DMT: You Cannot Imagine a Stranger Drug or a Stranger Experience | VICE United States
Below is my composite of McKenna’s three composites, arranged chronologically, with approximate amounts of time, in minutes and seconds, elapsed since the initial toke of DMT, vaporized in a glass pipe:
0:00. First toke. Colors brighten, edges sharpen, distant things gain clarity—”there is a sense as though all the air in the room has been sucked out.”
0:10. Second toke. You close your eyes and “colors begin racing together, and it forms this mandalic, floral, slowly rotating thing”—”usually yellow-orange”—which McKenna called “the
chrysanthemum.” Then “you either break through it, or you require one more toke.” (“The leather-lunged hash smokers among us have a leg up in this department.”)
0:20. Third toke. The chrysanthemum parts. There’s a sound of “a plastic bread wrapper, or the crackling of flame,” and “an impression of transition.” Then ”it’s as though there were a series of tunnels or chambers that you are tumbling down.”
0:40. You burst into this “place.”
In one composite, at this point, McKenna said: “
And language cannot describe it—accurately. Therefore I will inaccurately describe it. The rest is now lies.” And later: “I mean you have to understand: these are metaphors in the truest sense, meaning that they're lies!” McKenna’s awareness of and engagement with this aspect of DMT increases my interest in his DMT accounts. In
one lecture, he said:
The reason it’s so confounding is because its impact is on the language-forming capacity itself. So the reason it’s so confounding is because the thing that is trying to look at the DMT is infected by it—by the process of inspection. So DMT does not provide an experience that you analyze. Nothing so tidy goes on. The syntactical machinery of description undergoes some sort of hyper-dimensional inflation instantly, and then, you know, you cannot tell yourself what it is that you understand. In other words,
what DMT does can’t be downloaded into as low-dimensional a language as English.
The place, or space, you’ve burst into—called “the dome” by some—seems to be underground, and is softly, indirectly lit. The walls are “crawling with geometric hallucinations, very brightly colored, very iridescent with deep sheens and very high, reflective surfaces—everything is machine-like and polished and throbbing with energy.” McKenna said:
But that is not what immediately arrests my attention. What arrests my attention is the fact that this space is inhabited—that the immediate impression as you break into it is there’s a cheer. [...] You break into this space and are immediately swarmed by squeaking, self-transforming elf-machines...made of light and grammar and sound that come chirping and squealing and tumbling toward you. And they say, “Hooray! Welcome! You’re here!” And in my case, “You send so many and you come so rarely!”
0:50. You’re “appalled.” You’re thinking “Jesus H. Fucking Christ, what is this? What
is it?” McKenna observed:
And the weird thing about DMT is it does not affect what we ordinarily call the mind. The part that you call you—nothing happens to it. You're just like you were before, but the world has been radically replaced—100 percent—it's all gone, and you're sitting there, and you're saying, "Jesus, a minute ago I was in a room with some people, and they were pushing some weird drug on me, and, and now, what's happened? Is this the drug? Did we do it? Is this it?"
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