Citation: Mike. "Music At A Higher Level: An Experience with Cannabis (exp27457)". Erowid.org. Oct 10, 2003. erowid.org/exp/27457
As the notes to Pink Floyd’s “Time” flows out of the speakers in the melodic yet psychedelic way that only Pink Floyd could manage to put together so perfectly, I notice the sheer brilliance of the lava lamps. The melted wax inside flows so tantalizingly, making my entire body seem to contort with the flow and tingle with friction when two globs connect and meld themselves together. I made sure that in preparing to have this fun that I was home alone, and that the sweet smell of the plant dissipated outside. My room is carefully crafted so that i was able to have the various lamps and lights placed about the room, making sure every poster got its fair share of the glow. Now, the lava lamp holds my interest for several minutes, until Dave Gilmour hits his guitar solo. The music carries me away into another land, as I feel each note acutely in my mind, and sense the sounds so much more sharply with my ears. I look up to the wall above my desk where I have a poster of the album “Dark Side of the Moon” posted on my wall. The blacklight has given the white prism and light the fluorescent hue that white becomes when shone upon with a blacklight. It is amazing, and no matter how long I look at it, it carries the same ingenuity all the same.
It was strange, because this was the first time i had ever done anything on my own, and i wasn't sure how it was going to work out. I used my new bong, and I only had one bowl of pot. Now, I should mention that this is a fairly large bowl, and i packed it pretty full. As well, I took it over a long period of time, because my lungs are fairly sensitive, and the actual smoking process took me about 15 minutes, but that was alright, as it was a cool summer evening, perfect for smoking grass. But, i digress, I'm sure that you're interested in what transpired up in my room, so without further ado, let's jump back into the story of the stoned.
The music has slowed down, and finally, the last note of the organ fades, as the next song on my mix comes to play, which is another stoner epic called “Ego Tripping At the Gates of Hell” by the Flaming Lips, and is an amazing song even when sober. There is no way to describe the song in words, because the tune is so absolutely psychedelic. As I watch the phosphorescent spiral light sitting on my dresser next to my bed, again, the music becomes so much more vivid. The sounds paint pictures in my mind of what the voice is saying, along with the spiral light, and the tiny offshoots of lightning inside the glass casing. As the song progresses, so does my interest to explore every aspect of my room at this heightened sense of awareness and curiosity. I look straight ahead, and see the two posters on my closet doors both of which were illustrated with the intention of having somebody stoned staring into their depths.
The next lines of the song are “Wondering at the scope of my experience”. This line triggers some thoughts in my mind. I listen to the music, and close my eyes, wondering what the scope of my experience with the music clearly was. I feel the notes vibrating my soul, and I feel very strongly the sense of gravity pulling me into the mattress of the bed. It was a wonderful sensation, sitting there, and moment by moment sinking into the bed with a buzzing in my body. This strangely beautiful and almost otherworldly music was running through one ear, swirling in my brain for a moment, and then flowing out the other ear. It’s like a paralysis, but one in which the person in the state is choosing not to move around.
At this point, my reaction speed was beginning to slow down, so that if my brain told my arm to shift, it took a good two seconds before it would actually move.
The song ends on a soft note, which was the only way to describe the notes. Soft. There was just this aura about the song which implied a softness in each note, as opposed to the sharpness of an electric guitar being picked out by someone like Stevie Ray Vaughan (who is a great guitarist in his own right), making the sounds so absolutely perfect for the mind that’s exploring the music from a higher level.
The CD player then played the next song on the track, which thankfully was another psychedelic snack for the mind called “Strawberry Fields Forever” by The Beatles. “Let me take you down because I’m going to… Strawberry Fields. Nothing is real.” Well, those lyrics send me spiralling away with them on a totally incredible mind trip. Once I return I suddenly recognize a low hum in the background, which is my bubble lamp sitting on the floor. Shooting bubble upwards in water which changes colours from a special device on the floor of it, it catches my attention, and holds it for some time. Watching the bubbles pop in the little space of air before it hits the lid is absolutely intriguing. George Harrison plugs out his little guitar solo, and the song begins to progress into psychedelic nothingness, making the mood all the better for tripping out.
Well, at this point I’m realizing how good this is, and I kick back to continue my adventure into each song on my CD player blasts out for me. Strawberry Fields ends and the next song that comes on the stereo is “Riders On the Storm” by The Doors, which is a song that is meant to be listened to when you’re going to be chilling or tripping. The calmness of the beginning, with the smooth keyboard over the repeating track of rain falling and the soft occasional claps of thunder flow in such a perfect manner. I wonder, for a moment, have discovered the meaning of life. However, I was too late. The meaning of life was changed as soon as I found it out, so my search has to begin anew. Jim Morrison’s voice creeps into my conscious mind, and I find myself at such an inner contentment that not even the thought of having a loving, caring girlfriend enters my mind, for my intricate thoughts, balanced on the tip of a tender song would be interrupted, and that was certainly not a good thing to happen then and there.
As the song carries on, I begin to notice that everything is less surreal and less like a dream than it was five minutes ago. I must be coming out of it, somewhat. Well, this would definitely be an experience worth writing about I thought to myself. It would seem that I was able to remember enough of it to be able to share my experience. If some of you are looking for a point in this story, all I have to say is this: smoking is great in the presence of other people to share the experience, but sometimes it's really worth putting on the music inspired by drugs, and having a totally perception-altering experience. Remember this story if anyone is interested in a mind trip down the long and winding road of music at a higher level.
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