Machine Elves and the Psychedelic Stone Babies

Psilocybin. Dimethyltryptamine. Ayahuaska. Psychedelics. Ingesting Dreams. Transcending Spacetime. Meeting the Machine Elves.

Psilocybin occurs naturally in Magic Mushrooms. The laboratory isolated the psychoactive chem, distilling it as Dimethyltryptamine or D.M.T. It’s often called the Spirit Molecule.

Psychedelics are fascinating and for decades, since the abruptly curtailed public experiments of the 1960s, the disciples of psilocybin have pressed their opinion that it’s Mother Nature’s most maligned tool, that society must reconsider. There’s documentaries and respected scientists backing further research. It’s most vociferous adherents make impressive claims, some based on experiences so ubiquitous they must be taken seriously, some so profound as to suggest DMT can unlock the secrets of the universe.

Does DMT unlock the universe?

Is psilocybin a portal to strange new worlds beyond our own?

Are we meeting alien beings?

Can we use it to talk to God?

Is DMT a glimpse of the immortal afterlife?

Is it proof of the living Gaia?

Does psilocybin let us access the collective unconscious?

No.

Allegory aside, the answer to all of the above is a resounding no.
But wait a moment. This isn’t to say psilocybin is all pretty prose and sensual illusion.
Let me tell you what it is, truly.

I want to tell a different story about the so-called called Spirit Molecule. Its implications are extreme and very real. Psilocybin is far more profound and eerie and unusual than clichés about interplanetary mentalism, chats with God, peepholes in heaven, or wise happy aliens…

Psilocybin isn’t aliens.
It isn’t a gateway for your immortal soul to reach out to the quantum collective consciousness.
It doesn’t teleport your mind to an encounter with omnisapient divine love.
We’ll try to lay down an explanation.
When you take D.M.T or mushrooms the familiarity, that beautiful sense of belonging communicated by strange shining beings who seemed to know everything about you, is real.
The D.M.T. trip takes you to what feels like another world. Which should be alien and frightening but instead it’s a safe land and you know profoundly you belong. It can be more real than anything or anywhere on Earth.
That sense of having come home is important, because you – ARE – home. Hold that truth. You are home but you haven’t travelled telepathically to get there.
The psychedelic space that’s accessed by the psilocybin trip isn’t external. It’s a space that’s entirely within your own brain. The travelling experienced by your liberated consciousness is not outward but inward, through the amygdala substrate barriers, into the limbic subconscious.
Some call the DMT a waking dream but the sensory experience is both too lucid and too visually original to be the mere rolodex rehash of the everyday dream state. It’s profound, fundamental and feels like a communion with knowledge far beyond the ordinary.
People mistakenly but understandably call DMT the spirit molecule and it’s this impression of transcending what you know makes DMT convince most they’re encountering something greater than themselves, like God or souls or aliens.
Time and space lose meaning in the interior psychoverse but consciousness persists. Awake. Alert. Your conscious awareness stays powerful and safe in an innerscape created – after all – by your own brain.
The psychoverse visuals and the sounds are usually awe-inspiring, the stuff dreams are made of – quite literally – but most striking is the realisation you’re not alone. This innerspace is populated and, consistently, most report their encounters with incredible sentient beings. It’s these we mistake for aliens.
Here we’re getting close to the truth of the DMT revelation.
What we encounter are indeed conscious, self-aware entities. These entities are alive, in a sense. Diverse too, and beautiful, intelligent, benign.
The conscious beings always feel familiar, so much like you yet alien too. The beings often know you – the real you – indescribably well. It’s a deeply affecting encounter and your feelings don’t lie. What’s wrong has been the explanation. Aliens. Spirits. Divine avatars.
I’ll try to explain what they are. Not just for DMT users but for everyone.

All of us contain this luminescent psychopaths. All of us have aliens in our brain, except they’re not aliens.

These brilliant entities that seem to have self-awareness, identity and feelings of their own – feelings about you – are personality fractals. These so-called aliens are independent distinct shards of consciousness, existing deep inside your brain. Most of us never meet them directly except through communions like the DMT trip.
The fractals live as long as you do. They share your brain but in the Darwinian survival of the fittest, the conscious “you” reading or listening to these words is the survivor, the winner, the alpha-identity dominating the cerebellum and all its executive function. The consciousness fractals have been silenced (except in certain damaged psyche) and must “live” alongside you in the unknown the anonymous depths.
These fractals – and you – are born from the same zygote fertility. More than brothers and sisters, you are meeting you.
Most of us have a notion of the physical limitations of our flesh and blood bodies, imperfect senses, imagination writ large but encased in a skull.
Welcome, then, to the prisoners of your mind. Not trapped in a physical body but in a timeless, non-spatial void created and buried by your brain. The fractals are the losers in the Darwinian psyche, earlier attempts at intelligence, weaker personality experiments superseded by superior neurological offspring.
Psilocybin opens channels. Communication becomes possible at last and this splits the void split – briefly – long enough to meet the evolutionary stone babies. The machine elves. You to the infinite power. Expressions of intelligence, imagination, love, the deepest roots and an impossible certainty of belonging; but trapped. It should be no surprise the sudden opening of the portals creates a flood of sensation.
We are lucky these fractals bear no ill will to the successor consciousness but self-preservation needs self-love – traits effective for evolutionary survival – so the prisoners accept their lot. Faith is woven into their existence and by default this is a faith in you!
You were selected long before your first memory: the best choice for your brain and body’s survival in the world. With faith comes love and it’s this love everyone feels when DMT opens the portals that allow briefly a communion between you and your dependant fellow travellers.
Long ago, the abortions and the inferior creations of an evolving human brain were disarmed, buried. Not all disintegrate, however. DMT releases the floodgates. An eon of Prometheus Pandoras all suddenly given light and sound and touch; and in return they give back emotion enough to create an elemental intensity of feeling.
Loci of consciousness stretch out across a trillion trillion buried neurons and synapses in loops and curls and intertwines like tangled Christmas lights. You are not alone. Cognizant, sapient homunculus versions of you made by the brain finding your most stable successful manifestation and older less recognisable consciousness shards going back all the way to the mammalian origins in the amygdala lizard brain.
Evolution finds the path of least resistance. It has no intelligence itself but the brain has spent millions of years chasing stable consciousness then millions more improving that protohuman to become intelligent, imaginative, creative, resilient. We’re lucky these traits we value so highly are also the most effective expression of homo sapiens’ drive to survive and carry the genes generation to generation across the sea of time.
Most of the conscious fractals may have been recycled into more advanced versions but the remarkable brain can make intelligence ad infinitum. Some of the most advanced personality shards must have gotten quite close to final selection but you, the dominant you, won out. The superseded barely-you fractals and the aborted nearly-you personalities are the prisoners, conscious in their psychoverse in all ways except a way out.
At times in life there may be a dream-induced or unusual exposure similar to the effect of psilocybin. Perhaps this is one of the well-springs of inspired creativity and certainly there’s plenty of historical corollary: mystic visions, artistic rapture, holy revelation, inspired human imagination, ancient Gods and Demons emblazoned on the myths and religions and art of a thousand civilizations.
So yeah. Something like that.

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