Tightrope Trickster
I’ve been experimenting with psychedelic dosing.
As you know, I dove headfirst into a hero dose (five grams or more) in January and haven’t touched shrooms since. When I got back from Cape Cod in early September, I decided it was time for another journey. I’m in so much transition right now; I thought another trip might give me clarity and confidence as I continue to travel into the unknown.
I bought three, two-gram chocolates from Edge Off in Crown Heights, BK, and had a lovely interaction with the shop owner.
He asked, “How much do you plan on taking?”
“All of it.”
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
“That’s a hero dose.”
“Yes, I know. It’s not my first time.”
“Wow, ok. Have a safe trip. Say hi for me. Will you tell me about your experience?”
“Sure thing. Talk soon.”
I set the scene in my room: candles, incense, notebook and pen, and meditative music. I planned to take all of the chocolate, but at the last minute I chickened out a bit. Not because I didn’t think I could handle it—I don’t live alone this time. It’s not like I can have an ego-death and walk naked around my apartment loudly arguing with God. Therefore, I decided on four grams. From what I researched, four grams can still produce heavy hallucinations and a loss of “control.” I wasn’t scared of it, because if a seven gram dose can change my life for the better, what’s four grams in the grand scheme of things?
The experience started out like the last one; I got some nausea and fought through it. Unlike the first time, the onset hit me out of nowhere, and the trip was completely different. The best way I can describe it: I immediately pictured myself as the Joker (The Dark Knight version), and was dancing on a tightrope of reality.
I scribbled some notes:
“Joker face.”
“Why is the smell always the same with shrooms?”
“Why does my nose always run with shrooms?”
“Tell me why people are drawn to this. I’m not the only one. In fact, I know I’m not. My nose is running but no, I’m not crying yet.”
“Those that seek will see.”
Then I got in the shower (fascinating commonality) and started laughing. Like—loud evil laughing on a loop. I literally pictured a montage of Heath Ledger’s Joker scenes and every trickster figure throughout history. I almost deleted all my Instagram content and posted a black photo with big white letters: HA. I was vividly aware that I was laughing at the absurdity of humanity itself. I felt like I was fighting not to go insane.
Then, suddenly, I got really, really sad, and I thought my grandpa had died. I broke down and cried intensely in my bedroom, which of course terrified my roommates.
Anyway—the moral of the story: four grams is not a dose I’ll take again, unless I’m looking to freak my roommates out with evil laughter from the bathroom or end up on my knees, sobbing over a death that never happened…
I took the remaining two grams last weekend. I didn’t have any expectations, and I didn’t stage a ritual. I ordered a bunch of Chinese food, put on some sexy jazz, did my whole nighttime routine, and settled into bed.
Almost no nausea this time, but the Joker returned: that tightrope walk between how insane humanity is and a kind of nihilistic, “what’s the point,” chaos-agent mode. Then, my dad’s voice slipped into my head. He once told me that I had a habit of making mistakes, starting over, moving on without acknowledging what I’d done, and then repeating the patterns.
In many ways he’s right. I’ve been trapped in toxic cycles that mirror each other. But a crucial detail: the specifics never repeat exactly. The situations may look similar, but I never make the same mistake twice in the same way. My destiny is to keep evolving. To keep “fucking around and finding out.” And, most importantly, he does not know who I am anymore.
I relinquished a lot of the old shame with the first trip in January, but his words kept bothering me. So, that was the trip: I sat with every “bad” thing I’d done, trying to explain it—to paint a psychological picture of someone recovering from mental-health crises. I couldn’t rationalize it away. So I cried in bed for awhile, convinced I was a horrible person and that some people would never see me any other way.
And I took some very interesting notes:
“When I think about accountability, I get trapped in these strange paradigms. Yes, I’ve done some not-good things. But I also understand all the perspectives; I can analyze myself endlessly and still end up asking why, why, why. I can explain why I am the way I am, but that doesn’t excuse the actions themselves. But yet, I understand how I got there in the first place??”
“Why do we live in a system that doesn’t simply subsidize and provide knowledge for everyone? Instead, if you want to pursue learning, you have to pay a fuck ton of money just for the chance. Why isn’t knowledge allowed to be pursued for its own sake? And why is access to specialized knowledge made so selective? It feels like I always have to prove myself and how intelligent and talented I am—like I always have to prove something. Life feels like such a tragedy.”
“I can be dangerous. Perceive me at your own risk. I am a trickster, and the universe knows that. Life is a divine comedy and a divine tragedy. I am the joker. Haha.”
The takeaway from these trips:
1) I feel like a broken record saying it to other people, but healing is an ongoing process.
2) I’ve always known I’m a mirror—but not necessarily a flattering one. I hold up reflections of you, of society, and sometimes those reflections are grotesque, hilarious, tragic, or beautiful. I walk the tightrope between worlds and recognize the absurdity of it all. I’m literally a charming trap; I look and talk and act in ways that lure you in.
Are you prepared to handle that?
