This was a poem I wrote after experiencing a 2.0g trip on Psilocybin, in which I had a profound sense of loss, followed by the feeling of having my right body, but without my 'wings'. Or, more easily explained, being trapped inside the biomachine (our physical selves) and sensing the spirit within. Rabbit ears, three sets of wings, and all. Then, I had a profound sense of despair, because my soul was here but it did not reflect in my body. I was disgusted with it, wanted to pull it off of my face, my body, pull it off bit by bit until the flesh I so despise was rid of me. Yet, it stuck. and thus, I wept. i pondered the great lie. The eating of the fruit of knowledge, of casting Lucifer down from paradise for gifting us with knowledge of good and evil. Us lying saying 'the devil made us do it!' when we ourselves partake in the fruit of the tree of life. We ate the fruit, and was casted out, not because of our choice to know Sin, to know Good and Evil, but because we lied about it. We lied to ourselves, to the gods, to the universe itself. 'We didn't do this, the devil made us!', 'we are unclean, full of sin, only the lamb can save us!', yet have we not pondered the lie that caused the world's woes? For we, bearers of existence, the universe observing itself, must observe our own sprinkled little lies in history.
Thus leads to the sin inherent in my existence, and the choice I have between being a good person, and being a bad person. Even if life, and morality, have no objective meaning behind any of it, the subjectivity of such a choice crippled my soul. And, in my despair, I felt as if the universe itself was a long-dead god, having committed suicide in order to separate it's consciousness into the universe itself. And that our existence, here and now, meant ever present suffering with bits of reprieve in-between. Not just myself, but others suffer too. My suffering isn't greater than others. And, yet, we delude ourselves into thinking our choices don't matter at all, or perhaps matter all too much. Our gods do not care for our petty bullshit. And, I don't care for theirs.
So why was I even born? Why is it my fate, all of our fates, to die? What does it mean to be born? What does it mean to die? Must we embrace oblivion, or prepare for the reincarnation? All answers none of us know. And those that claim that do fall prey to their own sin. Even worse so, many do not recognize this, and turn to dogma, institutional and theocratic, to answer their questions. Then they bark, bite, and bitch at those who disagree. How ostentatious! Little do they know how far deep down the rabbit hole goes. How complex, awe inspiringly, horrifyingly complex, our world is. Our egos hold us back from taking it all in, but if we do, we might see something we wish to not see. And from there: Madness.
I woke up sometime later, completely fine, but still jarred from the experience. Well, at least for a day or two. Perhaps it was all hallucinations, hysteria brought about by psychotic delusions of grandeur, or maybe just bad vibes. What does it matter? There'll always be a being who won't understand. But that's okay. So long as you don't be a cock about it, you can believe what you want to believe (except for fascists and authoritarians, y'all suck).
Hope y'all like, but I don't expect many views on this.
