# Trip Report Anthology



## Coughing Prophet (Nov 14, 2009)

Mescaline Meltdown - A collaborative of Eagle of the North and Condor of The South
~This is a collaborative effort of two psychonautic partners embarking on a journey. Recorded by my psychonautic partner, Eagle of The North. The story entails moments of insights and moments of psychic resonance.

...The following are in the words of Eagle of The North.

From what I have in the notes recorded during the trip and memory, we'll start with the walk, after drinking the sandy coughing cactus volcano liquid. Watch the world. Find within it what exists that becomes. Besides us and the cactus, there was another. October. Filling in the dark spaces of the night in between the trees and the fallen leaves, it was there and all around, with it's gentle rain that has a notable difference from last month's showers.

There was a house. A very simple house - one story and plain, but it was beautiful. It had something about it that made it so, more than the houses that are made to be so. It was lived in, and therefor special. Simplicity has more meaning and beauty by just being, rather than the complexity that tries to be meaningful and beautiful but misses out on being - being alive, which is what the house had. That it is just enough to be a place in which to live makes it alive and more beautiful than the endeavors (and money) that put together magnificent houses that lack any soul, because money beats soul every time.

Part II: The escape

I could drive. That became evident, although the car was rather gliding. As this began I felt light, as if movements were no longer restricted, and I could feel everything perfect, fitting together. It was while I was waiting for the cigarette runner to run back I felt it - a lifting, as though I either broke free or dropped an enormous amount of my unnecessary self, and I could feel the weightlessness in my hands as this freedom of movement that still propels me came about. Everything was clear and perfect.

Part III: The room floating amongst the stars.

The room was a quiet place, ripe with thoughts. All the thoughts that had previously been thought in there continued to leave their energy, as if we were inside a pipe surrounded by the resin of thoughts and ideas. The low light of the candle helped, its movements at times being controlled by Condor of The South. Effortlessly, the flame was directed to dance, happy to do so. Words were shredded onto paper, but caution was important, as the words were prone to fall off the page if tilted just right; care was taken to handle the paper, and the dripping words stayed on the page.

Part IV: The leak

Rooms switched, and in this new spacious one, more was discovered. A drink of water sprung a leak in Condor of The South, and the strange tears were wiped aside. Maybe it was because he was tilting his head? Immediately following a check to see if that were true, his head went back to upright, the words being uttered, "Oh god I'm leaking!" No more water did he drink.

Time... I felt it, and it rushed to and through me, time, I was time, and I see its river. There were many rivers without water. Again, that feeling of weightlessness persisted. It's like all that had been smothering my soul had been lifted, and I could feel my soul breathing, the weightlessness that set me free.

Another conclusion: we are hollow corpses with vibrations of music passing through. I am a hollow corpse with a loving music soul. Because that’s what this body is, just something that I’m inside. I feel my body as if it’s a faraway place.

Part V: Fitting the pieces

It seemed as though I was restless. Condor of The South believed I needed to get out of the room, although we had already found that the wild breeze outside was full of discomfort. But I could not be constrained. I was released from what smothers my soul, and in my new liquid form my mind was no longer able to be prisoner to the realm of my body.

Condor of The South, on the other hand, couldn’t remove himself from the bed. He was a bag of thoughts and nothing more. And then the universe again, throwing things around so that they fall into place. Things that need to be brought together are given by the universe, where we find that it’s like a game of Tetris, just adding the pieces that fit together.

The universe also makes itself happy, talking to itself, for all of us are the universe, which is a living organism, made up of everything in it, so that when we talk and are happy, the universe smiles. That’s what our experience is for. In spite of our finite bodies, there exist limitless possibilities.

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Saturday Psychedelics

Tribal beats thumped around me. Every part of the tempo was in direct correlation between rain drops and leaf fall. My mind slipped off into a deep meditative state, where I had huddled down on the ground in a dark room and slipped off into timelessness.

The world decided to wake me up, a good friends birthday - and many drinks to go around. I would have no drinks, and my journey was to begin. So my psychonautic partner and I, with the cactus powder running through our veins, decided to drive to a more peaceful locale.

The car glided across asphalt without wheels. Sounds on the radio emitted frequencies I have never before heard. Light played across the windshield in a manner that matched the harmony of the music.

The tempo intensified, the tribal ritual being played out. We finally made it into a secluded house, where dim candle light danced to music. Incense burned and created a smell never before sensed in my life, and I became a bag of thoughts. Motionless, but speaking. We philosophized the oneness of the universe, and as we got higher - we looked out the window and realized the house was in space.

We laughed as we wondered what scientists from other planets would say if they saw us. We were just there, in the vacuum of space. If you aimed your Hubble telescope at our star, you would see a floating house with two beings waving out the window at you. The only people or thing that existed in that universe, was that house and its denizens. We were happy, and the cactus was too.

~Mescaline


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Psychedelic Saturdays

Sometimes I wonder if I've lost a few bolts. A question of sanity comes to mind when everyone around seems to have a set plan, and I just don't. Am I crazy? Or do I just have too much psilocybin running through my veins?

A moment when a psychedelic leaf came into play. A bit of a color, touched and splattered, and hold onto the moisture of rain. It helps to see these times of day?

Ahhh, mushrooms. I need to come down, but then I question if there is a down at all. Am I sane, or is it real? I kind of turn around to see a dog doing a jerk or two, the dance of senile twins at the age of seven. But, then again it doesn't matter. It just goes to show that I've known my friends for 10,000 years.

I wonder what happened that long ago?

So I grabbed a book, stowed away, and laughed as the breeze tickled through night and day. I need to pump feet to the ground, where movement emits every sound.

I am actually coming to a unanimous agreement within my own mind, I would be happy to be insane.

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Psychedelic Saturday

It had originally been planned that we would make our way across the world to Crow Pass. A hike of 23 miles, and under a cloudless sky. The psychedelic, 5-MeO-MIPT, still courses through my veins. We didn't go to crow pass, we didn't hike.

We did trek across the country, in the city. Ingested the research chemical at a time where titans carved in the walls, then drifted on into the cosmic flare of all that is. Singing the tune of foxy methoxy, but rewinding and rewriting to moxy, we had danced a jig...a tune to four.

Hours drifted on like maple syrup, and the ripples that I witnessed in the lake reflected that syrup so perfectly. A lune drifting by, but interrupted as time interrupted into its life.

I stopped to look at a bushel of flowers. The flowers were breathing, moving, dancing even. The colors swirled and swooped and fluttered. A flutter in my heart that keeps the patter pittering.

I somehow had lost track of all company, left to my sources beneath a spectrum of stars. I fell back into a sleeping bag, lost skyward, I see objects move around and dart across the sky. The stars are all interconnected with a beam of the sacred geometry.

The stars all begin to flash a certain color. Bright pinks, greens, blues, swirls, swoop de woops. Mosey in on inside where flesh begins to hide. Still the research chemical pumps through gentle pitter patters, and I still think that Psychedelic Saturday is the day.

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## Apples (Nov 14, 2009)

Beautiful. Love the line "Ahhh, mushrooms. I need to come down, but then I question if there is a down at all. Am I sane, or is it real?" because i've been there so many times.


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