DMT: Machines Elves and the Joy of Being

I've done psychedelics before—acid, mushrooms—but nothing prepared me for the sheer speed and intensity of DMT.

The smoke hits my lungs, and within seconds, I'm watching the room pixelate into geometric patterns. Then I'm through something, into a space of impossible brightness. And they're there—the machine elves everyone talks about.

But "machine elves" doesn't capture it. They're... playful? The geometry is intricate, almost fractal. And I realize they're showing me something—not with words, but by manifesting and transforming. It's like they're saying, "Look—isn't this amazing? Look at this pattern, this color, this structure."

I'm laughing. I'm filled with childlike wonder. The predominant feeling is joy—not ecstatic, but the joy of seeing something fundamental and being invited to play in it.

Then, as quickly as it began, I'm coming back. The geometry slows. The brightness fades. I'm back on my couch, gasping slightly, my heart racing but my mind clear. I check the clock: 8 minutes have passed.

I sat in that wonder for an hour afterward, unable to speak.