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During my second hit, an invisible horn section mounted a rapid crescendo as my body began to vibrate symphathetically. Ontological warp speed arrived in a startlingly immediate flash as the universe quite literally deconstructed itself in front of my eyes into a complex green and red geometrical grid that artist Alex Grey has rendered as the "Universal Mind Lattice." An impossibly elaborate onrush of candycolored, chaotically presented patterns of pure visual information then ensued as the intergalactic Wagnerian horn section continued to blow a spectacular fanfare. The emotional content was one of genuine awe, a briefly terrifying integration of my neurology into the submolecular fabric of the universe. Regretfully, there was no encounter with tryptamine Munchkins. But I did feel recognized, perhaps even initiated, into something bigger and weirder than my acid dreams ever suggested.

Following this convincing brush with eternity, or something suggesting death, I was transported into an cunningly decorated alien spacecraft of insectoid design, perhaps a gigantic beetle carapace. Located somewhere in the cosmos, it seemed as empty as a parking garage. A distinctive elvish giggling could be heard as I glanced around the premises, which drifted apart as I began to come down. After a pleasant three-dimensional stroll through some of Jackson Pollock's finest unpainted works, I returned to my livingroom sofa with both a chill of regret at coming down and a renewed fondness for terra firma. I enjoyed a few minutes of mild euphoria before my body returned to a nontoxic normality. I had tranced out for about 15 minutes.

This will probably impress many readers as just another boring dope story (why do we often care so little about the dreams of others?). It seemed substantially surreal to me, however, and without the typical psychoanalytic ooginess of acid or even pot. So yes: There is a There there, and it is in-fucking-tense. Enter at your own risk.

From Omega Man: A Profile of Terence McKenna

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