The Third Eye (A story I wrote about how it feels to trip)

A few days ago I wrote a story about how it felt to be high on opium from the perspective of Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius, and got inspired to do a similar one about LSD tonight (based on my own most recent trip)

A tiny crystalline drop. That’s all it takes to “free your mind”. What happens after ingestion depends on who you ask, but nothing happens right away. No, this drug takes it time, fitting itself into not just your receptors but also your psyche, your self perception, and your conscious being. Within 30-45 minutes a queasiness in the stomach sets in, and the room feels like it starts to expand. My pupils begin to widen, my heart accelerates, and my breathing tightens. On the ceiling above me, mild filters of kaleidoscopic light appear along side faded patterns of geometric shapes and rough pencil-drawn-looking faces. I begin to feel dizzy, restless, heavy, and nauseous. 

I bring myself to my feet, keeping the trashcan out of the line of sight in hopes I avoid puking. I stumble to my computer and put some music or video on, something to distract me from the grip Hoffman’s troubled child has placed on me. By 90 minutes, it takes full effect as my room looks as if the threads the hold it together has loosened. Beautiful, yet cryptic and abstract visuals delight my retinas. The tightness in my abdomen begins to subside, and I start to fly. My mind feeling freer and stranger than before, flooding with abstract and unruly ideas about things, biological and imaginary. My mood begins to lift, I begin to cherish loving thoughts, crave them light a desert wanderer dying for water. As I lay in my bed, my comforter feels especially heavy, like the firm yet protective hide of a mother bear or father lion. I begin to feel calm within myself. And then I begin to sense her presence. The girl of my dreams, the one known from long ago but was never meant to be. My heart aches for her, even though my romantics thoughts hold little baring in reality. She lays next to me, I imaging her warmth against my body. The comfort of being loved, the softness of her skin, the silkiness of her hair, the beauty of her smile. She’ll never be mine in the real world, but here, I can hold her in my arms until all the stars in the universe collapse. And there I shall lay, lost in the sound of music that wraps around me like a blanket, comforting me. I close my eyes, and am delighted by the psychedelic shadow puppets before my eyes. So much potential within a single organ, underutilized by the sober mind. So much imagination realized once more. Though I lay in bed alone, my drugged state stimulates my