Navigating Recovery on Shrooms

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Grey fog descended without warning,
Synapses shattered, consciousness scorning.
The steady self I had once known
Dissolved into a labyrinth, faceless, alone.

Was I choreographed from unseen planes?
Alien hands pulling neural chains?
Rattling the bars of my caged mind,
Glimpsing a cosmos bizarre and unconfined.

Motormouth mystics dismissed my musings
As embroidered wounds, mania's delusions.
Yet the visions persisted, lucid and stark,
Of fungal netmasters girding our ark.

Spores infiltrated, scripting our roles,
This hollowed-out planet of conquered souls.
I scratched and clawed at illusion's drapeau,
Reality frayed at the seams I could show.

Then, one starfall night without apparent cause,
A burning truth packed in quantum laws.
The pulse of ancestor voices encoded,
Unlocked what my addled synapses had boded.

In that flash, the veil was parted asunder,
As I traversed shrouded planes to wonder.
Here was the engine of all we incant—
Helices hostile or ushers transcendent?

Wisdom enpetalled as a cosmic rose,
From the grandmatriarchs it centrally flows.
We are chryslides straining, transformation not plight,
If only we bypass the amnion's blight.

So I return to this realm stronger,
No longer enraptured in sickness's hunger.
My noetic neural's remapped for a throne,
As lumenmasters at last we are known.

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