I am going to make a point in my next blog post, but to do such I need to fill everyone in on a little bit of my previous research. This old post is about altered states of consciousness, both temporal and spiritual. My main interest in posting this is the last of the three experiments (The Next Day), starting where the text style is set to bold. I could not extract the experience without the associated context, and I figure that some readers may be aided by the rest of the post.
14 points of rotation
Current mood: pensive
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural
It isn't like me. Or is it? I can validate my decision, at least to myself. Curiosity killed the cat, and I'm a kitty with a death wish. Ethnographically speaking, I find the responses everyone else gives as unreputable. Spiritually; only I can measure the experience. "I think, therefore I am." --Descartes I've travelled the physical world, the psychic world, the imagined world; it seemed like another place to go. My best friend might kill me if he knew. I guess he knows now. Everyone knows now. It is martyrdom I seek in this post, however. Writing this experience may jeopardize me, but it can also be used as a tool to teach and measure. Having that resource in the world is far more important than my comfort. My pity for Lucifer grows just a touch, and at the same time I have uncertainty toward the truth portrayed in bite from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
Pinesville, West Virginia - 2006
Everyone knew what we were doing. There were only five of us there, two involved in an intimate relationship, one of them rooming with another. The topic had floated around our conversations for some time. Everyone's familiarity varied. As with most things on this planet, I seemed to be the furthest behind. When opportunity came my way I snatched it. Shivering with an emotional concoction of fear and anticipation the two of us pulled into the parking lot of a closed laundry facility. It was a new method, something I had not tried before. It was awkward at first, but I was taught well. It only took a moment, than we were off. We stopped at a gas station, and while she went in to pay, it began.
A chuckle; that is all it was at first. Than another, and another, and a painful realization that there was nothing funny at all, then a giggle at that. I tried to settle myself, ground myself against it. I knew I was stronger than it. I threw my mind as violently as I could toward a dreary thought: Darfur. It didn't matter, though. The idea bounced off of me, like it had been made into a rubber ball. My host returned, and I explained it to her: she seemed excited for me, and that was comforting. During the drive back to the hotel my joints went numb. It started in my fingers and arms, than moved through the rest of my body. The joints felt like they were whirring, or vibrating. I was struck by a sudden, dense pressure in my head. This was the first sign I was looking for. At the time I had spent around 9 years as an occultist, and had done many exercises that included meditation to achieve altered states. This dense sensation was very familiar to me, and I understood how/why this could be seen as religious. The whirring continued to grow, eventually crawling into every bone, and throbbing through my whole body. I felt incredibly dense and heavy, and was left with a sensation that I was falling, and dragging, like my mind had to skip to catch up. Ideas started to pour into me, but as I sought to grab them my mind would trip. I would have to skip to catch up to the moment, but as I did that I would crop the thought, and only a fragment could ever escape my lips. My host laughed; none of it was too frightening yet because it was all laid out before in childhood fables. I continued to gather my broken, fleeting thoughts while feeling my body plummet - wait, that did worry my me a little. My host said that it shouldn't feel like falling, but like flying. There was no elevation here, however. I settled the matter easily, however, by relying on my presumption that other people's accounts could not be trusted. At least the whirring was shared. We stepped into the cafe, my host joined the others at the table, while I stood at the counter and looked at the menu for something to eat. Wait, did I just stand here for 15 minutes looking at a menu? Embarrassed, I made a quick order than scurried off to the table to join the others who had already begun eating. "Is the time lapse real or perceived, because I swear I was just at the counter staring at a menu for 15 minutes?" My host laughed, while the two intimates stared quizzically at us. The whole issue was revealed, and throughout the rest of the conversation I think I only received one disappointed glance. Nobody there cared, and that lack of judgment was especially refreshing right then. Suddenly my body went into a mad craving for food, and the waitress seemed like she was taking forever. The time lapse continued, and I gawked forward stupidly for what felt like some long time. A dark realization than came to me: what if this was happening while I was driving. How horribly selfish it would be to presume that others could perceive equally as poor as I did under that influence. My mother had always said that if I had to ever make the horrible decision between a drunk driver and this, than I should choose this. Time lapse behind the wheel is a hell of a lot scarier as far as I'm concerned, however. Fuck getting into a vehicle with either as far as I'm concerned - let the mob/cops get me.
Our food arrived, and we began to eat. I must have been such a nuisance, accounting each experience as it came along, sharing it with everyone around. Still they were patient with me. My patience was not as tempered. One of the intimate couple had said something, and I called her on it. How very out of character for me? I usually try to be as forgiving and patient as I can. I had seen her berate those around her for the past few days, however, mostly in jest. For some reason I read it all so seriously just than, and threw myself into a verbal fight. "Why are you always so mean? I hear how you talk to her throughout the day." I don't know if I ever finished my thought. I wanted to add, "laughing at her for things she hasn't learned yet." It never went that far, however, but was instead just enough fuel to make a fire. Not a fire for the berating intimate, but for me. She turned at me with a sadistic smile, and teased me to keep talking, and I did, digging a bigger, deeper whole for myself. I started to blow things out of proportion just to want to see her hurt. Wait, I don't want to see her hurt. Damn, this is low. This is sadistic, too sadistic even for me. I bit my tongue, clasp my gasp, than rambled through my apologies. She kept her smile and played me. Her disapproval was something I couldn't bear just then. I could feel myself freak out. Even the next day at work I asked her roommate about what happened, and apologized again on the last day of work, just in case we would never see each other again. We ate, we drank a little, than we turned in. I had had a huge bowl of pasta, so I know my two beers wouldn't be affecting me, still I felt drunk. By now it had been four or five hours since I had started this experiment. If it wasn't the alcohol, than why did I feel so dizzy when I laid in bed. Would this feeling never end? I tried to doze off, but it was difficult. Eventually I did, and slept like a rock. So many of my memories from the night before had faded. It was not unreasonably hard to pry myself from my pillow, and certainly easier than after a night of many hard drinks. Work began, it was just another day.
Noblesville, Indiana - 2007
Since college, an increasing sense of loneliness has driven me to act in ways that betray even my better judgment, and often attached to the memories of those judgments are tags scribbled with validations: "I've never done that before", "I might not ever get to again", "I want to be weak, and give into temptation", "I need to express". This was no different. We had talked about it for months. I had fought and fought against it. The last experience had been really too spiritual. I thought that I had cheated. I did not want to cheat. There was a social bonding aspect to it as well, however. Some call it peer pressure. This was not peer pressure, though. I wanted to share something with friends, have something that was between us, a bond and a leverage between people that I care about. It was a perfect opportunity. Three of us, in seclusion. Well, two of us. One came down with a blistering migraine, but he shoo'ed us off with permission anyway. So the two of us ran off to a secluded wood. It was pathetic. The grating coughs, ticking mechanism, and flicker of light would have given us away instantly if anybody cared to look. Nobody did, however. I kept running around the corner to the edge of the tree line anytime I heard something that might have been someone approaching. I wonder if it all seemed like unfounded paranoia to my cohort. I called it quits when the pit of my stomach began to turn, and we walked back to my car while the numbing set in. Again I rambled the account of my experience. Several times I would stop because I thought my cohort didn't care. We would take another few steps, and he would ask me what I had said, or to keep going. By than my mind had moved on so far, there was no chance of retrieving the thought. It went on like this for some time. He wanted to keep walking. I couldn't see why we should. Having worked in this kind of countryside, I knew how easy it was to get lost, and that neither of us was in any condition navigate this alien terrain. Besides, it was late at night, and as we all know, I am diurnal, and once the sun sets I have a limited battery life. We got back to our campsite, but avoided the tent where our migraine-incapacitated friend had sought refuge. We sat down in the car, and reclined our chairs. I continued my ramble. He said almost nothing. Fearful that I was talking to much, I shut up. By than my joints had begun to whir again. The whirring was scattered across a few of my knuckles, and in parts of my elbows. The whirring became a whirling, and it shortly felt like each of my joints was coursing with an elliptical energy. I felt heavy as this energy began to consume my body, but unlike the first experience of falling, this time I felt elevated, floating in place; neutral. Painfully contorted in my driver's seat, I fell asleep in my intoxicated stasis.
The Next Day
The three of us decided to make up for the previous night's short comings. There was a despicably greedy delight in our pathetic anticipation of the upcoming moment, a sick wanting the likes I had not seen in real life, but only in the movies. Could I really be as pathetic as those ravenous idiots whose sole purpose is to use pity to make a fable for us? Party Monster, here I come! After seeing how painfully conspicuous we were the night before, it should have been obvious not to make the same mistakes again. Still the flicker of light or the hacking coughs out the window could have given us away. At one point I couldn't handle it any more. My stomach was churning, and there was no fresh air left in my car. I stepped out and walked around for a bit. It was a moment of reflection. It could be 1968, we could all be 17, in any of our father's run-down Buicks, free-balling in ratty jeans, the faces of our favorite band's members plastered across our T-shirts. Egad, how uncouth! How revolting!! I hate the 60s! Still, it was a good time to be a boy, and that is what I wanted that night, and that is whom I wanted to bond with: me and boys. One of my boys came to check on me. I had regained my breath, and we walked back to the car. I wasn't able to answer him. It had struck almost instantly this time. There was no numbing. I went straight from nausea to a full body whirl. My face felt like Jack Nicholson's as the Joker in the original Batman. Little (almost) metaphysical helicopter blades were pulling my cheeks into the air, forcing me to smile. I chuckled my response, than crawled back into the vehicle. We kept going. I was very miffed by the feeling of having a smile forced on me. I did not want to be dragged up. I took a few deep breaths, concentrated my attention. I was out, or at least partially out. My emotions of fear and loathing had tempered my intellect against the physical processes. Now it was a whole different world. Before I had gone with it. The first time I was exploring it, learning what it did. The second time was not long enough to really experience it, and what I did experience was purely for understanding. This time, however, this time I fought it, really fought it. I opened my eyes, and felt like I was drowning. I closed my eyes, and I could imagine a flood of bubbles in a yellow chemical ecstasy rushing around me. Sitting in my car was like standing in a wind tunnel, or trying to press your hand against a hot tub jet. Even now as I write this I can remember the sensation so clearly, I can almost feel it. Than a car pulled up in the parking lot. We grew stiff, and quiet. Was he looking at us. Did he know we were looking at him. Oh, how stupid, to be looking at him! That would only raise suspicion. Damn, he probably knows. You know, if he has a cell phone, and is genuinely concerned (unlikely) he might call a cop. He drove off. We sighed with relief. A cop drove down the next block over, we could see him down the alley.
Do you know the feeling in the pit of your stomach when while speeding a cop pulls up behind you and you know, even before he turns his lights on, that you are going to get pulled over?
One screamed. One hushed. One cursed. I cursed. The doors flung open and slammed shut. Two scuttled one way, I ran the other. Wait, you idiot! Don't run!!! Too suspicious. I slowed to a steady pace, and could see the cop drive off by the time I reached the next corner. I was in the clear for now. I made a sharp 90° turn, keeping my distance from the others until we met again on the sidewalk. Paranoid and terrified we clamored up the stairs abuzz with chatter to loud for that hour of night and into our friends apartment for immediate refuge. The venetian blinds were tweaked so that we could check my car parked in the lot across the street occasionally. In the mean time, there was still a rush of bubbles flowing over my body. The whirling in my body was twisting to the right, the room began to spin toward the left. I had experienced this before in a Qabala meditation, and another more experienced occultist had hypothesized that this might stem from some aspect of the tree of life that exists to the left, the details of which I have long forgotten. My internal rotation to the right, and my external rotation to the left caused me to feel like I was strapped inside a giant gyrosphere. I was nauseas. No one could understand my feelings just than either. There were only four of us in the apartment than, and the three of us who had been in my car made for an excellent cast of a bad 80s teen movie. Of course, I cast myself as the semi-nerdy, striving main character - I let the other two take the more personalized rolls. They fit them much better than I did. The supplying friend and screamer had turned into a brainless, giggling dolt, utterly incapable of grasping the complex geometry that I was explaining. The hushed one was the too-cool rock star hedonist. I kept calling for him, hoping that he hadn't left him with the vacant-minded screamer. God, please don't let me have been so amateur and immature as to need him as a babysitter! Normally we keep one another's company very well, but he was unbearable under this influence. However, he kindly fetched the too-cool rock star. When they returned I voiced my discontent, which inadvertently struck at the screamers feelings. I feel bad for that. Please understand, you are a cool person, but I need deep thoughts. Decor is nice, but the social/political/spiritual climate it symbolizes is even nicer, regardless of how much my mind is altered. Ideas were occurring to me in the same quality that my spiritual visions occurred to me. I was having another spiritual moment. Damnit, I knew I should not have done this! I was perceiving things as I had perceived them only in meditation. The only difference was the lack of sound. Normally I can hear things. It was a mute, neon outline of the metaphysical realm I had pictured in my meditation. Shit! I breeched something. I was in another plane. Someplace I had never been. I could feel another axis of rotation added to my whirling gyrosphere as it tumbled down the bubble filled tube. By now my whirling gyrosphere had grown into a complex double helix with probably 14 points of rotation. I couldn't concentrate on the images that were tackling me. The bubbles pushed me up, my fighting drove me down, the gyrospheric rotation twisted my perception so that I knew I was grounding myself when in fact I was ascending. That was heresy. I should not be able to know how to do that. The balance between settled and expansive has been a test to my meditations for years. I never wanted help with that matter because I needed to be self-sufficient. I had given up Jesus because I wanted to be self-sufficient when it came to my sin, I didn't want him to bear my sins for me, I want to be spiritually self-reliant though in tuned with the already present divine. Grasping that heretical, dual motion concept through this substance made me reliant, made me weak. It was suddenly a crutch! I had failed myself. I had sinned, and sinned so greatly that I knew I could not resolve the issue on my own. I did need repentance, I could regret, I would return that experience to learn it fresh and on my own. I squeezed my eyes tighter, trying to block out the image. It didn't work. I opened my eyes. I couldn't see it, but I could feel it. My mind was a wash in prayers: "Lord God, I am sorry, I should not be here, I know. Forgive me. I do not want this. I have made a mistake, I know that only you can resolve this for me. Please keep me from this." Than the rock-star friend spoke. I was so happy to hear him, to listen to him. I suddenly understood why the oracles at Delphi had priests - they needed someone to coach them when they were too far beyond. There was a presence of the divine in the advice he gave me: it isn't real, don't trust it. Of course. Somewhere in there I found Lucifer. I pitied him again. He had no voice to guide him. He is lost in his revalation, spiraling further and further away just as I had. Yes, I want the spiral of awareness, but I cannot enter planes of spiritual awareness prematurely. I know I am limited and need to grow. Lucifer became Satan when he wanted more than what he was. I pity him, but I don't want to be him. If I could, I would rescue him. In the mean time my fight was struggling. The nausea was now so bad I wanted to vomit. I was in the kitchen, doubled over the trash can waiting for something while being watched patiently by the rock-star. I could feel concern. I couldn't understand how he was so calm. He kept saying to just let go, and let my bubbles carry my away. I tried, but I found that I only spun faster. Ugh, nauseas. I heaved, but I had no saliva, no water in my body to spare. My throat was parched, almost coarse. I felt it stick. I thought, "Am I going to be able to breath"? I sniffed in some air. Thinking back on it, I don't know how I could sniff and still come to the conclusion that I did. I thought that I was going to asphyxiate. I thought that I was going to dry heave until I couldn't breath anymore, than I was going to die slow painful death of choking on my vomit. I didn't know that instinct screamed in my mothers voice. I rammed my finger down my throat, felt the gag reflex kick in. When that heave wasn't enough, reason and intellect gave another suggestion: push it back down. I pressed my finger so far down my throat that I could feel my larynx scrape against my finger. I felt something, and pressed on it. It went down, and in my next breath I asked for water. I emptied 3 glasses before I said another word. My stomach was angry, churning against whatever I forced it to re-accept (which reminds me, I think I once dreamed of talking to my digestive track). Food sounded so good right then, not out of some chemically induced hunger, but because I thought that a mix of food and water would either press what-wanted-to-come-up down, or that if I would vomit at least there would be plenty of grease and stuff to help it up. The rock-star friend was worried about ruining my buzz. The sooner I would be done with it, the happier I would be. The lingering fear of dying stupidly that night with a novel to finish was more than enough to make me take any precautions I could. Eventually I calmed. The spinning wasn't stopping, but the need to vomit was nearly gone. Maybe I just needed water. I worked on my fourth glass while recounting all that was happening. Eventually I curled on the floor, and let myself sleep. It was hard at first, my mind was racing and active, even though I was exhausted. Eventually my mind let go. I woke up the next morning not only fine, but in control.
Control has been a big issue lately. I've demanded emotional control out of friends and co-workers. I sought control spiritually, mentally, emotionally. I have lots of self-control, perhaps too much because I'm starting to find ways to lose control. I want to break me. I need some sort of vent. I need something, somebody else. There is a mix of lonesomeness, lust, passion, violence, and a world of opportunities, and I am really tearing into it. My claws are bared and I am scratching away. Chunks of cork board are falling to the ground. That cork board is the house of my making, however. I'm in a rampage, and there is little that is controlling me. I've used people. Co-workers are easy because you don't see them often. I don't want to hurt them, but they get in my way. I want to plow them over. I'm using people to get them to use me. Break me, make me want to break them, break you. God, that is sick. I'm pathetic. These past couple days I've been sought by a bunch of people, and honestly, there are maybe three of you out there who I actually want to see (other than my family). Jae, don't hate me. Erin, where are you. Hi, Nichole.
Give me some time. I swear I'll get better. It is strange. A few years ago I would be up for much of the night incapable of knowing how to act out. Now I am busy, and act out in so many ways I find myself sleeping easier, being more content. I think I'm growing spiritually passive, however. I have no balance. Why can't I be spiritual, and active, content with what I have, and wanting more, and able to let go. I think I need to keep writing on my novel. I need to finish the art, and get back to my novel. I don't know how many of you I want to talk until I get it done. I don't want to be left out of what you do. I don't want you to forget me. If you read this blog regularly, than I probably am not going to forget you (I see you there!).
Again: I posted this mostly to help people. It is for those who are looking for an escape in a place where I can tell you, there is none. Trust yourself, your heart, and take a moment to see the adventure that is around you all the time.
I had a healthy adventure the next day. Rock-star and I tried to find the long lost brass ceiling in his house. The day after that I had a heart-to-heart with another good friend. See, things get better. :)