Beyond the Veil of Time: A Psilocybin Encounter with the Living Field

By Steve Elfrink | OmTerra.org

The Moment Time Fell Away

There are journeys that open a door within you, and there are journeys that erase the very concept of doors.
During a high-dose psilocybin experience—roughly 25 grams of dried mushrooms—I found myself no longer traveling through time, but as time itself. The ordinary coordinates of space gave way to something vaster and more fluid, a continuum of living intelligence.

‍

I sat near the edge of a canyon, eyes open to the world. The air shimmered. Flying insects appeared suspended in slow motion, each one moving through visible threads of light—as if time had thickened into honey and the air itself had become radiant. When I focused on a single mosquito, I discovered that I could tune its movement. By leaning in with attention, I could slow its wings, accelerate them, even reverse their flight through the invisible fabric that surrounded us both.

‍

It was not a hallucination. It was revelation.

‍

Reality Folding Inward

At one point, I noticed a tree growing from the opposite canyon wall far down the valley. A question arose—What kind of tree is that?—and before thought could finish forming, the entire canyon wall glided forward until it stood directly before me. The tree was there, close enough to touch. Space had folded in on itself.

‍

And then, a moment of pure astonishment: I saw myself from sixty feet above, as if consciousness had simply unpinned itself from the body and expanded into a greater field of witnessing. There was no fear. Only the unmistakable sense that I was both the man on the cliff and the vast awareness holding him.

‍

Becoming the Sound

Later, as twilight descended, I picked up my didgeridoo. The tones emerged low and ancient, vibrating through my hands, chest, and skull. Then something dissolved: there was no longer a musician and an instrument—only resonance itself.
It was as if my entire body was the didgeridoo. The sound did not move through me; it was me, emanating from every cell, every pore, every breath.

‍

In that moment, I understood vibration not as a metaphor, but as the primary language of existence. The body was sound, and sound was consciousness expressing itself as matter. There was no distinction between the hum of breath, the pulse of the earth, and the cosmic vibration that births all form. I had become the song that the universe has been singing since the beginning.

‍

The Neurobiology of Timelessness

From a neuroscientific perspective, psilocybin dramatically quiets the Default Mode Network—the set of brain structures that keeps self, time, and space coherently stitched together. When that stitching loosens, the brain’s usual boundaries dissolve. Visual, auditory, and spatial areas communicate in ways they never do in ordinary waking life. Time perception slows. Depth collapses. Identity softens into the field.

‍

These aren’t “hallucinations” in the dismissive sense; they are direct perceptions of the nervous system freed from its everyday filters. The brain, unbound, reveals the underlying nature of reality: a living web of light, sound, and information in constant, conscious motion.

‍

The Field That Sees and Sings Itself

Mystics have described this state for millennia. Indigenous healers speak of the world as a web of vibration. Physicists call it the quantum field. In my language, drawn from years of psychedelic somatic practice, it is the Body of Consciousness itself—the felt field from which all form arises.

‍

When psilocybin unknit the boundaries of perception, what was revealed was not chaos but coherence. I could see and feel that every movement, every wingbeat, every note from the didgeridoo was part of one intelligent symphony. Reality was not happening to me; it was happening through me, as me.

‍

Integration: Living the Revelation

Unlike destabilizing experiences that fracture the psyche, this one left me profoundly regulated—anchored in awe rather than overwhelm.

‍
The body felt open, humming, attuned to the pulse of creation. Since that day, the memory lives in me not as spectacle but as orientation: a visceral knowing that time, sound, and space are expressions of the same living intelligence that breathes us all.

‍

Integration, for me, has meant learning to stay close to that truth in daily life:

• To breathe slowly enough to feel time thicken again.
• To listen for the subtle hum beneath every sound, remembering that it is the same vibration that once moved through me.
• To notice how attention shapes reality—the way a question can make a canyon move.
• To remember that the “me” I think I am is simply the field folding in on itself for the joy of experience.
  ‍

Coming Home to the Field

At OmTerra, we speak of healing as returning to wholeness, to the innate coherence that trauma and fear have fragmented. What psilocybin offered in that moment was a direct transmission of that wholeness. It showed me that beneath the layers of dissociation, the body and the cosmos are one continuous nervous system, endlessly self-regulating, endlessly creative.
‍

To touch that reality, even for a breath, is to remember who we are:
not travelers through time, but time itself; not players of sound, but sound made flesh.

‍