Psilocybin Journey Notes 10/27/22

Subhaga Crystal Bacon

POETRY

10:00:  Check in. Grounding meditation

Gratitudes

Invocation of supports

Altar

Intention

10:40: Ingest 3 grams

Walk

11:20: Inside, music. “I feel pretty high.”

11:45:  Booster 1.5 grams

2:45: “I think something happened. I’m not sure. Smells so good in here. Something about my

Italian grandfather. Got really hot; had to get out from the blankets.

Tears

 3:00: Smells like palo santo wood from Peru (showing up for you as support) Hallucinating to the music

. Colors, purple, palette kept shifting. Jungle/indigenous music—dropped to deeper bass note—fragrance—wanted to make my nostrils bigger so I could really smell it. Love it. Sort of erasure—not in a bad way—transcendent—the words multiverse, omniverse, no multivalent and omnivalent. Everything got cleaned up. I was completely empty from my navel to the tops of my thighs. It was light. Everything reconstructed itself. Like I had a valve around my hip in the emptiness for releasing waste. It was like dreaming and conscious/awake. Music was architecture—music inside of me. I was inside of it. You and I were not separate. 

I reconstructed my genital/sacral area. Healing movements coming across the area. Sughandi said “you just take care of yourself.

At one point—skeleton keyhole—faces rotating through it not clear, sepia. Vulva-like opening, like crowning babies—faces looking out. Sugandhi was there, a face I recognized. All this happening. I was in my body—felt so heavy, not in a bad way—here. Like I wasn’t there—a piece missing—then it came back.

3:10: Death is here—on right—teeth like screws. Skull face with screw teeth. Somehow came a feeling

of myself as a toddler crawling around on Pop Pop. Had this feeling, too hot, trapped under the blanket, had to get out. A hint of something connected to how I was told I crawled all over him, couldn’t get enough of him. Found these pictures of him—young handsome face. Surprising and familiar. A gap in the relationship with siblings and grandparents. Mom famous for falling out with people. Then didn’t see them until 3rd grade. Big gap.

By the time I knew him again, he was so broken down. Thought he had no fingers, rheumatoid arthritis—quite crippled. Smelled bad—familiar. They were poor—lived a different life than we did. 

Dad dubious, low class; mom shined him right up. He was poor; she had everything in Germany: culture, Nazism. Expo 67, father “I can’t go in there” (hotel). He had a lot of shame and secrecy (about childhood).

 3:15: Something about Pop came up. Some kind of transgression. (Check with body). I can feel my

whole body; feel grounded. Feeling during the whole process around genitals—open gate—flow state. Sometimes like something missing, sometimes like—

not a body part at all—an ocean or a planet. 

Talking about it feels like it’s missing—right hip, surgery. But between the hips a field of light. Like clouds through tops of trees. Hard to tell what’s foreground—what’s background. The phrase in my mind—“sexual healing.” The medicine was some kind of balm. Started off seeing/feeling/knowing—everything is totally fine. I’m okay. I’m whole. I’m not broken in any way. Just shown to me. Illustrated all these crazy ways. It showed it to me—beautiful design 

raveling/unraveling—this is the way it is. 

I was a little impatient--like, yeah, I know this—but went along. So beautiful—allowed it. 

Vacant in this part of my body and totally held, then a tiny glimpse of something. It was 99.1% Support. Great.

Clicked a piece in me—behavior between adults and children and children and children. Allowing your body to respond to certain things. Adults with boundaries, you just don’t go there. But kids don’t have those boundaries. Walking 2-3 year old. This sense of whatever happened.xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

She’s alright. She’s safe. She’s not to blame. Oh, yeah. She’s not to blame. (Is Subhaga, taking that in, too?) It might take a while.

 3:30:  Took that message in—

from mother—somehow, I was to blame. I did pass some of that behavior on to other kids and I’m really sorry about that. My kid-self has a lot of shame about it. One boy—best friend—Tommy at the end of the block—my age. I was obsessed with his penis. He was folded into the tapestry imagery (felt healed/forgiven). His mom caught us in a closet—no fallout—still went there. I always went to his house. Kindergarten, , 5 years old. I was always at their house—more laissez-faire—no one paying attention, asking questions. It’s both/and. I was acting out these impulses that I acquired—but no one paying attention. That’s a long slow road that one. 

 3:35: (I supported Eileen when she was reckoning with bullying a kid—Don’s workshop: 

dysregulated behavior”) Eric Ossler—family peculiar people—babysitting him—him sitting on my lap—got aroused. I orgasmed. I did that. Years later—Ross (older dissolute gay colleague) brought Eric to a party. Eric started to tell a story—don’t know where he was going—I wanted to get swallowed by the floor—mortified. But he went on about my father—handsome virile presence. Heard he married a woman—had been a flamboyant gay man. Thought the reckoning was coming. Carried a lot of shame. That was child abuse—lived in terror it would— (reframe—context, age, pre-teen, prior exposure from where Eileen sits, not necessarily child abuse). Lots of sexual activity in my neighborhood.

 3:50:  Mom always thought I was up to no good. Slapped hands etc. Went ballistic when I was 

sitting on the garage floor with a boy working on my bike . . . Her father—drinker—womanizer.

Many stories that make this mandala—Subhaga—always condition, precursor that results in behaviors. No one of us born bad. Have to look at the big picture/mandala. What did they get or not get (including ourselves). Yes, if everything is God. Our job is to have compassion and find the healing. 

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Subhaga Crystal Bacon (they/them) is a Queer elder living in rural Washington on unceded Methow land. They are the author of four collections of poetry including the Lambda Literary Award Finalist Transitory, from BOA Editions, and Surrender of Water in Hidden Places, Red Flag Poetry, 2022, being re-released in an extended edition in the summer of 2024.

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