Ayahuasca, Aliens and Joe Rogan

First off, if you’re reading this; this thing moves pretty quick. I’ll probably have to write a longer version of this story when I get around to writing my memoirs that like 8 people on the internet are going to read. Anyways; buckle up and enjoy the ride. The journey begins now.

I was an ignorant fool for going on a spiritual journey, but it seemed like something I needed to do. My good buddy(only in the 8th dimension), Joe Rogan, talked about the importance of meditation and understanding our own thoughts on his thought provoking/goofy/eccentric/only-thing-you-can-call-that-podcast-is-the-Joe-Rogan-Experience. I decided I needed to check out psychedelics and meditation for myself because of this and so I did.

I forced myself to go on a 10-day meditation retreat, due to an experience I had with what I can only describe as the other side of reality on 4 hits of acid, and because of this experience my curiosity about both consciousness and psychedelics peaked. Basically, I came in contact with the cosmic consciousness (the energy of God), but being in the world we are now; you’re not allowed to say this. For me to say “I’ve talked to God. I’m a part of it, and we can all realize this”. Sounds like a trip to the insane asylum if you ask me.

So i kept this to myself, and I began writing more. I spent many a night alone in the library writing my college papers (which seemed stupid and easy) as well as beginning to write my own Zen philosophy book which seemed profound and extraordinary. After my 10-day meditation retreat the book was profoundly stupid and an extraordinary waste of time.

I just knew I could do better now. Which is either a good thing or a bad thing depending on how you look at it. I was more comfortable in my own being which felt terrific. I was more free. Now I wasn’t addicted to cigarettes, they were a choice; which turned back into an addiction. But I continued my meditation regime from my parent’s basement, and I began applying for writing gigs. I wrote cover letters spilling my entire being into them. They were witty, revolutionary, and heartfelt. But my pathetic soul wasn’t good enough for my esteemed writing colleagues.

None of the publications/organizations so much as even replied to tell me I didn’t get the gig, which sucked. But if I had gotten one of those jobs I wouldn’t have been able to make a weekend trip down to Campbellsville, Kentucky to drink the mother of all psychedelics, Ayahuasca (finally I got there after telling you my whole life story).

My first night with the medicine began with disappointment. I wasn’t having insane visions, I didn’t talk to any fucking aliens; Nothing. Just me in my own body. Until I realized holy shit, I have a body! I began massaging myself all over the place. Just feeling myself, like really feeling myself, and then poof; I was magically transported to a different world.

I saw every person that was or is an important person to me in my life. We talked telepathically. I saw that some people in my life we’re very sick. Others were just fine, and we talked. I met us all at our highest form of being. We loved each other, and we told each other the truth! The terrible truth (one of my female comic friends told me to stop telling so many dick jokes and I sort of took that advice thanks 8th dimensional Kenzie!).

Ayahuasca also gave me the vision of my one true love. The one I’ve searched for in every life I’ve ever led, and I found her in this one again. She’s my ex-girlfriend, but the only catch is I have to become a rockstar first which will be happening as soon as I drop my first album: Jake Runde Is A Famous Rapper. It’s in the works, and if that one doesn’t hit I’ll drop my second album Jake Runde Isn’t A Famous Rapper. And if that doesn’t work I’ll die a sad-lonely-pathetic-delusional-mad-man.

But as I made my rounds between my friends and family in the astral realm I sensed two “larger” presences. Who could they be? Graham Hancock and Joe fucking Rogan. If you haven’t read Fingerprints of the Gods by Graham you are seriously missing out on a seriously entertaining argument about who really built the pyramids (it wasn’t aliens like some braindead critics of Graham like to say).

Graham and Joe both told me they loved me, and that I was on well on my way. My way to where? I’m still unsure. Although as of late I’ve come to grow fond of not knowing. It’s kind of fun. And then Joe Rogan, the fucking asshole that he is, was like dude check this out, and he turned everyone in my life into Joe Rogan. At this point I started laughing my ass off and exclaimed “Oh my God we’re all Joe Rogan! It doesn’t make any sense, but it does!”

The ultimate truth to our reality had been discovered that night. We’re all Joe Rogan. And we should all have podcasts where we talk about DMT and bounce crazy ideas off each other. And every now and then talk over our guests because we think we know more than them (cough cough, Joseph). Joe and Graham were people pointing me towards the moon, and that first night with Ayahuasca showed me that. I mistook their fingers for the moon.

The second night with Ayahuasca was where I found the moon. Completely content in the experience I found myself visited by strange reptilian looking creatures with gleaming red eyes and sharp teeth. They wanted to kill me, but I just told them “What’s up?” And they danced away out of my vision. After they left, I stared into the eyes of a Native American Chief. For whatever reason I knew I wasn’t supposed to speak. Potentially an ancestor of mine. And as he faded out of my vision a little voice whispered to me “I have more to show you.”

And so, I went to the shaman and drank another shot of the brew. As I laid back down my entire body went numb, and a little voice repeated over and over “There is no I. There is no I. There is no I.” Apparently there is no “I” in Ayahuasca. After some time of this, it as time to move on to the next level, and the medicine seemed to ask “Seriously dude? You’re ready to see this shit?”

And just like that, I was ripped entirely from my body. I was shown my own death, and as I faded from existence, I morphed into a Buddha statue (a skinny one) made up of palm trees, eagles, and grass. And I was perfectly content to stay there.

After a while of chilling out in the spirit world a little voice whispered again “You’re the reincarnation of Buddha and Jesus Christ. Get up.”

As I peered round the room, it informed me that all these people were me. Everyone in the world is just me, and if I’m the reincarnation of Jesus Christ then so are you. So forgive me for sounding like a lunatic (hopefully you got the joke there). As I walked outside I looked out at the trees and the moon and the stars. The trees were more majestic than I had ever seen. White light was coming out of them. They were communicating to me, and everything was in commune. Everything was communicating. At this point I was given the zenlightenment. An unperturbed view of the world and all it’s apparent shittiness. I wasn’t bothered by it anymore. For a small moment in time everything was going to be okay because I was okay

It’s been over a year since I drank the brew, and I’m not sure if I’m enlightened or not, and quite frankly, I don’t really give a shit. I still fuck up. I still get too fucked up sometimes. I get punished for straying from the so-called “way”. I’m not a rock star, not yet, but I have made a lot of cool songs and had a blast along the way. I see others for who they are, or who they are trying to become. I’m more forgiving, but less tolerant of bullshit. And the spiritual world is full of fucking bullshit. I’m probably just adding to the heaping pile of shit that it is with this piece. I can’t tell if a person is enlightened, but I can definitely see people who aren’t.

I have an appreciation for the darker side of human nature, because I’m not sure if so-called enlightenment is about finding the light. Maybe it’s about not being afraid of the dark. Maybe we all need this fucked up reality for some fucked up reason.

Where are the aliens in this article? We are the aliens motherfucker, and welcome to Insane Asylum Planet Earth. Where money is all that a man is worth. Even though when we die we go back to the dirt.

Zen Master Jake Runde: Order of the Eternal Meow