You’re not easing in. You’re being launched.
No soft edges. No slow come-up. Just a slingshot into something vast, alive, and utterly incomprehensible.
DMT is not a psychedelic—it’s a dimensional rupture.
A molecule that exists in nature, in the human body, and maybe in the very code of consciousness itself.
To smoke it is to disappear. To drink it in Ayahuasca is to surrender—fully, deeply, for hours—to the intelligence of the jungle.
What follows is not a trip. It’s an encounter.
One second, you’re in your body.
The next, you’re flying through a geometric chrysanthemum, face-to-face with entities who feel ancient and familiar.
No time. No self. Just presence in the strange.
Unlike LSD or psilocybin, which slowly peel back the layers, DMT slams you through the veil in seconds.
DMT is still one of neuroscience’s greatest mysteries—but here’s what we do know:
“A single dose of DMT produced experiences indistinguishable from near-death reports.”
— Johns Hopkins Psychedelic Research Unit
This isn’t a party drug. It’s a rite of passage. Approach it that way.
DMT can be beautiful. It can also be brutal.
Some people meet love. Others meet death.
There’s no way to predict what you’ll encounter—but you will encounter yourself.
And if you're not ready to let go of who you think you are, the journey might do it for you anyway.
The experience may be over in minutes, but integration can take months—or years.
If Ayahuasca is involved, your body may purge, your dreams may shift, and your life may begin to rearrange itself. That’s not regression. That’s the medicine still working.
DMT isn’t something you explain.
It’s something that rearranges your understanding of what explanation even means.
It’s a glimpse behind the curtain. A mirror made of light. A reminder that reality is stranger, deeper, and more alive than we’ve been told.
If you hear the call—prepare. And when you go, go with reverence.
You don’t come back with answers.
You come back with better questions.
