Three years ago, I smoked a water pipe loaded with DMT and moved to lay down in bed, alone in my room.
BAM. No sooner had I reclined than I was gone. There was no Dana. There was no magical medley of flashing lights en route, no colorful kaleidoscope of geometries, no other-dimensional beings to welcome me as I passed from this world; there was no “I” to pass through the tunnel or to be greeted on the other side or to experience anything at all. I was completely gone; I ceased to exist. And there was NOTHING. Absolutely nothing.
BLACKNESS — the void — emanated in every direction and from every direction.
“I AM GOD,” was the ever-pervading message — not spoken or heard, but KNOWN.
In the Ultimate Reality that was revealed to me, there was no self. There was only the overwhelming no-thingness of God.
This realm, versus that of human ideation, thoughts and words, was akin to the direct experience of a rainbow in the Moab Desert versus seeing a painted rendition of one in black and white and on watercolor paper — the magnitude of information lost to the human mind’s experience indescribable.
As the self re-constituted and I “came down” from the DMT, I experienced a menageries of thoughts and feelings:
What the fuck? Was THAT god!? AM I god?!
<does not compute>
Where were the lights and fairies? Why didn’t I get to see the alien creatures or angels? Why didn’t I receive some great revelatory knowledge pertinent to my life struggles and experience? What the fuck?
I GOT GYPPED!
Clearly, having read The Spirit Molecule by Dr. Rick Strassman MD had created some expectations, giving me a framework for the categories of DMT experience I might encounter.
There was no framework for this experience.
—
A decade earlier, in the early summer of 2008, the Wall Street market crash, releasing me from the self-selected torture of Investment Banking, and revealing the self-imprisonment of alcoholism that had developed, flourished, and over-bloomed in my three short years living in Manhattan. Having just completed two undergraduate degrees from an Ivy League University (including one with Honors in a hard science), and following the two-year Investment Banking stint, I was the ultimate atheist-agnostic — a super-logician and logical positivist extraordinaire. Yet, despite the strength of my power of will, unusual degree of self-awareness and self-knowledge, and beyond all the academic knowledge gained from years’ research in the neuroscience of addiction, I could not get myself sober from alcohol or stay sober. I needed a change: I’m going to live on a beach and do yoga and eat raw foods everyday and paint and dance and heal and figure this shit out. I moved into a small bungalow near the beach in Delray Beach, Florida.
One night in October 2008, I was having a lively discussion about the nature of god with a sober friend.
As I listened seemingly patiently to this person’s understanding of a “Higher Power,” I found myself feeling frustrated and impatient. There was no such thing as god, obviously. And I was tiring of listening to someone else entertain illogical thoughts.
As we conversed, there was a Discovery-channel-esque special on the nature of The Universe playing on large flat screen television in front of us. What Higher Power could one possibly need other than Science, or The Universe? Wasn’t the scientific exploration of consensus reality sufficient? Why do people persist in making shit up unnecessarily? Occam’s Razor, anyone?
When it was my turn to expound upon my conceptualization of a Higher Power — the virtues of Science Proper in studying the reality of The Universe — looking in the direction of the television, which was now showing beautiful shots of supernovae and galaxies, I gestured forcefully: “THIS —“
The cup sitting between us slid sharply across the table.
I didn’t get to finish my sentence ("... is MY god"). The fucking cup moved.
The fucking cup moved.
I sat still, seemingly suspended in time, dumbfounded and in complete disbelief.
Dana, did you move the cup?
<does not compute>
No. Stephanie, did you move the cup?
No.
My small brain broke; my little logical mind dissipated. Suddenly, I found myself spewing nonsense, making shit up I didn’t believe myself to explain the inexplicable — “The house is haunted! Oh my god, there’s a ghost in the house!”
I freaked out. She freaked out. We both ran out of the house.
There was no framework for this experience.
—
It hasn’t been until most recently that I’ve been able to reconcile revelations such as these in any cohesive way, or to come to a point of willingness to share any of this with others. The incredible is by definition just that — the unbelievable. And the scientist in me still stands silent in the face of such mystical experiences, feeling slightly embarrassed, completely fascinated, and in awe, all at the same time.
But these mystical experiences must have come through the lens of a militant logician for some reason, no? For otherwise they would not have been experienced at all, no? Reality just IS, regardless of whatever explanation we may provide for its beingness, no?
—
Okay, so how does this all synthesize?
Thank you for being patient with me here, as I attend to the practical realities of consensus reality for the day. I just wanted to get some preliminary notes out there before I keep writing. I appreciate your taking the time to read this missive, and appreciate your comments and feedback in private or posted as well.
Cheers, my fellow earth-bound traveler ;)
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