Citation: Lara. "I was Dancing with Harvey: An Experience with 5-MeO-DMT (exp2233)". Erowid.org. Jun 27, 2000. erowid.org/exp/2233
||(powder / crystals)
Trying to put into words the experience I had with this amazing drug is so hard! When a friend asked me about it later all I could say to him was “You need to experience it yourself” for this stuff transcended any thing I have ever seen in my life. And maybe that was it. I am a highly visually sensitive person and I had no visuals with this drug at all. Instead I was treated to a journey through the realm of consciousness, and came back stripped of most of my ego.
This drug is definitely not for everyone. If you think it is for you and you can handle it, you definitely don’t want to touch it. The experience with “Harvey” (as I’ll name it for the purpose of this document, after James Stewarts’ Rabbit companion. Wow, what kind of drugs was Elwood taking?) started when we had been trypping one night and my partner, Ant, helped himself to a dose (~50mg). I was fairly annoyed with him, as he gave me no time to prepare for anything and my experience and knowledge of this drug was as good as nil. The sight of his catatonic form and glassy, pooled eyes was enough to kick me into sitter mode, he was breathing, his colour was good, so I wasn’t overly concerned.
He died. His ego dissolved and he died. A feeling of being removed from everything and able to view anything in existence. He was the universe. Reflected in the deep, dark, bottomless empty eyes that stared in mild surprise at mine. Where did he go? Certainly his panic became evident in the way he came back!
“I’m dead”, he intoned. Flat, stark and lifeless his voice still reverberated.
“I’m dead……I’m dead…..” he repeated over and over.
“You’re not dead!” I told him in some exasperation. “What did you take?”
Annoyance faded to pity at his fragile state. He was looking mildly surprised, vacant eyes not registering anything about him; gaze turned inwards straining to view who knows what.
I knelt beside him and touched him reassuringly. “Look! You’re still breathing. You are with me here right now.” His breathing was slightly accelerated, and apart from the strange, empty look on his face he could have been taken for any Saturday night lounge lizard. “No! I’m dead!” Always has to argue…But lets see him manage to put this one into words! “You are not dead you are in your head.” I told him. “look for the path. You have seen art, heard music, poetry, You’ve seen beauty! You have loved; Lived”
“No” He denied as he started to reanimate. Panic began to surface, a faint glimmer of recognition and relief as he began to be aware of himself again. My hands were grasped tightly between his, his gaze locked intently on mine with that empty, veiled look when he retreated, tried to return to where he had been.
I repeated myself wearily.
“I’m dead!” He replied. This time with emotion, which began to billow out into enormous joy. “I’ve seen everything! I am the universe! Now I know why people take drugs! If I never take another drug again this will be why!” The flood gates opened, he was writhing in ecstatic joy, grinning like a fool, hugging me, biting and kissing me while telling me I was only one person in the world for him. His crushing hugs were less than comfortable, but as I began to complain he begged me to let him have this moment. “Forget the need for Christian faith!” he exclaimed when he had calmed down. “God is in our fridge!”
Oh that was a huge relief! Just great - not! Even so, I knew I had to get aquainted with him. My turn came a few nights later. I had fully intended to wait till the following weekend, but Ant was itching to share his experience and the crescendo of anticipation and fear I had built myself up to probably would have seen me abstaining. I read all of the trip reports we had handy, revised some basic shamanistic techniques and was more anxious than I have ever been in my life! I “caved” - created myself an area conducive to my own peace of mind. Ant was with me with a soft “See you when you get back.” And as I smoked the cone (About 40mg of Harvey layered between a small amount of male cannabis leaf) and lay back, strangely enough the thrill of inhaling the awful, acrid smoke banished all fear, with a smile I shut my eyes against my fading vision and embraced the experience. Except I can’t remember it. Ten to fifteen minutes passed.
What happened to me? I vaguely became aware of the tug of consciousness distracting me from something I was regarding with amused benevolence. I wasn’t alone, indeed I was in the boundaries of an area where I was interconnected with the whole. Then the “elevator” arrived and took me back to my body and lightning rivers of pure thoughts were racing through my head. Not images, but awareness. The way things are. I “saw” how I animate my body, the visualisation of the electrical processes if you will, as I swept my arm over my body, rolled over and up and reached for Ants’ hands. About now my finer senses took over and cut off the signals my deeper instincts were sending, while returning my normal vision and hearing as well. The silver threads of thought were still in my grasp, expanding until it became a dialogue in my head running wild and erupting out finally as I gasped “ I so have to get the skills to record this!”
I was hampered by the clumsy mechanics of jaw and tongue - all I could manage was something that went along the lines of “Ack” instead. This rhythm of thought is so pure and precise it carries emotion. Our language actual can never compare to this. Amused by the stupidity of my situation, I hurled myself around the house, dancing, laughing, revelling, planning the next dosage while marking the path in my head to get back there.
“Wow! That was so cool!” Lucidly and loudly I enthused. About eight times, in fact. That’s me. Able to pluck wonderful witticisms out of thin air when such an occasion calls!
On the notice board by the fridge we had penned the words “God is in our fridge!” I changed it to “I am in the fridge!”
Seriously, later as we looked at each other we recognised just how much a habit like this could cost us. We both recognised the danger inherent in using a substance like this, for the explosion of joy when coming out of Harvey space makes you want to pack the cone again! It tapers off to the most interesting period of ego detachment I’ve ever experienced. I came out understanding that I did like myself, mostly through efforts of soul searching and feeding from a few years of work with other psychedelics. I very much doubt that I would have had such a stress free, positive experience if I had of been in a “lesser” state of mind , unprepared, or in the party mentality. Slowly I rephased. Bits of my ego resurfaced, clicked into place despite my dislike of them.
I was once again me, maybe an hour and a half after that magical cone. Only I was able to identify a few bits more about myself. Harvey moves so fast! I sat and sifted through half forgotten memories, looking hard at each one in the hope of getting an overall view of what happened instead of all the fractured impressions to no avail. Was the dosage too high? Or is it just my crap recall? In any case, the death theme was no longer an issue for me, in fact I wrote: “The prelude to the trip – the anxiety, the anticipation, the doom - all heightened and fed the appetite until it burst into a glorious bloom of life. Who says you have to die first to be reborn? If that was a rebirth it didn’t feel like one.” The contradictions within this sentence all make perfect sense in context of the experience. A very slight bit of nausea on the peripheral, then normal sleep.
The thing I disliked about this experience happened maybe three or four days later, when it occurred to me that I may not be actually living my life, but could well be lying drooling in some sanitised bed somewhere making it all up. Not being able to totally dissuade myself of the fact I wasn’t just a figment of my imagination was more than a little disconcerting, but not all together unattractive. It took a bit of effort on my behalf to get a hold of that particular paranoia and vanquish it as the distraction it is, but it certainly made me think about the possibilities of doing yourself severe damage given the right (or wrong, depending on your point of view) circumstances. Now, three months later, all’s well, but the mere thought of even packing the cone fills me with a vague unease. Interestingly, I’ve used both DXM and AMT since then, and found them to have lost the edge that once made them so attractive. This explains Ants comment about never having to use another drug again! The DXM trip was, well boring! Slinky DXM space used to be a fascinating playground for me, but the head space I get out of it doesn’t warrant the physical discomfort I feel. The AMT gives me no more than eye candy. And I can see that straight, without the faceache.
And the notice board now says: “I am the fridge!”
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