Expanding my social circle and opening myself to new people and experiences has led me to a couple of conclusions that will probably change in the near future but here goes; 1. Fundamental materialism seems to be all the rage and 2. Fundamental materialists annoy the fuck out of me. Image

My journey into the mountains has taken me into some strange corners. From Thracian magic to Balkan witchcraft and Slavic religion to the writings of authors like Timothy Leary, Terrance McKenna, and Robert Anton Wilson. Ever the curious hard-head I decided to partake in the experience of noted psyconauts the world over. I’ve had three such experiences and each has been different from the one before it and provided a depth of wonder and awe at the true scope of my own mind and what lies in its recesses.

My first “trip” had me tearfully asking whatever spirits I was talking to why it was necessary for me to have so many painful and humbling experiences. “We needed you to be strong.” And that was it. No explanation as to who these “we” were or even why or what I was “needed” for. A question that, in my mind, required so much more than what I was given was answered with a simple sentence. This experience is part of my UPG, another paragraph in this chapter of my relationship with the divinities who have called me out from my home.

The third time I decided to share this experience with a new potential friend. This individual may not be a fundamental materialist per se, but he’s close enough where it made an experience that is usually powerful in its spiritual application, feel tainted and muted. During the course of the evening, waves of loneliness and misery permeated the air surrounding us, a complete disbelief in the wonders of a world beyond our understanding seemed to weigh me down as much as it did him.

He sucked the joy out of the experience and replaced it with a thready anxiety whereupon I was completely unable to focus on the ecstacy of the connections I had experienced before. A once sacred space had become like dirty ditch water disturbed by heaved stones. And, in the end, I began to think that this is what fundamental materialism is; the absence of wonder in the face of the unexplainable and the unwillingness to just “be” in that state. It’s fear of what is unknown wrapped in a protective veneer of “if it can’t be explained by reason/science it doesn’t exist.” It’s a control mechanism. It’s a self-imposed agony that leaves one always searching for an illusive contentment through mortal understanding. Hubris in its highest form.

I am aware this is just my own judgment and I am also aware that I could be horribly wrong. Whenever I’m in an altered state I sense and perceive things differently. Emotions come rushing into me and I can observe them without being a part of them if that makes any sense. Maybe all of that star dust we are made of speaks through us to other particles in a language we can’t measure, understand, or comprehend. But I am fine with that, not comprehending for now is part of the ecstacy of being a human being.

Discovery is, itself, an ecstatic experience. Image

That sense of stubborn agony has no place in the sanctuary that has been created in this house.

I’ve since cleaned, and cleansed, my home and the vibrations have reset to the natural warmth that makes friends, and spirits, alike constant visitors.

Our space, this space, is made for ecstacy. It is a choice.

And there is a difference between choosing healthy skepticism through experience and the willful desire to be miserable for the sake of rationality.

The latter has no place is in this house either.