Psychonautic Journeys of Death and Rebirth

A field note from the threshold

Trigger warning: psychonautic terrain. Themes of death, decay, and rebirth. This journey is not for the faint of heart.

Lately my dreams have been carrying a consistent message - not metaphorical, not subtle:

... I have been dead for a long while.

And turning fully back on requires looking that death directly in the face and choosing, consciously, to return.

The motifs have been unmistakable:

 • Bones—enormous bones, ancient bones, often dinosaur-like.

 • Hidden rooms—doors opening and closing deep in the astral closets of my being, lights flicked on in places long sealed.

 • The Earth Star—descending into primordial strata where old cultures, animals, bodies, and memories are stored.

In one dream, guides said to me plainly:

“You are completely offline.”

Then ... even more shockingly ...

“Your Reiki is dead.”

That landed like a bell through the void.

⸻

The Journey

Last night my partner prepared psilocybin for himself and his father and asked if I wanted a sip.

I did.

One sip.

(Okay - two, total, hours apart.)

Soon after, I felt deeply sleepy and went to my room with a clear intention:

to heal my crown.

For some time, I’ve felt old, ancient energy lodged there; between me and the Greater Spirits. I’ve been actively expanding my chakra system beyond seven, bringing all twelve fully online. Earlier that day I’d also received a chiropractic adjustment, (one of the deepest I’ve ever had) ... directly in the neck, where energy has long stalled.

Then I slept.

⸻

I woke inside a ship: huge, wooden, cavernous. I was in its belly. Some kind of performance was underway, and I was part of the entertainment.

Suddenly the show shifted.

A giant inflatable whale burst forth. Fish leapt everywhere. The floor beneath me turned into buoyant, unstable material. My partner stood beside me. I said aloud that I didn’t like not knowing what was beneath or behind me, and that I might be the first to feel the hull puncture.

Instead, I hit solid ground.

“We’ve made it to shore,” I said.

Most everyone panicked and swam back toward the deep. I hid beneath the ship and saw cars passing by; lights like the Pacific Coast Highway.

Then the dream vortexed.

I rose one density level higher and could see clearly: this was a game. An amusement-park-style simulation. People were moving onto the next level.

That next level involved sitting with your partner in black caskets floating down a river.

“No thanks,” I said. “Papa Guede will be there—I’m good.”

My partner wanted to go.

So I went.

People climbed into the caskets beside their lovers, holding hands as they drifted downstream. I got in ... and my partner got out; vanished. The crowd laughed. A cosmic joke.

I realized I had only entered for someone else.

So I got out.

⸻

The Spider Room

Inside the amusement park structure: a cold, gray, metallic maze: people began looking for me.

I turned invisible.

Only one being could see me: a giant spider.

Then another.

Then a family of them—black and red, immense.

(I should say: in my subconscious, spiders symbolize creators.)

I realized the room wasn’t a kitchen ... it was a feeding chamber. A webbed trap.

I tried to escape, grabbing utensils to defend myself if needed. The webs were everywhere. I slid low to the ground and said:

“God… if you help me through this, I will be deeply grateful.”

That’s when I knew:

I was already dead.

⸻

The Corpse and the Choice

I woke in my physical body feeling as though I had been pulled back into it from a casket.

My skin was rotting.

Maggots and insects crawled out of me.

So I did the most reasonable thing I could:

I got up and took a two-hour salt bath to cleanse and clear my field.

Apparently, I have been offline for some time.

⸻

Re-entry and Retrieval

Since then, I’ve re-entered the dream multiple times.

The first time, I retrieved my astral weapon—which had been missing—and forged it into a machete capable of cutting through any layer. I lit the webs with energy work, expanded my heart with rose quartz, burned karmic debris with violet flame and lotus reiki, and anchored a sanctuary within myself—safe regardless of outcome.

The next time, my Cosmic Family intervened.

Ancient Creators. Older intelligences. Higher architecture.

They told me:

“You no longer have to do this alone.”

I saw golden light strike the spiders from above as I walked out untouched.

Part of what I’ve been transmuting is every lifetime and timeline where I believed solitude was a requirement for power.

It isn’t.

⸻

No one ever said being a psychonaut would be easy.

No one ever said re-entry—true ascension, true embodiment—would be gentle.

Turning my system fully back online, chakra by chakra, is a resurrection process.

And I am doing it.

One threshold at a time.