DMT: The Spirit Molecule: A Doctor's Revolutionary Research into the Biology of Near-Death and Mystical Experiences

by Rick Strassman M. D.

  So, as a thought experiment, I decided to act as if the worlds that the volunteers visited and the inhabitants with whom they interacted were real, as real as Room 531, the hospital bed, the research nurse, and myself. There now was freedom to respond more empathically, and to see where it led. It also made it possible to start considering other ways of understanding research subjects’ eerily consistent reports.

  Nevertheless, there was a nagging discomfort in taking this approach in responding to reports of contact. I began wondering if I were starting a descent into some sort of communal psychosis.

  So did the volunteers. Upon hearing of similar encounters by their comrades at our post-study socials, several subjects decided to form a DMT support group that met every month or two. Their reason? “I can’t talk with anyone about these things.” “No one would understand. It’s just too strange.” “I want to remind myself that I’m not losing my mind.”

  14

  Contact Through the Veil: 2

  This chapter will describe two of the most complex cases of contact with beings we saw in our New Mexico research. While qualitatively similar to the reports we read in the previous chapter, they stand out by virtue of their detail and intensely personal meaning to the volunteers, Rex and Sara. Their stories exemplify how far DMT, the spirit molecule, can take us into worlds and vistas that we cannot begin to imagine. These particular sessions are the full blooming of this absolutely unexpected and profound series of experiences.

  They also left me feeling confused and concerned about where the spirit molecule was leading us. It was at this point that I began to wonder if I was getting in over my head with this research. The experiences were such that my models of the mind, the brain, and reality started seeming too limited to absorb and hold the nature of what volunteers like Rex and Sara were undergoing. They also caused me to start wondering how adequately we were able to support, understand, and help our volunteers integrate these otherworldly experiences. Were we opening up Pandora’s box? How were volunteers going to live their lives from that point on, after having experienced such an inexplicable but certain reality? What could we tell them that would ease their confusion?

  Sara was DMT-34 and Rex was DMT-42. By the time they volunteered for the studies, more than two and a half years after the DMT project began, we had gained a familiarity, albeit an uneasy one, with tales of encounters with intelligent life-forms. If their sessions had taken place earlier in the research, we might not have been as supportive of their telling, nor learned the level of detail we did.

  Rex’s and Sara’s sessions may have been so extraordinary because they quickly suspended their disbelief and shock when the spirit molecule threw open the doors to the unseen worlds and introduced them to the inhabitants of those places. They both had been through a lot in their lives and were remarkably able to keep their wits about them in stressful and frightening circumstances. They entered those types of situations trying to learn everything they could from them, disregarding nothing, accepting as much as they possibly could.

  Rex was forty years old when he volunteered for our studies. While in the armed services, he had taken some PCP, or angel dust, thinking it was THC, the active ingredient in marijuana. The resulting psychosis landed him in a psychiatric hospital for a week. He had gone to college for several years, but financial hardship and homelessness ended his studies. He suffered an episode of depression after a divorce in his twenties. Despite these setbacks, his current emotional health was good, and we had few concerns about his ability to manage our studies.

  Rex was a rugged-looking fellow, but he was much more mild-mannered than he appeared. His dark eyes, hair, and mustache were accentuated by his pale skin. He was the only volunteer who referred to me more often as “Dr. Strassman” than as “Rick.” While a journeyman carpenter by trade, he had also won some local awards for his creative writing. He was loosely allied with the Wicca religion, a nature-based practice and community.

  These were Rex’s reasons for volunteering: “I want to explore the potentials of the mind, the nature of actual and perceived reality and our relationship to reality, and to God. I hope to gain at least greater self-knowledge.”

  Rex’s response to his first dose of DMT, the non-blind low dose, was surprisingly strong, and I knew he would be a having some powerful experiences the next day. At 5 minutes after the low-dose injection, he said,

  There was a humming sound. I couldn’t tell if it was the air conditioner. Then I felt like I was suddenly in the presence of an alien or of aliens, vaguely humanoid. There were serpentine colors surrounding them, producing an outline of their shape. Based on my reading, I expected leprechauns, not anything like this.

  The bed was spinning, rocking, it was uncomfortable, alarming. There was some constriction in my chest. That feeling then turned into the alien presence. I tried to make contact and relax into it. It seemed a lot more in control than I was. It was interested in my fear and in me.

  I remember that feeling from when I was a kid. When I was scared I would relax and say to myself, “The worst thing that can happen is I’ll go to God” when I was afraid.

  I knew that the next day he would have a potentially cataclysmic encounter with the beings he had just encountered. It seemed only fair to warn him, to prepare him, as best I could, based upon other’s experiences. Nevertheless, it felt strange to hear myself say,

  “They do seem interested in you, in people, especially in their feelings.”

  He tried to sound casual,

  Cool.

  “Be ready to be dismembered tomorrow. I know that’s a grim suggestion, but it sounds like you may be in for a fairly rough ride.”

  I awoke nervous that next morning. How would Rex do? We both were alarmed by his reaction to a dose one-eighth of what he’d receive today.

  We got right down to business. He told me, “I guess I’m most afraid of the vertigo, of getting sick.”

  His comment reminded me of a Tibetan meditation practice I had learned many summers before. The method was simply to ask yourself over and over again, “Is this what I am?” With whatever answer you gave—“my body,” “my job,” “my relationships”—it was important to ask again, “Is this what I am?” My body, mind, identity, opinions, feelings, all began falling away. This meditation upset me so much that I ran outside and vomited.

  I wondered if something similar weren’t occurring with Rex:

  “Sometimes nausea and vertigo can relate to something that you’re not wanting to acknowledge, something deep but obvious. Is there anything important these days that you’re trying not to think about?”

  “I broke up with my girlfriend about six weeks ago and I called her this morning. I’m not sure if it was a good idea to break up with her.”

  Women. Relationships. Trust.

  “How about your marriage? What was that like?”

  “She was diagnosed a paranoid schizophrenic. She was horrible. She did terrible things to me.”

  Time for a leap. I suggested, “So, there’s a commitment fear in a way. Commitment means getting exploited by somebody who is totally crazy.”

  “Yes.” And he made the connection: “Also, I was afraid of the physical reaction to the drug, that I was going to get sick and die from the allergic feeling that I had to it. I wondered if I was allergic to it, with that pressure in my chest and head.”

  Steering back to his emotions, not his body’s symbolic dealing with them, I pressed Rex, saying, “The commitment issue is important. A commitment to yourself and then the commitment to not having a self once that happens. I guess ultimately a commitment to a faith that you will be looked after, and not be abused when you’re in need.”

  We went on in this vein for a while. Within half an hour, Rex seemed much calmer, although I was feeling sick to my stomach and dizzy. That seemed a signal that he had expelled his fear, and it had landed in me. I told him we could probably start now. I walked briskly up and down the hall a few times, splashed my fac
e with cold water in the bathroom, and felt relatively normal.

  Rex lay very quietly for the first few minutes after the injection. I see in my notes the following comment after remarking upon how still he was: “Thank God.”

  At 7 minutes, hives began forming on his neck. Laura pointed to the vial of antihistamine we had handy in case the hives became too severe or the allergic reaction spread to his lungs and he began to wheeze. He did have an overactive allergic system. As if sensing our concern, he reached out his left hand and Laura took it.

  At 10 minutes, Rex removed his eyeshades. He started,

  When I was first going under there were these insect creatures all around me. They were clearly trying to break through. I was fighting letting go of who I am or was. The more I fought, the more demonic they became, probing into my psyche and being. I finally started letting go of parts of myself, as I could no longer keep so much of me together. As I did, I still clung to the idea that all was God, and that God was love, and I was giving myself up to God and God’s love because I was certain I was dying. As I accepted my death and dissolution into God’s love, the insectoids began to feed on my heart, devouring the feelings of love and surrender.

  It’s not like LSD. Things really closed in around me, in comparison to the spaciousness that I feel with LSD. There was no feeling of space. Everything was in close. I’ve never seen anything like that. They were interested in emotion. As I was holding on to my last thought, that God equals love, they said, “Even here? Even here?” I said, “Yes, of course.” They were still there but I was making love to them at the same time. They feasted as they made love to me. I don’t know if they were male or female or something else, but it was extremely alien, though not necessarily unpleasant. The thought came to me with certainty that they were manipulating my DNA, changing its structure.

  And then it started fading. They didn’t want me to go.

  Remembering many previous stories, I said, “Yes, they are interested in us and our feelings. And, no, they don’t want us to go.”

  The sheer intensity was almost unbearable. The forms became increasingly sinister the more I fought. I’m going to need therapy after this—sex with insects!

  Still grasping at a psychological explanation for these strange experiences, I tried this: “That’s them. Your fears, your limits.”

  Rex wouldn’t bite:

  Mmmm. Maybe, I don’t know. It was nonverbal communication. “Even here? Even here?” was not spoken in words. It was an empathic communication, a telepathic communication.

  At about 28 minutes, he didn’t yet quite seem “back.”

  “How do you feel now?”

  Right now? My body doesn’t feel quite my own. There is still something of the other dimension flowing through it. I feel permeated by something else.

  “How about emotionally?”

  Emotionally, emotionally . . . I’m slightly euphoric.

  “Glad to be alive?”

  He laughed, looking at me in a more focused manner:

  Yes! Glad to be alive!

  “You may have passed out as they were feeding on you. I wouldn’t be surprised. That would probably make most people faint.”

  That’s right. That’s true. Depending on the person, it could throw them over the edge. Is it self? Is it other? I just don’t know. I just don’t know where these things come from.

  As was often the case, answering the rating scale helped Rex fill out some of the gaps in his description. He echoed what many volunteers stated when they thought about the reality of their encounters with these otherworld beings:

  This question about “being high”—I don’t know. I had my capacities. I was able to observe quite clearly. I didn’t feel stoned or intoxicated; it was just happening.

  Rex came in for several pilot-study days for the pindolol project. First he would get a dose of DMT. After all effects were gone, we would give him an oral dose of pindolol and then administer the same dose of DMT 90 minutes later. At that point, the pindolol would be exerting its maximum effect on serotonin receptors.

  The 0.05 and 0.1 mg/kg DMT doses without and then with pindolol were relatively uneventful. We used the time to process his high-dose encounter with the feasting alien insects.

  I now have the feeling that there’s something more that I can’t access in my daily life. I guess it’s the feeling of having made alien contact. I guess I have an expectation of that contact in everyday life. I hope for it. I know it’s there.

  I had to ask, “What is the nature of alien sex? Would you say it is like intercourse, or is it more the feeling, or what?”

  It’s positive and warm. Maybe it’s like an after-sexual effect, feeling alive and alert.

  Rex then came in for two 0.2 mg/kg doses, one with and one without pindolol. He seemed moderately affected by the first 0.2 dose:

  I realize the intense pulsating-buzzing sound and vibration are an attempt by the DMT entities to communicate with me. The beings were there and they were doing something to me, experimenting on me. I saw a sinister face, but then one of them somehow tried to begin reassuring me. Then the space opened up around me. There were creatures and machinery. It looked like it was in a field of black space. There were brilliant psychedelic colors outlining the creatures and the machinery. The field went on forever. They were sharing this with me, letting me see all this. There was a female. I felt like I was dying, then she appeared and reassured me. She accompanied me during the viewing of the machinery and the creatures. When I was with her I had a deep feeling of relaxation and tranquility.

  I was happy he finally was finding some support within his trips:

  “At last, a friend!”

  Yes. She had an elongated head. I guess the guardians were keeping me from seeing her.

  Trying again to interpret his experiences psychologically, I said, “The guardians are your own stuff. They’re just the things that prevent you from seeing what’s there.”

  And again, just like last time, Rex gently rebuked me:

  I know, but they do seem like something else. They seem like guardians, gatekeepers.

  He continued,

  They were pouring communication into me but it was just so intense. I couldn’t bear it. There were rays of psychedelic yellow light coming out of the face of the reassuring entity. She was trying to communicate with me. She seemed very concerned for me, and the effects I was experiencing due to her attempts at communicating.

  There was something outlined in green, right in front of me and above me here. It was rotating and doing things. She was showing me, it seemed like, how to use this thing. It resembled a computer terminal. I believe she wanted me to try to communicate with her through that device. But I couldn’t figure it out.

  We returned in about 90 minutes, knowing this session, 0.2 mg/kg DMT with pindolol, might be the most intense DMT experience Rex would ever undergo. I warned him, “Considering how intense your first 0.2 session was, this may be pretty wild. Are you ready?”

  “I guess!”

  Rex’s blood pressure was quite high at the 2-minute point, 180/130, and I gestured for Laura to check it again at 3 minutes. It remained high, and his heart rate was slowing, a normal physiological defense mechanism to protect the brain and other organs from too high a pressure. However, he looked well.

  At 5 minutes his diastolic blood pressure (the bottom number) remained over 105. I thought to myself, “This is too high a blood pressure response.” At 12 minutes, he took off his eyeshades, looking shocked:

  I have a sensation that is really strange. It’s kind of like lying in a hot bath.

  “Are you warm?”

  Mmm, a little. Mostly I’m drowsy. Things about the room look funny. It came on real strong. I thought it would last and last and never go away. It was the same place, neon lights defined everything. I was in a huge infinite hive. There were insectlike intelligences everywhere. They were in a hyper-technological space.

  He lifted his arms above his head, looked
at his right hand, and laughed.

  At one point I felt wet stuff hitting me all over my body. They were dripping stuff on me. Everything in there was friendly. I don’t think I lost consciousness but I can’t bring it all back.

  He stared at the ceiling, perplexed.

  I’m sorry, doctor. I can’t remember.

  “It’s okay. You came back. That’s all that matters.”

  Struggling:

  There was one that was with me by my side. There was the same pulsating vibration. They wanted me to join them, to stay with them. I was tempted.

  “Maybe that’s where you went, that you can’t recall.”

  I was looking down a corridor that was stretching out forever. That may be where I lost it. The buzzing and kaleidoscopic shifting was intense and went on for a long time. Then it let up and I was in that hive. There was another one helping me, different from the one I saw earlier this morning.

  It was very intelligent. It wasn’t at all humanoid. It wasn’t a bee but it seemed like one. It was showing me around the hive. It was extremely friendly, and I felt a warm sensual energy radiating throughout the hive. I decided it must be a wonderful thing to live in a loving and sensual environment such as that. It said to me that this was where our future lay. I don’t know why it said that or what it meant or if that’s a good thing or not. I recall telling myself as I was coming down, “I want to remember. I want to remember,” but I can’t.

  Where had Rex gone? Who were the insectlike beings with such a keen interest in and complex relationships with him—devouring and consuming, but also loving and nurturing? My attempts at suggesting a personal psychological meaning fell on deaf ears, something that routinely occurred in our volunteers whenever I tried to help them interpret their experiences in that manner.