...I remember the very, very first time that I smoked DMT. It
was sort of a benchmark you might say, and I remember that this friend of
mine that always got there first visited me with this little glass pipe and
this stuff which looked like orange mothballs. And since I was a graduate
of Dr. Hoffman's I figured there were no surprises. So the only question I
asked is, 'How long does it last?' and he said, 'About five minutes.' So I
did it and........ there was a something, like a flower, like a chrysanthemum
in orange and yellow that was sort of spinning, spinning, and then it was like I was pushed from behind and I fell through the chrysanthemum into another place that didn't seem like a state of mind, it seemed like another place. And what was going on in this place aside from the tastefully socketed indirect lighting, and the crawling geometric hallucinations along the domed walls, what was happening was that there were a lot of ahh.. beings in there, what I call self-transforming machine elves. Sort of like jewelled basketballs all dribbling their way toward me. And if they'd had faces they would have been grinning, but they didn't have faces. And they assured me that they loved me and they told me not to be amazed;
not to give way to astonishment. And so I watched them, even though I wondered if maybe I hadn't really done it this time, and what they were doing was they were making objects come into existence by singing them into existence. 
Objects which looked like Faberge eggs from Mars morphing themselves with mandiean(sp) alphabetical structures. They looked like the concrescence of liguistic intentionality put through a kind of hyper-dimensional transform into three-dimensional space. And these little machines offered themselves to me. And I realized when I looked at them that if I could bring just one of these little trinkets back, nothing would ever be quite the same again. And I wondered, Where Am I? And What Is Going On? It occurred to me that these must be holographic viral projections from an autonomous continuum that was somehow intersecting my own, and then I thought a more elegant explaination would be to take it at face value and realize that I had broken into an ecology of souls. And that somehow I was getting a peek over the other side. Somehow I was finding out that thing that you
cheerfully assume you can't find out. But it felt like I was finding out.
And it felt.. and then I can't remember what it felt like because the little
self-transforming tykes interrupted me and said, 'Don't think about it. Don't
think about who you are. Think about doing what we're doing. Do it. Do it now.
DO IT!!'
And what they meant was use your voice to make an object. And as I understood,
I felt a bubble kind of grow inside of me. And I watched these little elf
tykes jumping in and out of my chest; they like to do that to reassure you.
And they said, 'Do it.' And I felt language rise up in me that was unhooked
from english, and I began to speak.. like this, 'Ehh yo ca dem wa, etc..
.. or words to that effect. And I wondered then what it all meant and why it felt so good if it didn't mean anything. And I thought about it, a few years actually, and I decided that meaning and language are two different things. And that what the alien voice in the psychedelic experience wants to reveal is the syntactical nature of reality. That the real secret of magic is that the world is made of words, and that if you know the words that the world is made of you can make of it
whatever you wish. (More unintelligible tongue here..) And one of the things
that I learned about DMT was that if you've ever had it, even just once, then
you can have a dream, and in this dream somebody will pull out a little glass
pipe, and then it will happen! It will happen just like the real thing.
Because there's a button somewhere inside each and every one of us that
gives you a look into the other side. And that's the button that resets
the compass that tells you where you want to sail. Good luck...
deoxy » chemical experiences of a hyperspatial nature
