The Trip Report

The rage I felt the previous day still lingered, like the taste of stale beer in my mouth. My father’s birthday had arrived, and it was the second one since he had passed away. The pain was unbearable, worse than the first, and I found solace in the bottles I downed throughout the day. My anger spiraled out of control, and the darkness enveloped me, pulling me closer and closer to my own demise. As I stumbled through the streets that night, searching for a glimmer of hope to save me from the abyss, I encountered the Shaman. He was someone I knew and trusted, so without hesitation, I followed him to the secret location where we were to engage in a sacred DMT ritual. I had experimented with psychedelics before, but I had no idea how much this night would alter the course of my life. Intoxicated and barely able to walk, I dragged myself to the ceremonial space, where a witness awaited us. Boldly, the Shaman went first, inhaling the DMT-filled pipe and communing with the spirit realm. I observed his ethereal journey, captivated by the beauty and grace of his experience. When it was my turn, the Shaman prepared the pipe, and I took my first hit. Within moments, my reality shattered as faces and hands reached out to me, shifting and transforming like something out of a nightmare. The Shaman and the witness conversed while I struggled to process this surreal experience. Overcome by the demonic influence, I let loose a guttural scream, unleashing years of pent-up anger, resentment, and blame. My soul felt torn apart as I hurled accusations at my family and myself, even invoking my father’s name in my bitter tirade. Exhausted by the outburst, I collapsed into a state of mourning, filled with regret for my hateful words. I began to apologize, but the Shaman reassured me. This was just the first part of the journey, and there was still more to come. As he prepared the second hit of DMT, I laid down, focusing on the light above me and the spirits around me gradually fading away. I closed my lips around the pipe, drawing in the potent smoke that would catapult me into another dimension. The Shaman and the witness looked on in horror as my body convulsed on the ground, spewing black tar and appearing to undergo an exorcism. I relived my entire life within those agonizing ten minutes, all while my body was held down by a force far heavier than my own weight. When the ordeal finally ended, I remained within the ceremonial circle for the rest of the night, too frightened to face the world outside. The following morning, as I rode a taxi home and prepared to explain my absence to my wife, I discovered that the rage that had consumed me was gone. I crumbled inwardly, attempting to piece together the events of the previous night and make sense of my profound transformation. That night, the Shaman and the power of DMT had pulled me back from the edge of darkness, releasing the anger that had plagued my soul and forcing me to confront the demons that tormented me.

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