The Megadose
About 15 of these ought to do the trick.
***This is not medical or legal advice. This is satirical commentary on psychedelic medicine contrasting the ‘microdose’ phenomenon sweeping the globe. I am not suggesting to anyone reading this to actually ingest any mind-altering substances—legal or illegal—in the manner described herein. Consult with your doctor, lawyer, and especially your mother before embarking on any consciousness-expanding / identity-smashing / life-changing journey. Insert any/all other disclaimers here, abandon all hope, etc, etc, ad infinitum.***
***We are crystal clear that I am not actually suggesting you do this, right?***
***Seriously: don’t do this.***
Psilocybin mushrooms—also known as “magic mushrooms”—proliferate naturally across the world and have not only been an integral part of a fun childhood for legions of humans, they also provide therapeutic effects for adults and may have even played a role in our evolution as a species. I could bore you with historical facts such as details about the mushroom motifs in Mayan temple ruins or ancient Greek reliefs, but that’s not what we’re here for. We are here to talk about the doctrine of fungal signatures and the fucking megadose. And that is the technical term for it. Calling it a “large dose” or even just “the megadose” does no justice. The only dose I am talking about and the only dose you should ever aspire to has only one name and that name is it.
Those seeking knowledge from the mushroom world are typically advised to go easy and ingest between 1-2 grams of dried mushrooms. Invariably the ritual is to procure 1/8 ounce and split it between two friends, possibly even three. This is fine, if you’re 12. But you’re not 12, right? You’re a big kid and ready for a big dose.
And here’s why.
Psilocybin mushrooms are what are called saprophytes, meaning they grow on dead plant material. The deader the better. If it’s plant material that has been digested by a 4-stomached grazing animal commonly referred to as a ruminant: the best. Mushrooms love excrement. To boot, they thrive in disturbed habitats such as newly built roads, construction zones, and landslide areas. They also love riparian zones created when an area has been flooded and then gets filled with broken bits of woody debris. By the doctrine of signatures, we can therefore deduce that psilocybin mushrooms are related by their most basic level of existence to a few general concepts: death, disturbance, and shit.
That’s where you come in.
Your natural human habitat—both physically and psychologically—is disturbed, you’re either fully or at least partially dead inside, and you’re definitely full of shit. Me too! This is ok. We are all beaten down enough by the life we have individually and collectively created for ourselves that we are willing to try anything from SSRI’s to hot yoga to blackout drinking and having sex with strangers just to attempt to feel okay and free and alive. So, who better, dear reader, than the spirit of the psilocybin mushroom, alchemical androgynous queen-king of shit, death, and destruction, to come in and say: “Awaken, child of God! You are free and alive no matter how much shit and death you drown amongst! Let me show you the way to turn your lead into gold and actualize your divinity!”
The challenge though is that this spirit does not hand over the juicy-rich wisdom, the knowingness, the peace, for nothing. There’s a bit of tribulation involved. A hero’s quest, if you will. The Queen-King doesn’t bestow the prize for simply sharing a laugh with your BFF after you and your pal split a cap and a half and wash it down with some OJ.
Oh no. If you want the prize, you are going to have to pay. We are talking an initial 40-60 minutes of nausea and heart palpitations followed by visions of demons, intense regret for every mistake you’ve ever made, morbid dread that you’ve taken too much and will never come back, risk of actual death, and worse. But on the other side, my friends: there lies visceral truth, untold beauty, ineffable wisdom. There, on the border between shitting yourself and ejaculating in your own pants, in the place where your demons have been painfully stripped away, in the kingdom of nothingness, at the brink of insanity; there, you find yourself.
And when you find yourself there, stripped of every burden you’ve accumulated on this journey of incarnation, you find that your existence alone, independent from any accomplishment you’ve ever been proud of, is the most exquisitely beautiful thing that ever happened. You’ll find that you are, indeed, ok. And your life is, indeed, sacred and precious. There, kneeled before the magnificent sight of the Mushroom Queen-King of Shit, Death and Destruction, you’ll look down to see that you have no knees to kneel on and you have no eyes to see with. As you look without seeing at the terrible and awesome deity in front of you, you’ll realize you are looking at nothing. You are merely seeing without eyes, the truth of yourself: the infinite and impossible realization that you are the androgynous queen-king itself. You have created all of this, including the mushrooms, in order to find yourself should you—invariably—get lost.
See you at your next appointment.
—Jaime