5-MEO-DMT - Soothing Massage of the Soul at Chaos Garden

5-MEO-DMT

Dose: 4 puffs × 1.5 mg = 6 mg intranasal
Strong nasal burning on the first puffs — I am used to these sensations. The first effects were subtle: a gentle relaxation, a slight expansion of headspace, mild confusion beginning to arise. I maintained a full sense of self throughout and felt able to steer the experience by directing attention.

Dose: 3 puffs × 1.5 mg = 4.5 mg intranasal (total so far: 10.5 mg)
I lay back down. My partner was to my left, my friend to my right. I asked my partner to caress my hair. A few minutes later I asked her to kiss me. She looked even more beautiful. I could see love in her eyes, and this was deeply calming. I took her hand and placed it on my chest. I wanted to feel my heart. Before that, my hands had been crossed on my belly, then one on my belly and one on my chest.
My body started getting heavier, sinking into the mattress. I could feel the vibrations of the handpan becoming richer and traversing my body, as if I was made of air. I became aware of the contour of my skin and of all my tension. Soon after, people around me quieted down. The handpan was beautiful. Someone joined with guitar. I imagined there were drums, and some singing.
Tears began flowing spontaneously, before any clearly identifiable emotion. My body's boundaries started to loosen — as if I was only a silhouette. Internally light, but physically heavy.
During this phase I felt I could go back to my first DMT experience. I re-experienced being there: the anxiety at first, the beauty of the setting, nature coming alive, the bark of a tree moving. Being with friends. And then, towards the end of that trip, feeling like I was in a womb — sensing gentle entities behind a membrane, which felt like the veil of Maya. Part of me had wanted to go beyond, but a voice told me: "No rush, kid." I felt they were protecting me from something overwhelming. Reliving this now felt like it had been primed by telling my friend about it beforehand.
I started regulating my breath. My meditation experience came in handy. My mind felt quiet. My individual self became just a "point" — a little sphere in the back of my mind — as if I was still in the driver's seat, but my ego was slowly deconstructing, like a snake shedding its scales.
When I briefly opened my eyes, everything seemed beautiful.

3 puffs × 1.5 mg = 4.5 mg intranasal

3 puffs × 1.5 mg = 4.5 mg intranasal

Dose: 3 puffs × 1.5 mg = 4.5 mg intranasal (total: 15 mg)
I felt I had reached a plateau and wanted to go deeper. I could feel everything around me and felt very grateful for everyone's presence. I stood up, opened my eyes, thanked everybody present. Then I took the final 3 puffs.

I started to feel oceanic boundlessness, followed by bliss. I started thinking this could be what dying felt like, and I decided to dive into the sensation. I reached a point where I could sense my ego deconstructing. Later I would describe it to a friend like this: as if my "self" was a rose — I shed all the petals and "died" for a moment; then, as if entropy reversed, the petals flew back, and the rose was reconstructed. It was the same rose, but also a totally different rose.
I could feel every sound traversing my empty body. I felt like I didn't exist — not as a body, just as a point of consciousness.
I started breathing deeply and thinking about waves — a very clear mental picture. I synchronized my breathing with them, trying to replicate their sound, as if I was breathing waves of air. This felt like a true memory from childhood: around age 5 or 6, walking with my mother along a seafront promenade, staring at the waves, fascinated by the white foam. Maybe I had experienced a proto-trance even then. And now I was in a trance state. My sense of time was completely distorted.
Visually: mostly darkness throughout — some flickers of light, shifting shapes like waves moving sinuously. At one point, the darkness became the darkness of being in the ocean at night, where sky and sea blend and the horizon is invisible but intuitively present. I felt like the still surface of the water. The handpan created gentle concentric ripples emanating from the core of my consciousness.
I imagined exhaling my last breath. I decided I could die peacefully. Everything felt eternal and perfect — always as it should be. No need to do, only to be. No need to be anyone. Ordinary life is just a show the universe puts on for itself. I hoped death might feel like this: returning to eternal darkness as a point of consciousness, without self, with only bliss.
This was where I felt my ego dissolving. Not full ego-death, but I also felt no need to redose. I observed the impulse without identifying with it. I recognized it as coming from a rigid part of my psyche. I looked at it and realized that's not who I am. My mind is so much larger than what it usually takes itself to be. I could feel the scaffold of ordinary mind — like matchsticks, but without walls.
I felt I could go back to the moment I was born. I saw my mother's face. I imagined the pain she endured during my birth, and I knew it was endured out of deep love. It was a flash, but it felt long.

The darkness changed quality. I had reached a black hole, and I knew it was all my pain — everything I had experienced, everything I had been too afraid to face, all the repressed emotions. I felt the instinct to look away. But another part of me said: this is the chance. Go into the fear. Which is also the fear of death.
I dived into it. It felt gentle at first. Then it intensified. I started crying. The tears shifted from physical to affective and grief-related.
At one point I wanted to scream the pain out of my body. I held it and screamed internally instead. It felt liberating — but I could also see that this too was a repression. I was afraid of judgment, as I usually am.
Memories from childhood and adolescence arose. I could go back to previous versions of myself and "hug" my inner child. A deep sense of acceptance. I could let go. The past doesn't need to hold the same weight.
One memory in particular: walking a school corridor, probably in middle school. The feeling of not being seen, not being understood. Deep loneliness. This connected back to when I was about 10 years old and consciously decided I would be sad for my whole life — that happiness was not for me, that life was intrinsically painful and happiness was an illusion. I felt that moment had snowballed through my life into depression, compulsive craving for connection, rigid structure, anxiety, and FOMO.

I did my mantra: a deep breath, hands on forehead — "I am present in mind and body" — realizing they are one, not separate, a nondual state. Then hands to chest — "My heart is full of love."
I started vocalizing OMs, then AUMs, joining the music around me. I felt like we were all playing together.
As the effects faded, I experimented with deep breathing and occasional breath holds, which subjectively seemed to prolong the altered state.

A rapid return toward my baseline self, carrying internal conflict. Negative judgments of others began to reappear. It felt painful in contrast to the earlier openness — as if I had wasted the experience. Though I already sense that is not quite the right framing.
During the comedown I imagined my heart as black and atrophied. I wanted to shed it and let all the love in. That didn't really happen. It remained more of a concept than a felt shift.
At the end of the comedown, I thought about the movie: La grande bellezza.

Despite the rapid return to baseline, I was still holding a sense of internal peace. I consider this a transformative experience — it unlocked material I can bring into the therapeutic process I have been working on for years. I am currently in ACT therapy and feel this session played a significant role in surfacing relevant themes.
Ultimately, I felt grateful for people making space for my vulnerability.