Citation: TheGhostofBillHicks. "The Holy Moment: An Experience with LSD & Meditation (exp44621)". Erowid.org. Sep 16, 2008. erowid.org/exp/44621
Setting: My candlelit bedroom, incense burning, Buddha images here and there.
Mindset: Post yoga, on a Friday evening. No one about to bother us, mobile phones off. Quiet room.
I texted Dan, around lunchtime: ‘Dude! I want to trip this weekend. Do you?’ I knew Dan had plans that night, and so was happily surprised when he pleasingly replied: ‘Fuck it. I’ll cancel my plans. See you soon’. We were on.
See, I’ve got this small vial, filled with the strongest acid I’ve ever had. It’s quite a treat. From the pipette I carefully plopped a drop of the magical lysergic onto the receptacle for the evening: a green fruit pastel. We both eyed the transformation of the acidic candy into the doorway into another dimension. The sweet was wet with acid as I cut it in two, we both swallowed the sugary lump down. Countdown had begun. I felt the patterned tug of my heart in my chest.
The start of acid trips are always, well, a bit odd. Pretending to be casual when really, on some level, I'm wondering which latent demons and horrors could come to plague me. Thankfully such paranoid thoughts were soon melted away as I lit up the candles around the room and turned off the light. Orbs of luminescence shone warmly about us, the sweet, thick aroma of incense lending a refined spiritual air to the proceedings. We felt safe, in my carpeted basement flat, and decided to draw up a plan for the trip. We followed this up with some meditation.
‘AUUMMMMMM’ blared from the stereo. We were listening to a guided meditation by 'Mr. LSD': Ram Dass. His knowing, commanding tones took us deep within, as the vibrations of the OM snuck deep within the marrow, deep within our psyches. We opened our eyes, as it finished, in a state of dewy wonder and newfound beauty. The candles glimmered around us, friendly fire, as we began another meditation. The world swayed and swelled around us.
This time, as we began the mantra, the resonance took on an other-worldly quality. The sounds stopped being uttered by me, and all the ‘me’ began dissolving into the now very colourful vibrations of the mantra. With closed eyes, each new syllable boomed with intricate, pixellated beauty; a firework display created by a lunatic Amstrad. Deeper went my consciousness, deeper into the mantra. All sound and thought now wept into a colossal whole, all sense of self, or of any concept, dissolved away into a crystal clear union of all. Tears were flooding out, at the awesome beauty of the universe, of which I now was.
Dan chanted deeper, and his voice sounded nothing like the one I know. Mine, when I came back to self-awareness, was not mine at all. I surrendered again and joyously crumbled back into the unity, into the Holy Moment. Beams of Technicolor Joy ribboned around me, waves of bliss becoming and dissolving into me. As the mantra session ended, and my eyes happened upon my room again, it radiated a simple, new found beauty. There was a humble charm even in the grain of my carpet. The carpet began to undulate and wriggle. We decided to go for a walk.
High up on Hampstead Heath we walked as angels might, elevated and beyond, but without any feeling of snobbery. Our consciousness seemed to span to the horizons. We were the pavement, the sky and the skinhead running past us. However, we soon had to bring the experience down into concept, fascinated as we were - which turned off the oceanic, unitive feeling somewhat. Nevertheless, the philosophical insight was fascinatingly sharp; 'crystal consciousness' was a phrase we felt fitting.
Back, a few hours later, in my kitchen, I laboured over making a cup of tea. My hands were swelling and pulsing. I could see the flow and ebb of the LSD in Dan’s eyes, and in that unearthly tremor the material seems to evoke within the musculature beneath my skin. Yellow light swelled up behind us as we looked, with a tragic-comic sadness at a faded old cookbook; ‘Ways To A Man’s Heart’, at which we wondered how the Housewife Generations put up with being so servile, so confined, for so little reward. How heart rendingly sad. But suddenly, through the waters of pathos, the bolt of humour struck us, and we fell about laughing at the group of ladies who wrote the cooking tome we had before us. They were named: ‘The helpful ‘8’ committee’.
The laughter and the acid united to produce the kind of hysteria that squeezes my stomach up, seizes me up; my face clenches as a fist, and all my body can do is double up, as the laughter possesses me and literally wrings me out. Tears flew down and we couldn’t speak for the poignancy of the comedy. I think I tore a muscle.
We drunk some tea, and from the corner of my eye, as I went more into the witness-mind; and as I spoke to him, Dan’s body began to disappear. I didn't say anything. Back downstairs again we smoked some grass and went into a deeper, longer meditation. Looking again for a holy moment, but I went deep into closed-eye vision of satanic demons, which proceeded to fragment up and divide, kaleidoscope-like, into other archetypes. These dark visions may have disturbed me, but I remained watching it, as if they were a river, and they soon passed and transformed into more palatable, still violently sexual, psychedelic scenes. Dan fell asleep and began snoring. Somehow this really impressed me.
Our comedown was really gentle; we had parachutes; for we employed Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon to see us through. The next morning we felt galvanised, spirited and strong. A hearty, greasy English breakfast re-charged us, and the afterglow has lasted ever since. A truly beautiful encounter with my favourite psychedelic.
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