Citation: Aleph. "Collective Venting: experience with 4-Acetoxy-MiPT & Cannabis (ID 94944)". Erowid.org. Jun 1, 2012. erowid.org/exp/94944
I am a 34 year old male, approximately 150 lbs. I've had previous experiences with LSD, mushrooms, morning glory seeds, Baby Hawaiian Woodrose seeds, salvia divinorum, ayahuasca, 4-aco-dipt, 5-meo-dmt, 2C-E, 2C-I, marijuana, 4-HO-dipt, 5-meo-dipt, San Pedro cactus, mescaline, dpt, dipt, and a host of other mind altering substances.
On May 11, 2011, two months after Japan was hit by a 9.0 earthquake and much of her eastern coast was wiped out by the ensuing tsunami, I sat alone in my room after orally consuming some 4-aco-MIPT and some very good marijuana all mixed together with some ramen noodles. My body and sense of self faded away into the background, and the I entered into a space that seemed to be filled with numerous beings who wished to “vent” and speak through me.
Some of them were crying out for help, for themselves or for those who had lived. Some of them wanted to communicate how deeply important family is and sticking together as people even in the most grave of situations. No spoken words were used, but the meanings came across clearly. This was not the first nor the last time that I found myself overshadowed by the images of those who perished in the Japanese tsunami, and each time I felt myself moved by global events in ways that I didn’t know were possible.
On this particular occasion I entered into glossolalia as the images of the dead moved through my mind. The one who stood out the most was a being who seemed to be the spirit of a Japanese Shinto man. He took the opportunity of my receptive state to sing through me a song calling all of the lost and confused souls washed away to sea in the tsunami to come home into the light of new beginnings, to remember the “First Father.”
The song was in a language that I did not understand. I had the impression that it was a very ancient language that not many people would recognize today. The words had an element of visual imagery to them and for this reason they were clear. Shortly after the song was over, after the peak of the experience, I found a pen and some paper and wrote down the following:
“There is a system, and I do not fully understand it or who is behind it... but it is not God, and it can be broken, and it does enslave the hearts and minds of many many people by breaking them against the rocks of things which their hearts cannot bear to carry the burden of.
A great amount of wealth was recently washed away to sea, and who could have possibly seen it coming? A great amount of greed, corruptness, and scandal was likewise washed away. There is an old song which we sing through the voices of the living for times such as these, and these times come and go like the waves of the ocean. It is a call to bring the lost souls who have been washed away by forces more powerful than themselves, and that they cannot understand in their entirety, to return to the source of their fathers and their ancestors to be born again. Many have lost their names and identities in this occurrence, and this is nothing new.
But we call on those who have been lost and washed away to return to the source, our final father, return to the womb of the earth. The Mother of Us All.
It goes on in intonations and words of an unspoken tongue... or maybe one that has been long forgotten to the passing of ages. The intonations and the words move back and forth like the tides, and they remind us of the cycles of the moon and the passing of the seasons, and how men and women alike become new and forget the wisdom of their ancestors and the ages preceding their birth.
Men and women alike forget the passing of the seasons and the depths of long fought out, endured, battled, scarred, broken, and built ages and the memories which cannot be killed with the simple passage of time. Men and women alike forget... but the Earth is not to blame. She moves when she must move, and she gives all that she can give. The Earth is never to blame for human foibles and fragility. We made ourselves what we are... right down to the species and the individuals involved.
Men and women forget, and they build where they have been told not to build, they go where they are told not to go, and they even do things that they are told will only lead to wreck and ruin in their own lives, or the lives of others. Those who shake their heads and fists at the Father of Wisdom and go on to build where they are not to build, and go where they are not to go, they are those responsible for the grievous failures which have resulted.
Systems have been built which are not God. They will fall to the passage of time. They will lead to heartache and ruin. And the men and women responsible for such systems will turn to ash and dust, but the havoc that they leave behind will continue to infect the Earth with unrighteous seeds of discord and there will never be peace as long as these systems are in place.
I can see the falling of brothers, I can hear their voices and the sorrows that ring out around the world. The banners that they wear may look different, but they are all the same. There is a family to each and every man and woman who believes strongly enough to stand up and take a rifle in their hands and fight against all that is wrong and evil in our world.
It is so amazing that we are lead to believe that our brothers and sisters in other lands are so different to ourselves. What skewed lens of belief distorts our nature so much that we can no longer recognize ourselves anymore when we look into the mirror?
These are the systems which keep us apart, and fighting for the profit of the systems we stay divided. But at what cost?
These systems are not God, and they are rotten and corrupt. They stink of filth, and they corrupt the hearts and minds of all that they can infect. And why does this matter now? Because this is a very crucial moment in the age of our world. We may die as a world if this stink and rot is not dealt with...
Yes, our Mother Earth stinks and rots in her own seasons, but this is something more grave. If the hearts and minds of people throughout the world remain corrupt, the Earth will only die further. She lives on through us. We are her children, but we are also her keepers and protectors. It is possible for the Earth to die. Yes... there may be a rock that continues to revolve around a star, or there may be some more unpleasant but necessary forms of existence scurrying around in cockroaches and rats... but it will never be this grand again.
And now it seems more important than ever to pay attention to what the ages have been telling us all along. To awaken to our roles in this world and carry out our will.
Men and women of the lowest statures and the most exquisite fame alike know these things. There are mysteries only unknown to the profane. But the Light of Eternity must shine forth. The hearts and minds of men and women must be awakened, and people need to know what they do.
The slaves go on through their days in repetitive trances which dull their awareness, their sensations, their perceptions... even though they may be wealthy at times. They do things which harm and destroy the lives of others, but they feel no pain. They are slaves, but what master do they serve? What is the system that rules them? Whatever the system may be, it is corrupt and rotting if this is what it turns people into. It is no good for anyone. Especially now.”
Later, after the substance had worn off completely, I wrote the following account of the experience:
“I ate some ramen noodles this morning around two or three in the morning. These were the good ramen noodles with little green flecks of delicious herbs throughout them. I added some 4-aco-mipt for what will probably be the last experience that I have with this substance for my lifetime.
When it really started kicking in I began entering into glossolalia, which I’ve noticed seems to occur more often nowadays whilst I am tripping. The glossolalia seems a bit random to me, but it tends to reflect powerful and emotional imagery playing on the screen of my internal eye.
This time the glossolalia was coming from those who were washed to sea in the recent Japanese tsunami. They needed to vent through the living, even if there was no one around to hear. Occasionally it seemed that there were other people standing in the room waiting to add something. I had the feeling of others speaking through me, describing their last moments, and the dawning acceptance that they had died. Seeing the waves come in but thinking they were safe, and then realizing how much they had underestimated what was happening. I felt a sense of struggling against the water and being told that it was horrible.
Then I was reminded that many of the people were Shinto. The glossolalia then shifted from speaking to singing. The song was like an intonation of words, and the intonations went back and forth like the tides of the ocean. It was a song calling upon all those who had been taken by the sea, all those who had been lost, all those who no longer had a name or identity, to return to the First Father. To return to the Mother of Us All. To return to the source to be born again.
There was a sense of deep resolution and the song seemed to vibrate in harmony with the Source, and this vibration was in tune with the lost souls, calling them back, calling them to return home to the womb of the planet. And the resolution was of their return, finding their way back to the Light, and the harmonization with the world to come.
This went on for awhile. Later, an image of Osama bin Laden kept appearing over a poster of the Hindu deity Lakshmi which I have next to where I sleep. A message seemed to originate from the image of bin Laden. It seemed to say that the attacks were for attention, attention to issues that the present power structure of the world keeps ignoring or trying to hide from the publics eyes. The deaths which happened on 9/11 pale in comparison to the damage being done to countless people throughout the world as a result of corporate greed and stinkingly corrupt systems which are not God, yet which people develop a slave like dependence upon as if these systems were God.
There was an image of a white man going through a tribal region, and trying to pay local girls for sex. They thought that their people had so much to offer, but all the man wanted was for the people to prostitute themselves. Nothing else they had, no matter how proud of it they were, was good enough for him or had any value to him. So in shame, anger, and necessity they gave in.
An image arose of Arab fighters driving in trucks and carrying rifles and banners with them. These banners were of different colors, and they said different things, but these banners were all the same. These people were families who were willing to pick up rifles to fight against what is evil and wrong in this world. It was shown that it is these corrupt systems that lead us to see our brothers and sisters in other lands as so different from ourselves, as if we do not recognize our own faces when we look in the mirror.
Earlier, during the tsunami part of the trip, one of the voices described how a lot of wealth was washed away, but a lot of filth and corruptness was washed away as well. The wisdom of time, the voice of ages past, sometimes says, “Do not build here.”, and ,“Do not go there.” Yet people forget the lessons of the years, generations, and ages that have gone by and they make the same mistakes over again. Those who can hear the voice of the Father of Wisdom and ignore it or shake their fists in defiance toward it, those are the people responsible for the epic failures of humanity.
Images came to mind of people who felt very little. They were slaves who had become numb to the ruthless mechanisms of whatever system had broken them. They could kill and feel nothing. It didn’t matter what economic class they were in. They were slaves to a master, to some system which was corrupt, filthy, and stinking. Nothing else would do that to people, and in turn such systems must go. They are not God, and once they are corrupt and rotting from the inside out, and turning people out into such a pathetic unfeeling state of severe broken-heartedness to complete heartlessness, then such systems have to go.
There was a sense that bin Laden was dead, but it did not really matter. It seemed as if the image of bin Laden was saying, “I am a man of peace, even if many do not understand my methods.” and, “Maybe people will find peace with my absence.”
Now, I do not claim the content of this trip as my opinion on things. When in such open and receptive states, I open my head “and let the pictures come”. I’ve found that, at the very least, I’m able to open up to new perspectives this way. It’s also a way of facing the Shadow without getting too caught up in it. And what is the Shadow anyway?
The deepest impression that I was left with from this trip was that our world can die, and if it doesn’t die it still can revert to a state of life in which the existences which take place here are unpleasant ones like cockroaches, and that the current grandeur of human civilzation will not last for long. This all, of course, if we do not wake up and replace the rotting systems that corrupt and pollute our world with filth, that destroy families and lives, and are not God. It is difficult to fully articulate what I mean by this, but I think that others who have entered into some of the same kinds of headspaces, as I was in over the last few hours, will understand.
I haven’t mentioned the pretty colors and wavy walls so much as they seem a bit irrelevant to the context of the experience, other than to people who think they know a thing or two about tripping but are no more familiar with psychedelic states than the simple sensory distortions which take place. Anyway… thought can become very very abstracted when you can see it in all of it’s intricacies and details as actual moving objects telling stories far behind the lids of closed eyes, and it can carry itself out on trains otherwise unimaginable in ordinary states of mind.
This reminds me of an interesting thread of imagery which went along with some of these concepts as they arose. The story was of evolution and the life of a world. There was a feeling of a force, very dark and mysterious, but felt in the very fabric of our beings from the moment we are born and all throughout our lives.
My words fall short, but I saw it as the Continuum. A vision of the pinnacle of evolution unfolded in my minds eye, but it was not a vision of leaps and jumps in biological mutations. This was not simply evolution. Evolution is a word, and the words used to describe this process can do no justice. This was instead a concept handed backward through time from the future on a silver platter. Intelligence which seemed to roll backward, as if from the distant future, to meet biological evolution in the present moment, and at that moment linear time seemed to cease. It simply did not exist. The story was one of Singularity beings stepping into the Continuum for the purpose of existence, but to ends only known to themselves and their makers.
The Continuum is made up of limitations (such as gravitational, genetic, neurological, and sensory) that we impose upon ourselves for the sake of existence. In other words, we are willing partakers of the Earths many fruits and bounties. In the midst of these many limitations which allow for our individual existences, however, many people forget the boundless love of the Great Mother. Once again, words fall short but describing psychedelic experiences for me tends to be a challenge anyway, and I feel that these efforts over time enhance the eloquency of my speech.
Who knows, really knows, this boundless love that I am talking about here? It’s unmistakeable. There is no way to not recognize at once that you are on Holy Ground. And this sacredness is Everywhere. But people forget, so caught up in the realities that they’ve fabricated for themselves and the limitations they have imposed upon their perceptions to live the lives they lead. But this love is great enough to accomadate this. Afterall, it is limitless. Our universe is our own fabrication. Our creations may die with time, but love never dies and love never forgets.
I think this about it. It’s 11:05 am right now. I’m feeling a bit stoney, but otherwise close to baseline.”
Experience Reports are the writings and opinions of the individual authors who submit them.
Some of the activities described are dangerous and/or illegal and none are recommended by Erowid.