Cacti - T. peruvianus
Citation: Superman. "Glowing Beauty Beyond the Doors: An Experience with Cacti - T. peruvianus (exp44964)". Erowid.org. May 4, 2006. erowid.org/exp/44964
Ever since reading 'The Doors of Perception' by Aldous Huxley, mescalin cacti have been of great interest to me. Yesterday, for the first time ever, I had the opportunity to explore the mescalin world. I had the opportunity to open the Doors. This report is written only some two hours after regaining sanity.
My drug 'history' is widespread and thorough. I have had acid twice, mushrooms countless times, salvia numerous times, speed, coke, MDMA, and weed almost constantly for the past few years at least. Sure, there are things I haven't yet tried, but that time will come. I have had no experience with visionary cacti, and am excited.
I am in a familiar house and in a good mood. Earlier in the week I had prepared 100 grams of dried T. Peruvianus cactus into a paste with the juice of five lemons, some ginger and about 2 tablespoons of honey. The resulting mixture was put into a juice carton and kept in the refridgerator until I was ready to partake. Mescalin being a stable molecule, it will keep in the fridge so long as it is in darkness. I got the equivalent of about a quarter of my litre of cactus paste, and chugged it down. I found the taste to be bearable, while the consistency of the mixture was the hardest thing to swallow. After not feeling too good for a little while afterward, I started to feel alright.
I had not eaten anything prior to consuming the cactus. I had my paste at 8:30pm (T + 0.00).
(T + 0.30-0.45): After about half an hour/forty-five minutes I started to feel a little weary and tired. I was sitting in the lounge watching TV at this time, but soon lost interest. No major change in my physical state at this point.
(T + 1.30): An hour and a half after having my cactus paste I shuffle to the bathroom to check my eyes. They are dilated hugely, although I still only feel a little tired. I was beginning to think I swallowed the green gunk for nothing, but then remembered a highly pertinent quote: 'Good mescalin comes on slow...'. I move back to the lounge and continue watching television.
(T + 1.45): Fifteen minutes later I notice a glowing brilliance on the plain, dirty white curtain covering the windows. No discernable 'Coming up', as with acid and mushrooms. The doors of perception simply opened, and infinite beauty was rushing in with some force.
I decide to walk over and open the curtains. Touching them seemed like disturbing something sacred, something very special. I carefully pulled the curtains back, being careful not to wake them up. Outside the trees were swelling with pride, glowing amazing shades of green I had never seen before, and I could tell this was significant. It was still light enough to see outside, so I decided to go for a walk. Whether this was beneficial or not I still cannot comprehend. After having considerable trouble opening the door, I step out onto the patio and head towards the garden.
(T + 2.00-3.00): For what I estimate was an hour of my journey I was outside in the garden. The dogs seemed to be happy about themselves, and I considered saying hello, but didn't want to disturb them. My first of only two vocal outbursts occured during this time. 'Your time will come' I said, 'for now I must explore'. I set off around the garden, first setting my eyes upon a dying rose. This rose was just a small part of the universe, yet held great importance to me. I stroked the limp dying petals on the rose, thinking about how it died, and whether it could recuperate and glow once more. At this point I got scared, and ran away to the other side of the garden. From the other side of the garden the rose appeared much more fitting, much more a piece of the infinite puzzle that is the world. I was elated.
Enough of the rose, enough of the garden. I'd spent an hour considering this rose from every angle, every possible point of view and frame of mind. I was getting restless and needed a drink.
(T + 3.00): My first drink choice is a can of beer. I open the can and the cracking noise it makes upon opening makes me laugh. I still don't know why, although i'd like to. I took a sip of the beer and instantly felt confused. The clarity of thinking that came with the mescalin was directly combated by the alcoholic substance I was drinking. I discard the beer. Time to go to my bedroom.
(T + 3.30-10): I spend the rest of the night in my bedroom. I open the door and close it before I turn on the light. For a few seconds I was in near total darkness. I turn on the light and make my second and last verbal outburst: 'Argh! Turn down the power, show off.' In hindsight I was probably talking to the light, or at myself. Either way it made me mad momentarily, but then I noticed the curtains. Obviously a girl's choice, the blue whale/dolphin patterned curtains glowed with an amazing light. I spend a good hour tracing the folds in the curtains with my eyes, admiring the presence of such beauty. I recollect now a piece of Huxley's report when he admires the creases and folds in his trousers. 'This is how one ought to see' he said. This is how I felt about the curtains. If everybody in the world would just look at these curtains in this light, everybody would be happy.
I turn away from the curtains momentarily to pick up my acoustic guitar. Strumming the chords to John Lennon's 'Mother' never felt so good. The simple C-G-C-F-G-C-F-C-G-C progression never held such importance. While I strum away at the chords I continue to look at the curtains. I started to feel like I was abusing the ultimate privelidge, and turned away. Instantly I felt withdrawn, even alone.
I put my guitar down, and at this point it is about T + 5 hours or 1:30am. I look to my bookshelf for consolation. No such thing lay in the wooden shelves, this was a practical item. If it had any glow I didn't see it. I felt depressed after losing the curtains from my vision. Every few minutes I peek at them again, feeling a rush of pleasure that is short lived. I decide it is time to sleep.
For the rest of my experience, until about 6:30-7:00am the next morning, I writhed in bed with an eye mask on trying to sleep, but no such pleasure was coming. I should have learned my lesson from a while ago, when I had a horrid time trying to sleep after consuming a massive dose of psilocybe mushrooms. 'Psychadelics' and sleep do not mix, and trying to force them to mix is like trying to mix together two bricks.
I get up in the morning (I simply get up, I had no need to wake up as I never slept) and immediately observe the curtains. They hung loosely from their hangers, looking old and worn out. They lacked any emotion and beauty. I knew the Door had been closed, and it had been well and truely slammed in my face, leaving me with a headache and feeling highly dehydrated. I go and get some water and put a frozen ready meal in the microwave. Two hours later, here I am.
Mescalin, visionary cacti, peyotl, they are tools of divine and significant meaning. The question, for me, is a question of whether this is a recreational drug. I am inclined to think not. I have had significant insight into what is beyond the Doors of Perception, more so than when acid or psilocybin tried to open them. These latter drugs merely enabled me to peer through the keyhole, as it were, and observe what goes on within, or, 'out there'. Mescalin tore down all of the barriers that restrain humans, in a way greater than anything ever could. Will I consume this cactus again? Certainly, but when i'm ready. If I dive straight back in, nothing beyond the Door will have changed, I will be immensly bored and angry with myself for the temptation. There is a lot to be learned, and to learn some things, I need a helping hand.
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