Shawn had no more lectures or exercises until the end of the week. He took a day off and went out with Truman. They drank, what felt like a keg of beer, and played pool in the city. He wanted to tell Truman what had happened and what he had found in his father’s office, but he felt like it was the wrong move. You can’t just randomly trust people… Fuck it, he thought, ordered another beer, and decided to forget about it all for a while.

He slept in the next day and woke up in the early afternoon. Finally sober, he confronted his dread. He sat down on his sofa and stared out the window for a while. Something tickled his mind, and it was almost as if a familiar, mischievous spirit was manifesting in the room, slowly penetrating Shawn’s chest. A smirk appeared on his face as he remembered what he had stashed in his drawer. 

Should I? He stood up, took a step, then halted in his tracks, balled his hands in fists, contemplating. Is this really a good idea? It was out of character for him to have a trip without preparation. Just go with it, he thought and walked over to the desk drawer. He opened it, and out of the mess, he pulled out a little plastic bag, a recycled bag that a dealer had given him once with some weed inside. Now it held something else, a few dried mushrooms and a desiccant. He grew them himself with the mushroom-growing boxes freely available on the internet. The possession of the box was legal but growing wasn’t. Out of the drawer, he pulled out a small scale, on which he placed an empty plastic bowl. He then emptied the satchel of mushrooms into the container and weighed his mushrooms. Eight grams… let’s go with five? He asked himself. They didn’t pack a punch last time. For some reason, his last batch had been pretty lackluster. He assumed it was his lack of equipment. However, this time he bought a heating mat and a humidity and temperature gauge. He was pretty sure this batch would be it.

A bit cocky, with all the experiences under his belt, he thought five should be good, which was enough to send a normal person into the realm of death and rebirth. He ground the mushrooms and poured hot water over them, then added a bag of tea. He dropped the satchel with affection into the broth and squeezed out a shit ton of honey, somewhat aggressively, as he said, “Yeaaah baby.” Underneath, however, he felt tense. He sighed as the playful spirit deserted him, and all that was left was fear. He now sat at the desk with the mug before him. With his head resting on his fists, he stared at the wall as if avoiding eye contact with the potion. Usually, it is dark blue; he thought as he stole a look at the transparent brown liquid. Something must have gone wrong during the cultivation, he worried. Blue stands for oxidized psilocybin. He thought but didn’t finish the thought that already oxidized psilocybin is inactive in the human body. He took out his phone to distract himself, flipping through some videos about puppies while trying not to think too much as he sipped his way into oblivion. However, he had no time to settle.

Due to his empty stomach, the mushrooms were absorbed instantly. The onset was brutal. It felt as if something was creeping up on him. It started from the head and spread over his neck into the gut and legs. His body vibrated, his chest was on fire, his hands clammy, and when he looked at his hands, the creases on them started to crawl. “Oh Jesus,” he said aloud. He tensed up, held his breath, and tried to ease into the trip. Slow things down a bit, but it was no use. He sat cross-legged on his chair, “I’ve been here before,” he said aloud. “I can handle this.” Just need to meditate and breathe, and it will wash away. He tried to focus on his breath and calm his mind. However, the intention was to fight what was happening to him. The fight grew in intensity, and the odds were not in his favor. “These mushrooms are the real deal,” he said aloud, “fuck.” Why did I do this? Why do I do this to myself? Tears began to roll down his cheeks, one after the other.

He panicked as he could feel the mushrooms starting to tear him apart. He ran to the bathroom, stuck two fingers in his throat, and out came a fountain of the tea and curry he had eaten for lunch. He got up, washed out his mouth, and looked into the mirror. His eyes clung to his reflection. 

He ran into his bedroom, threw himself on the mattress, and prayed aloud to whatever god might hear him, “Please have mercy with me, please. I promise I will know better next time.” The fear he felt made even such a pathetic plead be of no matter to him. 

His ears buzzed, and the sound started to grow into a high-pitched ring. It felt as if his brain was too big for his skull. His focus was scattered by all the input from all his senses, which made it difficult to assess what was going on. He could feel every inch of his skin and every hair on his body. He could feel the exact coolness of the air passing into his lungs with every breath. 

His body felt heavy and light at the same time, and he felt like he shouldn’t have a body at all. He started to squirm and twist on his bed like a worm. If an outsider saw him, they’d call the police. The walls started to swim, bob, and wave as if they were pulsating jello. An occasional black whirl formed, which looked very much like an eye. 

Another deep breath. You’ll be fine. It’s just you… your mind. There’s nothing there. However, it was of no use. He spoke words of surrender but fought at the same time. 

A layer of indiscriminate yellow lines imposed itself on top of his entire visual field. The lines formed into Aztec patterns. The buzzing and ringing in his ears settled into drums and hums. Something was being summoned, and he did not like the vibe of it. He had an urge, a notion, to somehow close the door that was opening up before him. Before that instinct had the chance to crystallize into action, he was overwhelmed by the insane tension in his body and temples. The drumming and humming intensified and his body twisted as if his innards pulled their way out into different directions. The message was clear, “You have no power here. Submit.”

Chthonic, dark, muddy, and slimy was the form that appeared in front of his eyes. It sang songs that he couldn't hear but felt. It was speaking in tongues, ancient and powerful, a being, a primal deity from the abyss of his unconscious. He felt disgusted at the sight of it. He tried to look away. His instinct was to close his eyes. It was there waiting for him, behind his eyelids. Human silhouettes appeared surrounding the deity. He knew who they were. He felt their origin, the jungle, distinctly. The drumming and humming hadn’t seized. Chants and tongues continued to intermingle as he saw blood, tropical plants, animals, faces, and rituals.

 “It’s a message,” he said, as he felt their spirit hovering above him. Their presence was intimidating, their eyes locked into Shawns, the difference in power too big. They were hardened, rigid, and solidified from the inside. Grinded and molded by the daily exposure to life-threatening elements. Animals, parasites, tribes, miners, famish, and illness. Shawn, the softened city boy with mental health issues, pondering about his meaning in life. Unresolved, unsolidified, soft. As strong as the contrast, the message couldn’t have been any more apparent, though not in words, but in feelings it was conveyed.

Fear of death filled his body. He saw dunes and sands. Stone buildings soaked in red. He heard screams and wails of women and children running for their lives. Terror. He twisted and wrenched in the bed. Remorse and sadness replaced the fear. He wept for the pain and suffering of people across the globe. 

Confronted by the pain of all humanity suddenly images blitzed before him—dark and vile, the obscured, bullish face of a man. Red eyes glared into his soul. His weeping ceased as the figure appeared before him again. In the darkness, it stood. Wider than taller, a ray of light revealed his glistening bald head and his black suit. Shawn now recognized Timur, but he had the eyes of an android, in his face a line from his temple to his neck, illuminated in red. A light flashed in the background and revealed countless figures standing in the darkness, too obscure for Shawn to tell who they were.

The jungle appeared before his eyes, slithering snakes and jaguars. Tangled vines, rocks, mud, and brown rivers. Behind the vines, a small organism ran. He felt watched. The vision focused in on the being, but Shawn could only discern a mushroom cap and fur. His vision blitzed again. He felt he was deeper in the jungle. A similar tiny being appeared before him, however, also too obscure. A sliver of white silk and white fur. In an instant, he covered miles of the jungle and then stopped before a cave. Above it, symbols Shawn couldn’t discern. He got pulled inside the darkness, and with nothing to stand on, he fell for what felt like an eternity. When he made contact with a body of water, he screamed. He opened his eyes and got up, not entirely aware. What the hell just happened?