Wakarusa: Part 2 (MDA)

I want to start with an apology. My words will never come close to the actual experiences I'm hoping to capture. This is simply the way it will always be, but writing is my net and with it I continue to earnestly flail in the darkness, hoping to capture a cloud.

The first night at Wakarusa was the first night all of us had gathered in the same place. It's fitting. The love chemically bound in MDA is the force that manifested our group, this trip, and whatever our future entails. I'm glad we chose to do it. I love yall.

It had been a foreign feeling to me before this year; sitting in a decent size group, truly feeling like each person was a brother or sister; an Other I'd die for. I had never known this kind of love. MDA opened that door for me. The beautiful part, and the part that really highlights the evil of drug laws, is that the door stays open afterwards. You get to bring a little shard of the experience into your sober life. It sits in a pocket in your mind like a little smiling ruby. You learn how to love people in a way that heals you, and them.

When I look around me, I see too many people who don't know how to love. They don't know how to truly give love, which is one thing, but most of them also don't know how to receive love. That is tragic. How to give and receive love are lessons our parents are suppose to teach us. But they didn't know, and their parents didn't know.

Our parents weren't evil. They were the chained ones in Plato's cave. They were molded by Mass Media, Corporate Marketing, and Political Propaganda. In my more raw moments, I cry thinking about how badly our parents were psychologically thrashed. But we don't have their excuse. We have the internet. We're the generation that gets to glimpse Plato's sun. We're responsible to go back in that cave and bring our people into the light.

My Gift

I knew we'd be taking MDA, and I've felt her embrace enough to know that I could do some genuine self-exploring. So I wrote down and meditated on receiving some kind of motivation that would propel me into writing my first book. I know I've got the basic skills down, but I don't know what I want to say or who I want to say it too. Well, Sassy heard this poor boys call and looked at me like a knowing mother looks at her son. She knew I knew, but she knew I needed to be reminded.

I was sitting next to my dredhead friend, Rob. He's about my height (6'3), shredded, with wolf-esque features and, endearingly ironic, a completely puppy-like energy about him. He could break you but he'd rather hug you. Well, he was kinda just talking out loud (when the sassy hit all of us, we all fragmented into energetic personal conversations with those next to us), that he wished he could record these kinds of evenings for our children but he didn't feel he was was good enough with language to do so well.

And like a Zues damn lightening bolt, I realized who my audience was and what needed to be said. I'm going to write about our experiences together. I'm going to write for our children. And I'm not going to write to them like they are pure, innocent creatures to be protected. I'm going to write to them as they are; flawed, dirty, raw humans who will experience the love and woe of life. I'm going to talk to them as equals. I want to clean every piece of precious stone we bring back from our psychedelic excavations and hand them each jeweled crowns.

That was my peak MDA moment. I regret I can't articulate my friend's MDA gifts. Sadley, as much of my own experiences are lost when I try snaring them in words, even more is lost when trying to capture another's experience. So I have an idea. ( I know all you beautiful people will read this, so, I think we should all write our personal experiences after a trip, and I'll proofread them. Your kid would want to hear how his ancestral genes experienced LSD, not how the jewy looking one sat silently for 4 hours.)


There were two similar and pretty dramatic experiences. Two girls, in our group of 13, had some psychological blockage during their trips. Without revealing any sensitive information, I want to share the experience with anyone who might use psychedelic substances. It was definitely a learning experience.

In my experience, its powerfully apparent that our minds, both conscious and subconscious, work symbolically. Water heals, fire cleanses, winds change, rotting flesh is bad, etc. Symbolical thinking is rooted in our evolutionary history. Throwing up is symbolic.

Most people, when they are having a bad trip, feel like they need to vomit. Some psychedelics actually demand this, such as mescaline and ayahuasca. It is after the purging that the bliss sets in. I think MDA, for these two women, demanded this same sacrifice. It was both of their first time taking MDA. This chemical really cleans out the emotional gunk in our mind and body. I think both of theirs were gunked up too such an extent that they needed to vomit. Both, afterwards, while sober, separately admitted that the vomiting felt symbolic, felt cleansing, like they were ridding themselves of negative thoughts, emotions, etc. So to all my friends who explore the psychedelic landscape, if you feel you need to purge, grab a trashcan and let the negativity go. Bring listerine.

Anti-Addiction Apparatus 

MDA has a built in safety valve. The come down. Sassy lifts you up to such an intense blissful realm of consciousness that once you are set back down to baseline, baseline feels like a slight depression. You learn a lot about yourself and about others when you watch how you and they handle the climb, the peak, and the slide down. I learned a valuable lesson from one of our friends tripping down their come down.

I talk a lot. When carried away, I can give advice when it isn't asked for, I critique when it isn't necessary, and I can smudge facts to keep the flow of a monologue going. Talking too much is a kind of gluttony. You're eating up the attention of those listening. I saw a hyperbolic version of these qualities in my friend. We had passed our peak and I could see him frantically trying to claw back up the hill with language. He was denying his come down. He tried sharing stories, dreams, even tried predicting the future. I just wanted to hug him. But, in the moment, I was too distracted by my come down to help. I'm sorry Todd.

Resonating Ripples 

We don't get to pick our family, but we get to pick our tribe. I sincerely think the most important part of young adulthood is finding your tribe. These are the people you'll grow with, suffer with, succeed with, and raise your kids with. I wish a genuine good luck to all the wounded ones who think they can thrive through life alone, (all you alphas out there, I doubt any read this, but being an alpha is lonely. Climb off your throne and live with your people.)

Words can be trite. I just want to say thank you. To the people who receive my love, give love back, and those of you who read my creations. I love you. I love nurturing the creative in my friends and family. I think every time I share MDA with a friend, I'm adding to a ripple. Everyone is welcome in my pond. I love yall. Thank you for reading and namasteezy.