Our conscious personality is the iceberg tip of a multidimensional internal universe. The tip can’t know much about what’s happening in the exponentially larger netherspace – except sometimes as vague intuitions and the rise and fall of emotion.
Psychedelic excitation – like a D.M.T. trip – brings tip and base into contact temporarily. It’s a profound connection and almost everyone has a similar experience. The trip brings us into contact with transcendent beings. We meet what seem to be intelligent aliens. According to our feeling of what’s right and what’s just an altered state, these beings are independent, conscious and 100% real.
But it’s all an illusion, isn’t it?
These aliens aren’t real creatures from the stars, are they?
It can’t be possible to psychedelic trip all the way to the multiverse Gaia, surely?
It’s not an illusion.
The trip-induced communion with alien intelligence is authentic, in a way. The familiarity most feel, when it happens, is not misplaced. Psilocybin, however it’s sourced, creates similar psychotropic conditions for anyone taking it and folk stories about the third eye – the psychic transcendent eye – strike at a biochemical truth.
The third eye is a remnant of our lizard brain, manifest in modern humans as the pineal gland. The pineal is the regulator of dreams and recent research links it to the production of natural dimethyltryptamine. Psilocybin is another.
Opening the third or pineal eye may not be creating a portal to another galaxy – or any phenomenon that defies the laws of physics – but it is opening portals into regions of the mind impossible to reach otherwise. It’s this revelation giving a route to the encounter with aliens.
The psychedelic communion with alien intelligence is authentic. Transcendent visuals are symbolic – usually metaphorical – but this isn’t the same as illusions. Fundamental truth is generally under many layers of easy to parse into limbic experience but the mind has imagination for its toolkit and a palette as diverse as all memory.
Nowadays this means the communion is presented as aliens in the universe. Religious minded meditators often see God and angels in heaven. Yoga practitioners perceive Atman and Buddhist mandala. African animists meet ancestral spirits. Amazonian ayahuaska shaman might speak to ghosts and dryads.
The sights and sounds vary but the meta of the encounter is common to all.
None of these concept embodiments are quite on point.
It would be more apt to call the strange entities. MACHINE ELVES.
In reality, the machine elves are autonomous shards of intelligence – fractals of sentient autonomy – whose existence is entirely inside your brain’s enclosed altconscious. Let’s be clear: inside your brain, nowhere else.
The machine elves are of your brain, by your brain. But they are not you. They are distinct networks of synopses and neurons and axioms, tangled into complex consciousness patterns. In essence the machine elves are made of the same cellstuff as you.
The machine elves are sentient though these neurological entities are variously developed, from personality abortions to living homunculi all the way to the scintillating machine elves themselves. In many cases the altconscious entities will inhabit your brain as long as you do, though without voice or agency. Indeed, their hold on existence is entirely dependant on you and how well you keep body and mind together.
The machine elves share your brain but their life (such as it is) is ringfenced inside a separated space, disarmed, shackled; exiled behind neurological walls. The absolute separation between “you” and the machine elves is the denouement of a ubiquitous Darwinian battle, a survival of the fittest we’ve all fought and won; though like all the other early life struggles, it doesn’t carry over into memory.
The conscious “you” – the person reading or listening to these words – was the sole survivor of a defining civil war for brain-domination, fought out in the crucible of natural selection before your earliest memory. The battle was winner takes all, contested entirely in your unfinished brain and the victorious alpha-identity (you) gained control of nascent executive function. This means command of mind and body, entrusted with the task of survival; going forth and multiplying.
The machine elves were not so lucky. All the proto-sentient fractals, from stone baby to autonomous rival, were ultimately casualties of neurological war. Some – early fatalities and less developed homunculi – were recycled early by your brain. Others, more evolved, more capable, were mulched into your rapidly expanding subconscious.
Many, however, didn’t succumb to termination. Their self-awareness had evolved to be ingrained with self-preservation and, though beaten, could only be subdued, separated from your dominant identity for life. No appeal. No hope of parole.
These fully-formed loci of sentient identity are the machine elves and though they have been silenced and (except in certain mental illness) locked out of interfering with your dominant autonomy, the homunculus tangle of neurons must “live” – a lifespan in decades – in a disconnected headspace. This might explain why the “aliens” are so universally welcoming and attentive, when psilocybin allows you to visit.
The persona fractals – and you – are born from the same zygote fertility. Homunculus to self-aware machine elves, whatever the endpoint of their particular development, these sentient prototypes are more than brothers and sisters. Though casualties on the Darwinian battlefield they are all iterations of personality that may, under different conditions, have become you.
Had a few variables of innumerable possible factors been slightly different it might have been you enclosed in the altconscious voidspace – alive but formless, adrift in an existence impossible to know.
For all we know the psilocybin not only lets the dominant personality travel into the void but brings the first limbic light and sound to the isolated machine elves. This would certainly be a catalyst for the flood of emotions the psychedelic encounter sets loose.
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.
Homunculus personae locked away in a deep altconscious lanaikea, sentient ouroborous playing out a concurrent existence, bound by the arrow of time but suspended non-physical, bizarre instances of fecund neurogenesis – like the living ocean-planet of Stanislav Lem’s Solaris – perpetually separated by your mind’s virtually infinite paraspace.
These heterogeneous altconscious homunculi are the losers in the Darwinian psyche, earlier attempts at intelligence, weaker personality experiments superseded by superior neurological offspring.