Mind sailing

Here's another non-report post... an idea ive been toying with in my head that I found interesting n wanted to share, maybe you will too!

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With frequent usage of several different substances at several different ranges of doses ....

Each substance begins to take on its own character, develop its own 'canon' in a way, each one is the key to a different plane, each molecule contains its own world. My collection of substances greets me like a nexus, each one its own adorned gate to another dimension.

Psychonaut literally translates to "Mind-Sailor" and this is a journal of the places I have sailed.
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LSD
"Debasement"
I use the term debasement as de-basing existence, removing its base, violating, restructuring, and warping our experience at the very core. The universe of LSD is defined by a debasement of every fundamental law of our universe. It induces a maddening sense of discomfort, it is the most unnerving thing imaginable, to have the very foundations of my existence so shaken and altered makes every experience in that plane off kilter and highly disturbing. It's as richly alien as a scape could be, perpetually displaying a diversity of infringements on the laws of this world. The LSD universe begins to manifest as sounds breaking down, distorting, slowing, at last being rended apart and splattered across the aether. Time manifests in such arbitrary ways that it is rendered impotent. Vision ripples and tears and the rifts bubble with an incomprehensible amount of information stored in an incomprehensible way. It is resplendent with prismatic explosions of color and impossible harmonious patterns and forms in beautiful sequenced motion.
This plane is distinctly eerie, hauntingly familiar, and fundamentally at odds with every vibration and every shred of energy that we hold dear, it laden with fractals, it is the deepest plane.

DXM
"Nausea"
This world is wrought with the bodily afflictions that DXM carries. The horrible nausea, the fiendish shivering of limbs struck with zaps of serotonin... It leaks into the experience a constant reminder of how unnerving it is to perceive something so truly alien. The Dextromethorphan universe is driven by no cause, no reason, no predetermination or direction. It is arbitrary and wastefully surreal. Alien beings stumble around in processions in an existence they dare not to comprehend any deeper. Vast structures that seem to serve no purpose other than being a maddened display of constructive power loom menacingly. Everything is wreathed in static, everything shimmers liquid and metallic, the air is gelatinous and monolithic waves crawl and pulse across this unctuous world. It's the feeling of skin stretched over all of my senses, left only to perceive the starkness and bleakness of my flesh, the world only to perceive the starkness and bleakness of my faceless form. It is a sprawling taupe and mercurial bog, inhabited by cascading scribbles, coldly indifferent to the presence of anything.
This plane is putrefaction of reality, a vast grey quagmire that traps only the most disturbing thoughts, the feeling in your gut of storm clouds swirling in a sickly grey supercell.

MXE
"Sojourn"
Imagine if you could pick from your mind the essences of what you fundamentally consider beautiful, worthwhile, and aesthetic. Each of these is a seed, from which grows a spectacular garden, an oasis of the boundless diversity of ways in which these essences can manifest. This garden is constantly swept by gale force winds and hammering draperies of rain. The plants clings to you as they unravel your sense of corporeality. In this garden you can fly, drift wherever one desires. It is clean, efficient, and spectacularly colorful. The mess of vines within entangle and knot to materialize as every imaginable form and space. With practice one can dictate how these vines will grow. You have found asylum here, a world that seems to bend at your touch. Beware, for sometimes the storm grows wild, and the whipping winds may shred one between planes. This is as close to ominpotence as you will feel.
This plane is solipsistic, it unfurls before you like fronds, color breathed into wherever your senses drift, this plane is a verdant green garden, where the fruitful seeds of all planes blossom.

DPT
"Iridescence"
An opulent and opalescent dance unfurls before you. Fingers frosted with crystals gracefully peel back your eyelids, until at last you can see, you can really see. You can see all of this world in one glimpse. This world is a kaleidoscope of worlds, each of its possibilities a scale in an infinite integument, a lustrous stroke rippling through their array. And you can witness all of it. Blossoming sentinels tumble through you like waves washing over the deck of a ship. Everything in graceful order, everything laced with graceful color and graceful form. Even if one were to gaze at only a single scale in the shimmering vastness, they would still be acutely aware of this furthest reaches and burgeoning entirety. Upon each scale is a brilliant tangle of crystalline buttresses and dendrons, a fractal infinity encoded in their mysterious facets.  It is the color of the core of an opal, it is the cloak of Iris.
This plane is everything you want it to be, and everything you don't, and nothing anything wants regardless, and through its infinite windows one may gaze at infinite horizons.

Ketamine
"Stupor"
A thin grey veil is suspended from the gate of this world. To touch it is to be immediately sapped of warmth, the vibrational dance of every molecule in your body brought to a standstill. The body dissolves into the cold, but it is for the best, as bodies do not fare well here. This plane is defined by space. It is vast, more vast than the void between the nucleus and electron shell of an atom.  What appear to be faraway walls of this hollow are realized to be impossibly large and impossibly distant. What you can perceive of them is a mere surrogate of the true boundaries of this world. One can traverse this swirling emptiness on the ripples of its fabric, the ripples of the flapping of veined and chitinous wings. Does anything inhabit here? It's hard to say, you would likely never encounter each other in this great vacuity. Our existence is at odds between space and form, us inhabiting the world of form. In this world, one gets to play on the other side of the fence, existing as space. This world sinks into a deep violet, the color of a winter night on a new moon.
This plane is vast, it is as cold as the loneliest reaches of space and still as the darkness of the void, a cold that could suck the last morsels of warmth from dry ice. 

3-MeO-PCP
"Galvanism"
Imagine if every time you awoke you were in unfamiliar surroundings, always fundamentally similar but disorienting in their diversity. This is a puzzling and chaotic world. This is a world defined by instability, of a manic energy to manifest in as many forms as it's vast avarice desires, bound only by a vector akin to our sense of time. Bound to the point of frustration, bound to bursting. Energy leaks from every jagged mechanism of this world, however they decide to appear to you today. Sometimes, it toys with your memories and dreams. Sometimes it passes you down its thorny pharynx. Sometimes, it looks upon your sense of self, that ego which you sacrifice to delve into the other planes, and smiles upon it, encapsulates and gilds it in a dissociative warmth. Jagged monuments billow haphazardly in every direction, their copious teeth flitting about with no rhyme or reason. Segmented beings slither between the grinding heat. This world is bathed in a warm vermilion, the color of a dying star or a fading ember.
This plane is manic, fast and frenetic, nervously ticking away towards no perceivable end.

4-HO-MiPT
"Biota"
While "life" has a strict definition, its component of self-replication is emulated in the infinity of the cosmos (or vice versa). Truly life force is the recursion of producing oneself, of being aware of oneself and one's production of self. This world is a fractallized jungle of an existence that has duplicated itself, ad infinitum, its manifestations deviating boundlessly. It is diversity that stems from entropy, it is a dendrogram of lineages that leak out of an obsessive recursive loop. It is the wicked green wilds of form, it is tendrils and limbs and  the corporeal tangling and crawling, tracing and forming into whatever they may. It grows blindly and with reckless abandon, its creatures drip from every pore of its demented sinew, it is hysterical in its scope. This world is deeply and violently green, violent as the mechanical savagery of insects as they dismember and dismantle each other's exoskeletons. It is an ecosystem, each species a unique ripple in the fabric of existence. It is a primeval boscage, it is verdant brambles enshrouding your heart, all of its living energy dedicated to the simple task of proliferating into the abyss.
This plane is recursively self aware, it is the diversity that can only come through the brute force of statistical deviations, it itself is living, feeling, thinking, and processing.

2C-B
"Ornament"
This world has its fingers playfully and fondly entwined with the fingers of ours. It prefers to curl up in the home of whoever accesses it, rather than allow one to curl up within it. But it makes its stay worthwhile. To whichever world it may seep into, it adorns and embroiders their fabrics as vines adorn ruins in the forest. Its embellishments taste their matrix before deciding how to blossom and form, harmonizing with wherever it inhabits. It is friendly, gentle, and playful, it deigns to be no more than that and is profoundly content with such. Its forms love to dance a synaesthetic dance with the sensory experience of their host. It is dependent, and perhaps no one will know what it holds within itself. It does not fiercely protect its own nature, it merely never reveals a shred of it. This world paints its surroundings with vibrant magenta and chartreuse, it has a raw desire to garnish everything it touches. It's patterns are foliate and intricate, organic yet bearing the deliberate beauty of an artist's touch.
This plane is harmonious, it is symbiotic with where ever it chooses to tread, it caresses your face and seeps into everything.

O-PCE
"Stasis"
Immediately upon entry to this world one finds themself rendered entirely immobile. The distance glows rings of concentric grey, sterile and cold like laboratory glass. The medium around you buzzes with crystal clarity, zaps your skin with tingles of anesthesia, but most importantly, paralyzes your muscles and pries your eyes wide open. Nothing happens here, and that will continue, indefinitely. A consciousness in this realm is like an insect trapped in amber, confined to its own personal bubble of its own personal present. This is a pure dissociation, dissociation from the flow of time as you sit locked in that bubble for fear of decaying in the mechanistic abrading stillness as it chews apart all things like a swarm of ants. One could stay here forever, but none do, and no one can quite recall how they left, most are simply too busy marveling at their ability to move and feel again. Whether it knows it or not, this realm violently enforces its status quo.
This plane is dull and neutral, unrelenting and everlasting, the air does not breathe and even the skittering processions of time are brought to heel to stoically gaze at an eternal pallor.

Memantine
"Desolation"
You are alone now. There is a distinct chill that grips your bones with a desperate and fearful fervor, an iciness that cannot be shaken. Indeed you find yourself in a seemingly infinite taiga, scraggly pillars of conifer trees sleeping quietly in the twilight, their forms obscured by draperies of snow. The ground is blanketed by pure, sweet, undisturbed virgin snowdrifts. It flurries down gently, shimmering flakes in an infinite dance of static against the darkness, yet it never seems to get any deeper. You have never felt quite so alone- in the night sky above a miraculous golden aurora pulses and dances with the orderly vitality that would suggest life, an architect, a presence of any kind, you scream into its void and it says nothing back. Whoever is responsible for this realm has not been here for quite some time, if anyone at all. It is something beyond life and death, beyond the binaries of being and nonbeing, it is each of those, both of those, and none of those, all at once, it is alienating and isolating and you will never understand what exists here well enough to feel any presence besides your own warmth against the infinite cold.
This plane is the death throes of being lost in the woods on a snowy night, stumbling further into the eternal solitude in the frigid gizzard of winter, the world around you so instinctively indifferent.

3-MeO-PCE
"Empyrean"
Travels across so many realms have worn your mind thin, shredded its sails with shrieking squalls amidst tyrant swells. You hear talk of a sacred and promised land, where the warmth of light traces gently every inch of the landscape's flesh, where the waters are still and mirror-like, where resplendent colors embrace and entwine in an everlasting diaphanous dance. Deep beneath the polychrome rivers in the sky, sunken under the towering glowing pyramids sewn from the threads of your buzzing electric desires, there it lies. The aether coalesced into a crimson chaos, eagerly waiting, drooling at the thought of a mind that has come to bend it into order, a mind to create from it what it wills, a God. This is the treasure you have been seeking, the glory of creation.
This plane is the ecstasy of discovery, the fire of life begging for your touch, curling around your fingers and being unbound by the imagination.


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The looming shadow of the unknown stalks the interstice between planes

This raises some questions. To pass between planes, they must all exist encompassed within something larger, something that can not be referred to as existence, something that encapsulates even more than that. It is entirety. Why is my default existence in this world, what significance does it have compared to the others?
And what of combining them? What a truly unique entirety in which the planes can be made to swirl together, the characters of each displaying within. There have been a few very coherent mixes of planes, and as far as I know an infinite variety of ways in which to intersect and interlope them. Who knows what this forced interaction may uncover and incur.

A traveler must beware, to fully pass between planes and not become tangled in their interstice. For the the rules of those worlds begin to leak into this one, your behavior and mind now governed by alien thoughts and alien feelings, incompatible with our normal comprehension of existence. It is when this happens that real life consequences are incurred... These seem not to statically endure as planes, but simply form as ephemeral facsimile projections of the reaction between multiple fundamental forces.

A constant stretches across all realms.
Knowing and unknowing ~ in the many planes, one does not have a sense of self, or a sense of thought and consciousness. Ever morsel of the experience is simply the interaction between the material world and some form of processing, a metaphorical machine that touches the unknowing and colors it into the knowing. Thus, the feeling of the unknown still exists across all planes, none I have touched seem to contain omniscience. Thus, the fear of the unknown still stalks every plane. Perhaps this unknown isn't simply a natural law, but something induced and enforced and weaponized by some antagonist... perhaps somewhere exists even beyond knowing and unknowing... but regardless, this antagonist... I feel an eerie paranoia as I stalk through the planes, like something is watching me, stalking me, puppeteering me and lurking in the shadows. Like some agent is working behind the scenes to manufacture some sort of experience... I feel like I am delving into forbidden knowledge, that in my blind stumbling in the other worlds I will stumble upon something that does not want to be stumbled upon, that something that plays the game of predestination is moving all the pieces around... but to what end? Why give me access to the means of potentially uncovering it? Is this the sick sport of an incomprehensible mind? A delusion meant to keep me under some form of control? Or the shearing winds of a maelstrom of chaos? Only the intrepid will learn.