Is Ayahuasca redpilled? Is it really a teacher, which helps kick bad habits and combat degenerate behaviour...

Is Ayahuasca redpilled? Is it really a teacher, which helps kick bad habits and combat degenerate behaviour, or is it just a bunch of hippies getting high in the woods?

Who cares? just drink it.

Get fucked you twig armed vegan poofter.

Fuck, Oceania is awake. I should be asleep. I have no idea how NEETs put up with you.

get cancer meat eater
i will out live you

It's definitely not a pleasurable high. Frequent Vomiting for 6 plus hours while dealing with mind shredding hallucinations...

Sparkle barf.
Heard a story of a guy who used it to quit cigarettes and the "puke" was all butts and ash.
Don't have first hand experience but I heard apparently if you're tripping hard enough the puke can be glitter and rainbows coming out.
On a scientific level, ignoring the mental benefits or harm depending on your opinion, it is physically a good cleanse and purge of toxins from the body.
Another interesting one is the toad secretions (not dmt) that they put into burnt holes in your arm.

Kambo, that's what it's called.

Did they take DMT in ancient Greece? China? Europe?

What about in mudhut cultures that never invented the wheel or writing?

Nope, greece and rome used shrooms.

wouldnt be surprised if the shitting came from contaminated water/plant, it is south america after all

>is being a junkie and idolozing dirt worshippers redpilled

It's not addictive and apparently has powerful therapeutic properties
>Amerifat education

All these people go on about how psychotropic drugs will enlighten you and shit but never actually seen any of these people say anything actually insightful or smart. Its always some vacuous nonsense like "dude what if we are all the same in mother gaia and shit". Im actually scared to try any in case it fries my brain and I turn into a vacuous hippy aswell.

Psychedelics are the only drug worth taking.

Ya dude. It's a magic drug. You should drink a gallon of it alone in the woods for super ascension powers.

>it has therapeutic (((properties)))
I'll pass, rabbi.

Having done the stewed leaves and DMT I would say neither is an entry into anything but fun. You will learn nothing, you will move on with your life as normal after and you will not get a hard core youtuber bollock trip.
IT WAS FUN. IT WAS NOT EDUCATION.

The real problem is the suppression of research into therapeutic drugs with a psychological war meaning that nowadays, people have a totally illogical, visceral reaction to everything considered "class A" even when it has shown to have incredible therapeutic effects when used in a controlled environment and combined with therapy. We are 40, 50 years behind in our understanding compared to where we could be today

A gallon would be a fucking challenge. It took a massive effort for half a glass. Incredibly difficult to drink as completely dries out the mouth.
As for location my favourite for all psychedelics is a quite room with zero light. Music and lights and other people talking is for the hippies. If you seriously want to see what is going on inside your own head then sensory deprivation is the best way to take psychedelics.

dmt is the ultimate redpill

Not just that. They also ban ordinary plants so slowly the flora of the earth is getting smaller just because a small amount of alkaloid may be extracted. People need to grow plants even if they do not want to take them internally.

In what way?

The spaces open — this is like my own mind and feels like home. The breath so pure, the DMT-familiar consciousness, like there is no transition, except I am more calm, relaxed, open. I can feel myself in a trance and my eyes rapidly moving beneath their lids. DMT has a strange taste but it is so pure to breathe, like air... I don't even think about coughing or anything of that sort.

"Hello!"
Smooth out — silver coming
silvergirl and the pool
green transform — green sensuality
pop — pop
green alien elves dancing
everyone dancing dervish-like, maybe at a rave, their hands in the air,
and the way forming above their heads, the tunnel in.
Voices. "go."
"Trust this," she says.
The plastic frog is alive and hops from the bed to my knee.
the blue pulsating balls...
they are only visible for a second, but they say,
Don't be astonished... Look...
The crack in the stone
green light slipping from it...
The crack is where the edges of the stone doors meet.
They are partly open, but for some reason will not open more.
This seems important!
I try to open the door
do I have enough DMT breath? or rather,
do I have enough me?
pull at the door... almost... pull again.
Green light scatters.
I want to look inside... try again... it opens.
Green light spills.
Stairways, green glowing, rising into something.
Greencatgirl. she purrs. she is liquid and sexual and she kisses
with wet green. more purr. her fur falls in a tumble from her head
and neck and the center of her back. smooth green skin everywhere else.
The voices laugh.

I am there.
The towers loom. switch. silvergirl.
The edge where the cataract pours into never.
Rainbows gleaming from the spray. unicorn girl is here.
Kiri. Maia. she laughs in the best way.
Trey. Gingko.
"Trust them," someone says.
Yes. I know... and it expands.
Whoosh... everywhere... and then I am back.

It is like I have not gone anywhere, but suddenly I know something I didn't know. Just a sweet DMT breath. There are no words. But there is a kind of language. I try to talk, and nothing comes out. Exactly. I smile and laugh. Silverlove. Love love love.

there are alot of goat tracks that lead to a better understanding of yourself, or enlightenment as some fags call it

ayahuasca is the highway!

it will show you the door whether you want to see it or not.. but you still have to open it

It can help you sort some shit out and is fun. It allows you to take a step back and analyse your life and yourself very objectively, and makes you want to fix yourself. So I'd say it's not degenerate. Just don't be one of these retards that thinks they know all the secrets of the universe now, or someone who only uses psychadelics but does not read/meditate.

Here comes the pasta. Roll up roll up take this magical cure all. Honest guv. ELEPHANT MEN are taking over the thread.

It was past 3 a.m. at the Chan Kah hotel in Palenque. I was with John and Sara, two attendees at the conference. I held the long glass pipe to my lips, watched as the small beige clumps began to release themselves into the air. I inhaled-one, two, three breaths. The dry smoke was wickedly noxious and bizarre, with an extraterrestial plastic tang. As I had been warned, it was like smoking a shard of lawn furniture. With the next intake, the unfolding, the unveiling, began.

Runes and geometric patterns filled the air, hovered around me, tattooed themselves over the walls, the furniture, the other people in the room. These images were copper- or golden-colored and I had only a few seconds to look at them. In those few seconds I saw an intricate interweave of sacred geometrical motifs — pentagrams, seals and symbols, golden triangles — drawn from every mystical and traditional source.

As I was sucked into the golden funnel it seemed startlingly clear that all of those symbol systems were not just metaphorical codes but actual gateways to literal dimensions outside of our own. John, a video art student from San Francisco and DMT veteran, had described these patterns as the entry point ‚ once you saw them, you were just one breath away. I'm going to get there, I thought to myself, surprised, even shocked. I took in one more deep plasticky breath and held it, and I started to go.

John took the pipe from my hand. I fell back on the mattress as I shot out of myself like a rocket. How to explain the rush, the terrifying and ecstatic trauma, of leaving your body, and your brain, and everything that is you, except some infinitesimal tendril that has no existence in space or duration in time, which is an astral probe spiraling out into the infinite, far beyond the shell you left behind?

I seemed to be projecting forward at an incredible speed. At the periphery of my vision I saw twisting white columns like high-tech swizzle sticks, as if I was following a ladder or lattice up, or in or out or all of the above, to hyperspace. I had the sense of floating through a fractal tapestry, a curving and infolding plane of synthetic, plastic, fantastic whiteness and gleaming colors in endless vibrant hues.

This extradimensional realm I had pitched into was made, I felt certain, of data, of quantum equations, visible shamanic harmonics, and the self-weaving fabric of extradimensional superconsciousness.

It was science fiction made fact. A dimension devoid of natural things, of plants and human need, of our weak and imprecise symbol systems. DMT land was an interweave of tantric mandalas, virtual reality fantasias, stained-glass aureolae; a ten-dimensional Walt Disney World projected into some far-fetched and far-flung future.

There was, in that place, rushing toward me, an overwhelming force of knowledge and sentience. I knew it was impossible that my mind, on any level, had created what I was seeing. This was no mental projection. This was not a structure within the brain that the drug had somehow tapped into. It was a nonhuman reality existing at a deeper level than the physical world.

Suddenly I was rocketing through their cities. Multidimensional, jewel-faceted, hard and immaterial palaces where geometrical and tentacular constructions were being taken apart and reconstructed at such lightning speed that I cannot recall more than a tiny and trivial fraction.

I was taken on a flyby at a tremendous velocity. There were beings in this place. They were humanoid, as far as I can remember, which is unfortunately not far enough. I recall a blue entity (a blue the color of certain celestial Buddhas in Tibetan thangka paintings), gesturing-in my memory I see him with one hand raised, waving at me.

There were fountains and spinning mandalas like lit-up roulette wheels or flowering chakras that seemed organic as well as mechanical. At the center of the city there was a great fountain, like the fountain at the center of a Renaissance town square, where bits of data or perhaps mathematical potentialities or burbling new test tube universes were flowing in rainbow patterns of ultraviolet froth.

This realm was in a state of continual transformation, yet solidified in synthetic matter. Everything I "saw" glittered with an artificial sparkle. There was something impersonal, detached, about my visit. It seemed as if the entities were tranquil, even unemotive, as they went about their work of cosmic supervision.

Everything seemed to be communicating to me a chattering greeting. Although I can't remember sound, I felt there was sound all around me. Weeks later I began to recollect it as high-frequency buzzing, clicks, and trills. As I recall, the beings in the DMT universe were saying to me, over and over again: "This is it. Now you know. This is it. Now you know."

I began to remember that I had a body, although it was lost to me. I felt myself breathing. Every now and then I would swallow involuntarily. My breathing and my swallowing seemed like a program they were running. "I" seemed to be exactly like a program they were running in their fabulously impersonal cosmological system: As I breathed, they were breathing me.

"Now you know. This is it. Now go back. Now go back. Now you know. This is it. Now get out."

As soon as I recalled my human identity, I was flowing back into this world. I noticed there was something ... a room containing me. I was lying stretched on a hotel bed. Then the engulfment quickly receded, returned to morphing geometric gold forms that spun down, quickly whirling out of existence as I returned to who I had been.

You want to figure some shit out, take ibogaine.

Allows you to experience a layer of unfiltered reality

I was left with little doubt that I had visited what we, for lack of a more accurate word, traditionally call "spiritual reality." The trip supported the idea of a soul existing outside the body, woven into the extradimensional fabric of the cosmos. The cosmos, what McKenna called the "cosmic giggle," is something they were spinning, or we were spinning with them. I had been given more than I ever expected. I had been shown the hard kernel of everything that I wanted to know.

The DMT realm is "next door," behind every billowing curtain, hidden inside the dark matter of consciousness, now playing every night in disguised form in our dreams. It is so close to us, adjacent or perpendicular to this reality. It is a soft shadow, a candle flicker, away.

DMT is Direct Mystical Transmission. Drastic Magical Transport. It is, as McKenna put it, just too much. Once you have had the experience, you are permanently rewired. You can consign existentialism to the scrapheap as you wrap your old ontological constructs around this new pole. Of course, many questions are opened by the jolt, while only a few are answered.

For me, the DMT vision suggests that we are incarnations in some way, sent from that place of boundlessness to this one of sticks and stones and hard knocks, perhaps over the course of lives ping-ponging back and forth between the dimensions with certain tasks to perform, or with knowledge to learn. Or perhaps what is happening is more ambiguous and multipurposed than we can put into language.

The experience called to mind Mircea Eliade's book "The Eternal Return", in which he analyzes the consistent belief held by archaic cultures that all places in physical reality have a double in the spirit world. Every temple and city built by human beings actually relates to a "celestial archetype." Eliade writes: "Not only does a model precede terrestrial architecture, but the model is also situated in an ideal (celestial) region of eternity."

The ELEPHANT MEN

Polish pasta leaves an awful taste. FUCK OFF CNN.

The DMT city seemed to be something like a celestial metropolis, a fabulous ideal that our physical cities are a feeble attempt to imitate, utilizing blunt matter rather than bright magic.

For many people, ayahuasca — a slowed-down low-res interface of the DMT flash — seems to convey strong messages from the natural world, of nature as sentient energy and spirit matter, of the need to protect the planet we have been given. Yagé whispers that human beings are meant to be gardeners of this reality, journeyers, storytellers and singers, weavers of the sacred. DMT, on the other hand, conveys no overt human or humane message.

Dirty hippy shit.

It is a doorway you can step through to greet the beings who run the cosmic candy store. Spinning down from the immersive matrices of DMT, I suspected those beings were, in some way or other, superconscious entities who created and maintain our universe.

They made us for some purpose, to play with us or to be us, to tantalize or teach us. But of course this raises only more questions: Who created them? Is that the only other dimension out there? If not, what other dimensions, what other forces, are acting upon us or seeking to communicate with us?

I was left with the notion that creativity is one purpose of existence; we are meant to evolve toward them, become like that, entities beyond the physical plane, and make universes, palaces of thought, gnostic hieroglyphs of our own, as they made this one. Building another universe — it would be the ultimate act of creativity we could imagine. But perhaps it is just one of their parlor tricks.

Beyond all of this, I mulled over the old litany of questions anybody would want to ask the spirits, if they could: Why so much suffering down here? Is this life a test in some way? Why are we, so often, so forsaken? And why is the DMT dimension so synthetic, as if it were built out of mathematics and machine logic, out of language evolved to some ecstatic equation? Are those beings like us, in some way, but perfected to a point where they dream-engineered themselves out of the time-space continuum?

Are they, perhaps, ourselves, evolved to a point of disembodied immortality, having learned to bend and snap the time-space continuum like a twig? Are they ourselves so far in advance of where we are now that they can only communicate with us in orthogonal fashion, the way a three-dimensional being might try to express itself to a two-dimensional dweller of flatland in a language of incomprehensible dots and lines? Am I, are you, just a program running in some alien supercomputer? Is that what this universe is?

Meat doesn't cause cancer.
But eating excessive sugar and carbohydrates does feed cancer cells.

We have the DMT receptor. It is a trigger placed in our brain to launch us out there — try to get used to the idea. It is there so we can commune with that (or with it, or with them, whatever) — a trip that will eventually force us to revise our science texts and rewire our way of conceiving reality. Why has this experience been allowed to emerge into the modern consciousness at this precise time?

To put it another way, why am I the first, after untold numbers of dreaming ancestors, to return to this startling source? As technology turns ever-more treacherous and our weather gets weirder, I suspect there is intentionality to it.

DMT flashes the question of free will: Is there any such thing? I still suspect there is — however much spiritual hierarchies are running this show, each of us can choose to create our role in it with the theater props lying around this quaint little planet. There may simultaneously be free will and a knowing of everything that happens and can happen; all kinds of paradoxes may coexist in those quantum interstices, those tiny curled-up dimensions of vibrating superstrings that physicists found, to their own surprise, hidden within this one.

With DMT, once we know it is there, we are left with a choice that is itself a classic test of free will: All of us can choose to go there, push to activate the circuits that give us access to that impacted labyrinth. Or we can avoid it, cut ourselves off, deny its existence out of a completely sensible cowardice.

Personally, I don't think the pure DMT flash is a journey we should take too many times; it feels intuitively threatening. But certainly we are meant to go see for ourselves, at least once or twice. The fact is that the portal exists. Not to explore it would mean denying our heritage of human curiosity.

Really though

>scientific level
>purge of toxins
No.