My Out-of-This-World Astral Projection Experience with Salvia

I remember the night vividly—it was one of those humid summer evenings where the air felt thick with possibility, or maybe that was just the anticipation buzzing in my veins. I’d been reading up on salvia divinorum for weeks, drawn to the ancient Mazatec shamans who used it for visions and spiritual journeys. Astral projection had always fascinated me, those out-of-body experiences where your consciousness slips free from the meat suit and wanders the cosmos. But I’d never gone full throttle until that night. I figured, why not experiment? A small quid of salvia leaves, chewed slowly under the dim glow of my bedroom lamp, and I was off.

At first, nothing. Just the bitter, earthy taste coating my tongue like wet soil after rain. I lay back on my bed, eyes closed, breathing deep. Then, a subtle shift—like the room tilting on an invisible axis. My body grew heavy, sinking into the mattress, while something lighter peeled away. It wasn’t painful; it was euphoric, like shedding an old skin. Suddenly, I was hovering above myself, looking down at my physical form sprawled out, chest rising and falling in slow rhythm. “Holy shit,” I thought, but there was no voice—just pure awareness.

The real madness kicked in as I willed myself upward. The ceiling dissolved like mist, and I shot through the roof into the night sky. Stars weren’t just pinpricks anymore; they pulsed with living light, swirling in fractal patterns that whispered secrets in colors I’d never seen—ultraviolet symphonies and infrared harmonies. I zoomed past the moon, which cracked open like an egg, spilling out rivers of liquid silver that carried me toward a nebula that looked like a giant cosmic eye, blinking at me with infinite curiosity.

Deeper in, the astral plane unfolded into pure insanity. I tumbled into a realm where gravity was a suggestion, and time looped like a Möbius strip. Giant, ethereal beings floated by—translucent giants with bodies made of swirling galaxies, their faces shifting between human, animal, and something utterly alien. One reached out a tendril of stardust, pulling me into its orbit. “Welcome, wanderer,” it boomed in my mind, not words but waves of emotion that tasted like electric honey. We danced through asteroid fields that sang operatic arias, dodging comets that trailed rainbow feathers.

But things got crazier. I plunged into a black hole that wasn’t devouring light—it was birthing universes. Inside, I relived alternate lives: as a warrior on a red-dusted Mars colony battling sand serpents, then as a bioluminescent jellyfish philosopher debating existence in ocean depths on Europa. Memories flooded in that weren’t mine—echoes from parallel selves. I saw Earth from afar, a fragile blue marble cracking under human folly, but then it healed itself in a burst of green energy, forests reclaiming cities in fast-forward.

The peak hit when I encountered “The Weaver,” a colossal spider goddess spinning webs of fate across dimensions. Her eyes were black voids, each reflecting a different apocalypse or utopia. She invited me to pluck a thread, and when I did, reality warped: I became a flock of iridescent birds soaring through a sky of molten gold, then a single atom vibrating in the heart of a star. Euphoria mixed with terror—am I lost forever? But salvia’s grip loosened, and a gentle pull tugged me back.

Snapping into my body was like crashing through water from a high dive. I gasped, heart pounding, the room spinning for a moment before settling. Hours had passed, or maybe minutes; time was still fuzzy. My skin tingled with residual energy, and for days after, colors seemed brighter, sounds sharper.

That salvia-fueled astral jaunt wasn’t just a trip—it was a doorway to the infinite, a reminder that we’re all stardust playing at being human. Crazy? Absolutely. Amazing? Beyond words. If the universe is a dream, I woke up in it for a split second, and I’ll never be the same.