A day on the beach

I originally wrote this out over a month ago, but my computer failed me and I couldn't be bothered to write it all up again there and then.

So the plan was a nice solo daytime trip on a quiet beach, timed so that I would still be doing allright for sunset.
That's essentially how it worked out. This is quite long, so if you do not wish to read on you can contend yourself that I had a nice time on that beach. I seem to be a random weird shit magnet when I'm tripping.

I went well-prepared: I had my music player, I had some cookies, a towel, three valium and three xanax just in case, two joints, two hits of acid, and a big bottle of water. The beach is called "Freedom beach" and I believe it is so named because one can indeed go and be free there. I expected it to be nice and quiet, with an ever-so-slight hope of being the only person there. My friend dropped me off (this is over an hour's walk from where I live and "work") and my hopes were quickly shattered.

The beach was packed. I spotted two families when I arrived at around 1:30, and loads of people around my age or older. I saw a few topless women and a few people smoking doobies. Freedom beach, indeed. But it was not what I had in mind. I was uncertain. I had plannned to drop at 2pm, leaving me four hours to reach peak and ease off a bit for sunset. I soon discarded my doubts and put the little piece of paper in my mouth.
It came on nice and slowly. So slowly, in fact, I found myself doubting the potency of this drug, but not for long.

So there I was, sitting on my towel, listening to music, watching the waves and the trees and the people, smiling. A thousand thought processes all happening at once. I did this for a while, until I noticed one of the families from before; the mother was doing strange stretching exercises and displaying phenomenal flexibility, all the while keeping a watchful eye on her young.
Out of nowhere (or rather, from behind me, where I couldn't see) came hubby, who had done a running start and did an impressive front flip just before the sand meets water. To my great amusement (and amazement) he kept repeating this spectacle for a while, visibly dissatisfied with his own efforts. I thought he did pretty good.

I tired of this show after a while, and went back to watching all the things happening around me. Waves, leaves blowing in the wind, the sun shining through the same leaves, the wind chilling my body. Actually, being cold was a theme for the whole trip. I've only done mushrooms before, and they always get me warm and clammy. Not so this time.

Then another group approached my vicinity; a French guy and girl, and a Spanish fellow. The French guy tied some sort of rope between two palm trees, tightened it as much as he could, and began to balance on it. There is a name for this sport, but it escapes me now.

The thing about this different kind of line-walking is that the line gives, so you have to read it, counter, and move. The French boy was the best, doing all kinds of neat little tricks and jumps, the other two were novices. All of this was happening not five feet from me, the acrobat and his sons were watching as well.

Naturally, he had to have a go. I had it figured it out in my state; upper body balance, bend of the knees, read the rope, and move. There was no way I was going to try, though, despite their invitations. I was happy where I was. Anyways, the acrobat did well, as one might expect. His sons had a few goes, too.

Then came the Germans. There were four girls and two guys, I later learned the guys were travelling on their own and had met the girls that same morning, and also, three of the girls were in fact Austrian. Minor, insignificant details. They all had a try of the rope, and while the men were trying to show off, a couple of the girls came over to have a chat, and the French were beginning to look rather dismayed.

I foolishly spoke with them. A mistake I make all too often. I was happy with the status quo, there was no need to open my mouth and break it.
The French eventually left, the Germans having taken over their rope. The jokes were obvious and tactless, and I am proud of myself for not making them. One of the many reasons I should refrain from opening my mouth in most cases is my talent for tasteless jokes.

The French returned to pack up their rope, and when I looked around, I noticed the beach was all but deserted, mosquitoes and other horrible creatures were feasting on my blood, and the sun was setting. The Germans kept speaking to me to learn about the island, and I made my best effort to tell them what I knew, but trust me when I tell you this was very difficult indeed. I'm sure you understand.

The Germans, minus two of the girls who stayed behind to chat with me, returned to their base camp on the other side of the beach, about 25 yards away. One of them joined the others, the other walked to the water's edge to watch the sunset, and I went only a few moments later. There were trees on this beach, so it was difficult to watch the sunset from anywhere but the edge of the water. I went into the water and watched the colors of the sunset and the clouds. The water felt wonderful on my legs, I contemplated going in but before acting on a whim, as I do much too often, I realized the consequence of being wet was to be cold. The thought process behind this conclusion was much longer than you might think. The girl kept talking to me and asked me immaterial questions about my name, age and such.
The clouds were beautiful. The sunset was beautiful. The visuals were fantastic. Like nothing I've had on mushrooms.

I went to find a bathroom, not wanting to whip out my wiener in front of this relentless girl. I returned to talk with the Germans for a bit, and it was then the seed of Fear was planted. One of the German boys said something to the effect of "So, mr Lover Lover, where is a good place to eat around here?" I did not know, nor do I still. I told him this. I told him how it was my first time to that part of the island. They kept talking German between themselves, most of it too quick for me to pick up. I tried making friends by sharing my drugs with them, sharing your drugs always works. They didn't approve of my doobie, not being used to the kind of bushweed usually found in these parts.

Then I had a discussion with them about drugs in general, moved on to psychedelics, and learned one of them was elitist ("Oh no, that's too chemical for me.") one was a party girl ("I want mushrooms! Where can I find some?") and the last one was abstenious. They eventually walked off to have a shower, and I abused them on account of being civilized, I accused them of "probably eating with knives and forks, too" and they went on their merry way, all giggly. After they left, I headed for some rocks I'd been scoping out earlier. I had decided I would spend part of my trip up there, watching the clouds and whatnot.

So I did, and with the sun having set, day quickly gave way to night. The stars came out slowly but surely, behind the still spectacular visuals I saw in the black sky. It was then the seed of Fear blossomed. I went into a spiral of negative thought processes, full of irrational fear of... nothing. I went back to my anchors in reality; my phone had the time and the ability to communicate with the rest of the world, my music player gave me the power to hear the sounds I wanted, and I could clearly feel the rock beneath me.
I let go of my anchors, and quickly went back to that bad place. I escaped to my music player and turned on Massive Attack's "Mezzanine." Those of you familiar with this album might agree it's not the best music for when one is having a bit of a bad trip. I sent my friend a text message, I had asked him to pick me up the day before, and asked if he wanted to come burn one down. I ate a xanax and drank a bunch of water. "Remember to take care of your body," my friend's words echoed in my mind.

This is what he sent back a bit later (In the middle of the song "Man Next Door." That part when they say "I have to get out of this place.")
"oldecip ukgs wol...alsu kneet avowls unc ukgsaouec yeah"
Yeah? Is that a yes then, I wondered? What is going on here? I checked my other messages: They were fine. They were written out in normal, understandable English, this one wasn't. This was not good for my fear. I wrote him back, expressing my confusion, he wrote me "What? Don't think I'm gonna make the mission." Throughout this period, which felt like a long, long time, I kept rationally explaining things to myself; "I can just lay here until tomorrow and I'll be fine," "I can always move and go somewhere else," etc.

So there I was, trying to cope with reality, pondering how awareness of death, insanity and true understanding of existence are closely linked, realizing that there are different degrees of reality, and just how powerful the mind is.

I think what set off the "bad" part of the trip was a combination of talking with the Germans, particularly the insecure guy, and the overwhelming sensation of the trip still going so strong even after five hours; when my buddy told me I'd still be "nice" for the sunset four hours after dropping, I didn't think he meant I'd still be getting these kind of crazy visuals.
Before this I didn't really see how one could have a bad trip - now I do. And I am that much better equipped for reasoning myself out of one should I ever find myself in that situation again, which is likely. I remember asking myself, at the beginning of the bad time, "What if this is one of those times you hear of, when someone has a terrible trip?" and things got worse from there.

I left that beach and walked for a good hour, maybe more, back to my own turf. I met my friends in the bar, where we tend to hang out most nights, and the familiarity of place and people was just what I needed. I had a beer, and went out with some of these guys, most of the night debating philosophical issues with one of my good friends. I probably should not have drunk, and I probably shouldn't have taken that xanax. Both substances blur the mind. But I did not want to go home and think about things just then. It was a good night out after that.

I walk away from this experience with an increased respect for hallucinogens (I always had great respect for them, don't get me wrong,) a desire to go further, deeper, gain greater understanding, and an affirmation of most of my beliefs; the illusion of time, attachment and labelling are two major contributors to suffering, the abundance of love as a backbone for all existence, that sort of thing.

I do not believe it is possible to efficiently express the insight and understanding one can gain from an experience like this. I'm sure most of you know, understand, and agree. So I will leave it at this: I am better now than before.

 

cool bones

there's no secret to navigating a bad trip

you just have to remember you are the captain of your soul

 

but make sure your crew knows this as well.

 

what is 'crew' an analogy for? emotions and thoughts? those are no more problematic than errant cattle to a rancher; it just takes training to find out how to rope them

 

you say you are changed. might i ask how so?

 

I find that whenever I have doubts about how I'm going to feel under the influence of drugs, I have a "bad trip". I haven't really had so much experience with psychedelics yet, but whenever I feel kinda uncomfortable before smoking cannabis, I will usually get paranoid. Its kind of your body feeling uncomfortable, and the drugs amplifying how you feel.

 

crew is anologeous to people we meet on our trip

 

oh i see them as other captains

i like your way too

 

cool story man. that had a bit of every thing. i feel a little tripped out now. kudos for eating the cid even though your ideal setting fell through.

 

ah yes..a crew of captains.

 

if you know how to do something, it is easy. if you do not know, it might not be so easy. now I know, and next time it will be easy.

you may ask, but I don't think I can answer sufficiently. it was a nerve-wrecking, awe-inspiring, beautiful and terrible experience. we change from our experiences.

I also came to terms with my previous trip, which was doubly eventful, ten times as insane and had a lasting physical and psychological effect. I was struggling with that for months. I went to a very strange place that time, and took my last breath twice. That trip kept arising in my mind to confuse me and now it doesn't.

cheers. there's no such thing as a perfect moment or setting, so I figured I might as well take what I had and make the best of it.

thanks for reading and for your comments, guys. certainly one of the most important days of my life. I think I'm still processing some things from that day, and it's almost two months ago now.

 

really? thats good to hear. I experienced a "negative" (to put it nicely) mushroom trip during the summer, that has left me questioning the exact purpose of life. whenever this thought has arrisen on lsa dosings, it has verged on leading into rough territories. Soon i hope to have LSd in order to confront it in a way that will [hopefully] allow me to tackle this from a "more decisive" mindstate and help overcome such borders.

 

I would mistrust tripping in everyday circumstances. After all, it's a sacred experience. I would control the setting more: warmer day, friends around, not accessible to the general public. Stuff like that. Otherwise you're taking chances which will give good or bad results depending on your luck that day.

 

Every day is a sacred day. Every place is a temple.

 

I like taking chances. Makes life more interesting. I had one of the most interesting days of my life that day. It was a nice and warm day, except it was windy. I did not want friends around; I like solo trips. I wanted to go into myself, and I learned valuable lessons.

If you would enter the situation with negative feelings, then clearly you should not trip in such a situation. Me, I went in with mixed feelings and had a great result.

Nothing is sacred. For something to be sacred requires something else not to be sacred, and this can not be.

 

If nothing's sacred, everything is just as sacred as everything else. Polarities are funny aren't they?

 

Exactly. Since nothing is 'sacred' in the sense that X is sacred but Y is not sacred, then everything is equally sacred. Now it's up to you whether you wish to think of things as being equally not-sacred or equally sacred. One is deeply alienating and one is deeply fulfilling. I'm glad I've made the transition

 

I had a life changing moment on a shroom trip where I was finally able to cope with my rejection of god (I was raised to be religious, was VERY into god up until my preteen years, and stopped believing as a teenager): I realized that since rejecting god my entire worldview had been filled with "godlessness" if you will. I realized that if there is no god, there can be no godlessness. In that moment, I realized that because of the universal godlessness, god was, by default, in EVERYTHING, in equal amounts.

It was apparent to me that the word "god" to me was only a symbol of my love for being, and I had misplaced that love when I rejected the religious paternal concept of god. God was still gone, but the love was there, in abundance, waiting for me to tap into it. I never found that big man up in the sky, but I was able to get back my love for him and apply it to everything in my life.

That was the night I beat depression

 

Me and my friend had the exact same realization, except we were both staunch atheists. Well, we still are, in that context .

But now I can tell people "God bless you", while being an atheist, and only have to worry/feel sorry for them when they don't understand how I can say that as an atheist lol.

 

This was the point I was trying to make
Everything is sacred, we shouldn't make out as if something is moreso than something else.

I am the same, except I use the word "god" very sparingly, and whenever I do, I make sure the person I'm speaking with understands I don't mean it in the traditional theist sense. God is everything, we, and everything else, is God.