Visions

About four years ago, for only a few months, I was pretty successful at inducing visions. I would slowly relax each part of my body, and then imagine myself going down a dark hole. Sometimes I would look for characters from my dreams and start talking to them. Their responses were spoken out loud, in outrageous accents. At other times, images would emerge spontaneously: pelicans; hurtling black asteroids crashing into hypersexualized angels; brown bread with peanut butter; Suzanne Somers; worms wearing Chinese dragon masks; an dangling silver earring of a horse standing on the world; pussies across the sky; huge, dirty land squids that suck me inside them; a monk walking through a pine forest; a blue hippopotamus coming out of a lotus; a wolf tail coming up my anus and out of my mouth; a hairless green rabbit with full lips that is swatting flies with its long tail; a dark, wooden, swirling thousand-armed goddess that is sodomizing me.

One of the keys to bringing up the more spontaneous visions is not to resist them, not to feel embarrassed. (This is certainly not the only key, because I’ve had no luck with visions the past three years, except for an occasional river serpent seen off the side of the RFK Bridge that refuses to talk to me). When the bats bite at your ear and grab your hair don’t brush them away. Let them grab, and the cave will open up. When you see Disney’s Little Mermaid, don’t get all snobby and reject her in the hope that something more tasteful and refined will show up. Go with her. Look into her big, limpid two-dimensional eyes and sympathize with her deep yearning for a husband. She’s actually pretty fun and will take you for a great ride.

The best vision happened was while I was listening to Sheila Chandra singing her long resonant syllables over a drone. I saw a heavy, naked dark woman sitting cross-legged on top of a blue pool. Her head was raised, and the voice was coming out of her mouth. Her mouth grew larger and darker, a huge black hole. Then her body split in half, two slabs of red meat. A gorgeous red flower grew up from between the two slabs.

That last vision still sticks with me. But what do I do with them? I’ve had no glimpses of the great unity, symbolic resolutions or unmistakable revelations. They just came and went. For a while I tried to subject them to Jungian analysis. That may be why they stopped coming.

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Posted on July 11, 2012, in Consciousness, Psychedelics, The Search and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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