: “There’s been an awful accident. Your child is dead, and your wife is badly injured. She probably won’t survive.”

I feel long calming fingers stroking my chest, like a loving mother trying to soothe a terrified child. The tapestry is brighter. Yellow and cobalt blue on a black background. The alarm has ceased. These are colors of regret. they are calmly saying the most horrible sentences I have ever heard: “You have lost your family. Your child is dead. Your wife is dead. Life as you have known it, is over. Your child is dead. Your wife is dead.”


The fingers continue stroking. Just below the horribly serene incantation I sense, more than hear a voice say. “Okay. Now.” Both sets of soothing alien hands slip through my ribcage and grasp at..
“You have lost your family. they are dead.”
…Something.
“Just breathe. there’s nothing you can do to bring them back. Take a deep breath. Let it out.... aaaaaannnnnddd NOW!” I breathe out and I feel the star terahedron on the left being pulled through my skin. there is a pop, both felt and heard.
“NOW! Spit.”
As my outgoing breath is exhausted, I purse my dry lips and make a spitting gesture. I produce no saliva. But I know I’ve done it properly.

I open my eyes. I see the object as it flies out of the surgeon’s hand and heads toward my bedroom door as if it means to leave. Then, as if it has reached the end of a rubber band, it snaps back in the other direction. I follow it’s trajectory as it crosses my body, goes through the chest of the cranky surgeon and...
I see my cat staring calmly at me. Our eyes lock for a millisecond and the projectile hits him. He has always fallen down in a flop when he wants attention, but this time it’s not a flop of his own volition. He is knocked over as the object enters his chest. He crumples onto the bed, rolls over with the grace of a cat half his age and resumes his previous position. Staring into my eyes. Just out of reach of my finger tips.

"Now the difficult one. I feel the surgeon who removed the first object move his hands through my chest. It feels good, especially in contrast to the pressure of the object. It's like I swallowed a tennis ball, decorated with glass spikes and I'm choking on it, but in the wrong part of my body. Both sets of hands grasp the object and I can feel four sets of fingers wriggling around in my guts, dancing with each other until they interlock with each other. Fingers woven into an impossible basket.

I'm horrified and I see my child's beautiful face. Barely 13. A brilliant, provocative, non-binary, creative force, just starting to realize their potential… snuffed out. A tangled, bloody pile of broken bones and cooling flesh, in a useless pile of metal glass and plastic, beside my wife of 18 years. Gone. Gone. Gone.
I am weeping and I hear: "This should do it." Then, directed at me: "I know it's hard news to take, but just breathe. In. Out, Now in, deeply. As deeply as you can. Now BREATHE OUT!"
I do.
I reach the end of the exhale.
"Spit!"

I make the same futile gesture. My mouth is completely dry from adrenaline overload and pure, existential terror.
I will kill myself when I confirm their deaths.
I am lost.
I don't want to be on this planet without them here.

I spit. I make the noise and the gesture, and I feel a ripping in my chest. Four alien hands untangle and leave my body. I feel the glass shards tearing their way toward my mouth. Then the object is out. Once again headed for my bedroom door. In a big hurry to escape.

"Hey! Look at me!"

I snap my head to the left and see Huxley, staring at me, like before. Our eyes lock. I feel the click. Our eyes have truly locked. I felt it happen. "I love you." Both of us say this directly at each other's minds. I didn't even know I was going to say it. The object hits Huxley and he rocks back on his haunches, but keeps his eyes on mine.

Then, my eyes close. I am floating in an ocean of wretched desolation. Loss. Panic. Emptiness. My heart has been ripped out.
I am alone. I am lost.
So many things I will miss.
So many things I never did.
So many things I never said.
I am… "Sorry. So sorry. We had to…"

"What?" Leave me alone!" I am snapped out of my trance. I feel the poison cocktail of terminal brain chemistry flowing through my entire body. A body that I will put an end to as soon as I make sure…
"We are SO sorry. We HAD to do it. IT was the only way. SO so sorry. Please forgive us. They were poisoning you, and we had to get them out. Sorry Sorry Sorry Sorry"
Infinite sorries fractalize in all directions making a mandala of love, begging forgiveness.

It's so beautiful that I…. "FUCK YOU! YOU LIARS! They're dead! I know it! I saw it! Fuck you!"
The fuck you fractal obliterates the sorry fractal with ease. It plants it's feet and crosses it's arms. Pouting like a sullen child.

"FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!!!!!"
I lay in suspension as my brain is twisted and tortured. I feel myself, my body, ripped apart and reassembled. Ripped apart and reassembled. I'm slowly regaining my full body. I'm coming down and I've never been moor afraid to come down. I won't come down! I know!

I reach for my GVG.

"No. Stop. We'll show you. Look at the clock. Your wife left 30 minutes ago."
"Yeah. So? She's dead. My beautiful child is dead."
"No. It was a cruel, but necessary trick. Sorry. SO, SO, sorry…………. Listen!"

I hear a clunk from the driveway. A car door?
The neighbors! A trick!
They're dead.

"No. Listen.
13 year olds forget things………….
………..And it's the end of the world for them…………
………………if they don't have them…………
………….when they are away from home…………
Listen. Get up. But be quiet. Be sneaky."

Huxley jumps over me, to the nightstand and meows at the door.

I stand up and let him out. As I do, I hear a key in a lock. I hear the front door open.

"Un-fucking-believable!" I hear my wife say in a frustrated, hurried and resigned voice. "They can't buy a new fucking charger in Ocean City!?!?" Fuck!" Ranting to herself, as she always does when she comes back into the house after a false start.

"Don't let her hear you. We still have work to do." I quietly close the bedroom door. "You don't believe us. Peek through the blinds."

I do and see my wife entering the car and tossing a phone charger and cable to our beloved offspring, who scowls in teenage disdain.
I smile and lay back down, but not before drinking almost an entire bottle of water in one gulp and eating some ginger. I'm nauseated but nowhere near throwing up. Ginger always helps.
Then,
I float for awhile. I go into a trance. Whispering voices in a mild darkness, punctuated by occasional visual symbols of scientific equipment and tools. Neon outlines of erlenmeyer flasks and graduated cylinders unwind themselves and become morphing wave shaped sine waves on an oscilloscope that fills my field of vision. These audible tones that are being visualized, calm down, they lose their edges and the original, pure sine wave bunches up into an impossibly high frequency. It's a fading carrier tone. Fading, until it's gone, and I'm down. Down enough to go downstairs and pee, at least.
I pass the upstairs bathroom and go all the way down to the basement for some reason.

As I reach the bottom of the stairs I walk toward my desk and computer out of habit. Huxley, as usual, races me for a place on my chair. He jumps up on the seat in victory, and meows at me. Usually he's pretty quiet. Not today. Oh right. I have to pee!
I turn and walk toward the bathroom. Still tripping, I guess. What the fuck am I doing? Wandering around. Like a tripping person. I should be lying in my bed. Huxley runs by me and into the downstairs bathroom. A room he NEVER enters. He's always seemed afraid of it. "I have to pee Huxle-tron. Move it!"
"Meeeeoooow!"

And suddenly I don't just have to pee. I am going to poop in my pants if I don't hurry. Huxley jumps down off of the toilet, runs out of the bathroom up the basement stairs.
I get my pants down just in time and sit down. As I let loose and have one of the most cathartic shits of my life, Huxley re-appears on the stairs, walking slowly down, and then stands right in front of the open bathroom door. Which is also weird, because I always close the bathroom door. Even if I am alone in a hotel room. Not today.

Huxley looks at me as poop cascades out of my butt in glorious, stinky release. There's that click again. Our eyes lock, and he starts to wretch. That whole body peristalsis that only means one thing if a cat is doing it. He vomits and our eye contact is broken. A huge pile of vomit is on the floor, halfway in the bathroom and halfway out. The threshold to the bathroom is straddled by a pile of half digested cat food, stomach acid and stomach goop, and it's crawling with a black fluid that shows deep purple edges as it moves, forming worms and rippling sheets of black ugliness. Worms, and back to a contiguous sheet, wrapping the cat puke. Worms… Sheet… then it's just regular old cat vomit. Huxley shakes his head, licks his lips, turns and leaves, to look for a place to sleep it off.
"Thank you?"
"Meow"


That's my story. I left the cat puke in place for a few hours just to make sure it was really there. It was.
My wife later confirmed that she had indeed gone halfway to her destination before she had to turn around and retrieve an item our child insisted on having. She said: "I tried to be quiet. I didn't want to interrupt your journey."

She was the opposite of quiet wen she came back to the house. It was like she was announcing herself. Either that, or my senses were cranked up to 11. She remembers being quiet. Sneaking into the house and out again.

Make of this what you will. It was amazing for me. I'm still integrating the experience weeks later.

And for those who ask the question: "Does being on MDMA guarantee an easy and positive DMT experience?" The answer is an emphatic NO. In the end, this difficult experience had a valuable outcome, but it wasn't fun when I added the DMT. It was serious business. As it should be.

Thanks for reading this extremely long story. I love you all. Thanks for all of your input and support.

Wow...just...wow.

Beautiful story, one of the best trip reports ever!

Man,cats are healers. I think this is really interesting. I once had a psychic conversation with my cat when I was going through heroin withdrawal. He asked if he could help, and then told me that he eats pain,to put it simply.(that's how he put it) He said cats don't eat pain to get sustenance,but they consume it when present with permission from the owner (of the pain, no-one owns a cat) and they transmute it back into unformatted potential energy. Put the energy back into circulation so to speak.

I close my eyes, and saw him running around a round track that looked like a roller derby rink, chasing and pouncing on these little things that looked like bocci balls. I did feel a little better during and after.

They are allies of the highest order.

Thank you! Beautiful words, and trip report.

Cats...

Thank you so much for your kind words. I'm almost half a century old and I'm starting to realize and believe that I am a talented musician and writer. I had those notions beaten out of me in both physical and psychic ways when I was young. It means so much to me for people like you two, to validate my work. I know that you are both interesting and thoughtful, intelligent and talented people from seeing you on the Nexus.

You make me want to write more. I have a bunch of half completed reports hanging around. Now I want to finish them up. Thanks again. This one was difficult to write. It poured out of me, but I had to take breaks because I couldn't help but cry at certain points. Thank you for helping me integrate the experience. Artistic growth and self acceptance is a big part of my current path.

Seconded!

Mister_Niles, your writing is first rate. It made me feel like I was right there with you. Keep up the good work, now is the time!