September 2012.
Curiosity led The Trickster down an unexpected path.
What began as a simple investigation soon unraveled into something far deeper—a descent into the unknown. He stumbled upon Carl Gustav Jung’s Red Book (Liber Novus), a tome filled with cryptic visions and the exploration of the unconscious mind. At first, it was mere fascination, an intellectual pursuit. But as he delved further, the research spiraled outward—branching into the mysteries of the human psyche.
He unearthed fragments of the collective unconscious, the practice of active imagination, the ancient Greek alphabet—all interwoven with studies on psychosis, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and the altered states of perception induced by narcotics. The connections between these ideas wove a complex web, each thread pulling him deeper into the threshold between reason and madness.
Yet, what truly ignited this journey was an article on cannabis as an enhancer of psychosis—not in the sense of causing it, but as a catalyst for those already destined to cross that threshold. Those who, at some point in their lives, would inevitably experience the fragmentation of reality. The substance was not the origin—only the key that unlocked the door.
Among all the experiences he had lived thus far, a question crept into his mind—a doubt that whispered from the edges of reason:
What if this is all just fantasy?
What if the callings, the symbols, the synchronicities—are nothing more than the echoes of an illusion?
What if these patterns and revelations were not the product of reality, nor even of conscious will? Could it be that the mind was merely projecting meaning onto chaos, grasping at fragments of something unknowable?
Yet, even as these thoughts surfaced, he knew.
With absolute certainty, he understood that this was the path.
The search for the Inner Self was not a mirage—it was an odyssey. One that demanded the dissolution of limits—whether through psychonautics, psychedelic experiences, or the breaking of intellectual boundaries.
This was the way forward.
A journey beyond the veil.
Some phrases and quotes related to Jung’s Red Book say:
“The years… when I pursued the inner images, were the most important time of my life. Everything else is to be derived from this. It began at that time, and the later details hardly matter anymore. My entire life consisted in elaborating what had burst forth from the unconscious and flooded me like an enigmatic stream and threatened to break me. That was the stuff and material for more than only one life. Everything later was merely the outer classification, scientific elaboration, and the integration into life. But the numinous beginning, which contained everything, was then.”
“Jung referred to the episode as a kind of experiment, a voluntary confrontation with the unconscious.”
“… other figures of my fantasies brought home to me the crucial insight that there are things in the psyche which I do not produce, but which produce themselves and have their own life.”
It was a threshold, a fragile boundary of thought where the mind teetered on the edge—to break it, or not?
The Trickster could feel it, this climactic peak, a moment where he could either step back or surrender to the unknown. Perhaps creativity itself is a form of psychosis. A necessary madness. A delicate unraveling of the mind’s own constraints.
He stood at the precipice of the unconscious.
It is impossible to fully articulate that moment—the sensation of something immense stirring within, something waiting to erupt. The sheer mental weight of realizing that all one must do… is let go.
Then, the sound.
Within his own head, he heard it—the unmistakable crinkle of cellophane plastic being unwrapped. The rustling grew louder, more chaotic, like someone unboxing a package that had been tightly sealed for an eternity. It lasted only seconds—until the wrapping was peeled away and the true contents were revealed.
A box had been opened.
And from within it, something vast began to inflate—like an enormous balloon, expanding at an uncontrollable rate, filling every inch of his mind.
It grew.
It swelled, pushing outward, shattering everything in its path.
He could hear it.
The crisp, sharp cracking of glass as reality fractured under the pressure. The weight of knowledge expanding beyond the limits of comprehension. And then—
Explosion.
The balloon burst. A shockwave of silence followed, erasing all that came before.
Then, a black butterfly.
It had been nearby, hovering unnoticed. Now, as if drawn by the moment of transformation, it came to rest gently upon his arm.
They say butterflies carry energy—that they are messengers, guiding the soul through the alchemy of personal transmutation. A sign that the process had begun.
And in that instant, he knew.
Something within him shifted. He felt ready.
Then, from deep inside, a voice—a quiet laugh, laced with sarcasm.
A simple “Yes.”
A knowing, almost amused affirmation.
The realization set in: this moment was always meant to happen.
Perhaps this reality—everything we cling to as truth—is nothing more than a dream.
A fleeting construct. A by-product of something far greater, far more intricate than we can comprehend.
The knowledge had always been there. It had always been knocking at the door, slipping through the cracks, escaping his grasp.
But now, at last, he accepted it.
This wave of unconscious revelation had fought to be born for years—pushing, attempting, nearly breaking him.
It had tried to shatter his psyche, to divide him into two selves.
And yet, The Trickster survived.
Instead of destruction, he embraced it. Instead of collapse, he recreated the experience.
That moment—that storm of awakening—became the Intro of the Rite of Passage album.
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