The tray consisted of drugs. Muhammed didn't know what they were exactly, but he saw brown crystals, tablets, brown cone-shaped mushrooms, a cup filled with reddish liquid, colorful strips, and a perfectly rolled spliff.
"After clearing away your trauma," Yahweh said, "with your level of connection to your higher self, you should know what to do next."
"All these drugs are amplified versions of the originals," she continued, "meant to leave a lasting impression of their frequencies—and give you insight into your three centers of power."
Muhammed nodded.
"You are your youniverse," she said. "It's time to stop thinking like a human and start thinking like the universe."
"The universe just is," she added softly, saying no more.
Although Muhammed didn't fully understand, he could tell he should take everything she said seriously.
She continued, "I'll walk you through these drugs. Remember—everything is a frequency. It's hard to express or experience something you've never known. These substances are meant to act as an initiation into a frequency. They show you what's possible so you can later reach these states naturally. Don't chase the feeling. Become it."
She still hadn't moved from her position. Not even a twitch. Only her mouth moved as she spoke—composed, calm. Her stillness was almost infectious.
"How can you make me feel so calm?" Muhammed asked, genuinely curious.
"Truthfully, I can't make you do anything," she said. "But as you grow, so will your youniverse—your influence. The world awakening gave us the ability to create our own energy. But that's far ahead of you. One step at a time."
"Okay, I understand," Muhammed said thoughtlessly.
Yahweh looked deeply into his eyes and paused.
Muhammed felt a subtle shift.
"All I gave you was information," she said. "But are you under that information?"
He thought for a moment. "No... I'm over it."
She gave a faint smile. "Well, yes and no. It's your birthright to know this, so you're naturally above it. But to overstand something is to grasp it from a higher perspective—comprehensively. While innerstanding suggests a deeply embodied truth. It resonates internally, even if not fully grasped yet. So… what now?"
"I innerstand that I have the power to create and expand my influence—and that I should focus on one step at a time," he said, cautiously watching her face for any sign of approval.
"Okay," she said. No confirmation. No correction. Just a neutral tone, her face apathetic.
She turned her attention to the tray.
"First," she moved—slowly, deliberately—raising her index finger to point at the brown cone-shaped mushrooms. "This is psilocybin. Commonly known as 'magic mushrooms.' Publicly, it's known for causing hallucinations and euphoria. But in truth—it raises your frequency to such a degree that you can semi-consciously return to the past and change it. However, it's only limited to your ego's experience—or past lives."
"Wait, past lives? I can change the past?" Muhammed asked, eyes wide, stunned. His understanding of spirituality was still developing.
"Yes and no," she said vaguely. "You can enter a higher frequency—what we call a superposition. From there, you can view your life from a higher standpoint. Like an author revising a book. The true past won't change. But you'll be able to transmute the negative energy into positive by altering your perception of those experiences. Like I said, you can reach these states without drugs. But the substances make it easier."
"And… past lives?" he asked, sitting up straighter.
"You already know the answer," she said simply. "You must ask yourself—and be willing to listen."
She retracted her hand and leaned back.
"Ask myself..." he murmured. His body moved instinctively. He closed his eyes.
"What does she mean by past lives?" he asked internally. Silence.
He was just about to give up when her voice echoed in his mind.
"Just listen. Be open. Realize… you are not the one who listens. You are the one who watches. The part of you that wants to listen."
With that subtle nudge, he allowed himself to detach from the self. Leaving only I.
Then—something.
A response. Not loud. Not quite a whisper. It was his voice, but… not from him. Like getting an idea in your own voice, and then having your inner voice question it. Same sound, different source.
"Energy cannot be destroyed. It is infinite and eternal. You are that infinite and eternal energy. As you lived through the third-dimensional plane in all your lives, that energy remained. And you can tap into it—if you rise through higher planes."
Suddenly, he snapped out of the trance.
"What was that?" he gasped.
"That was you," Yahweh said calmly. "That was me. That was everything. To put it into words is easy—but it's always better to ask yourself."
She raised her hand and sat up straighter.
She pointed at the brown crystals and tablets.
"This is MDMA—commonly called Molly or Ecstasy. It's a synthetic stimulant. Publicly, it's a 'party drug.' But here, it can help you access a more warm perspective. It makes it easier to see pain and trauma through a lens of love and compassion. But... it may not suit you. Most people can't sit still long enough to make the most of it."
She moved on quickly, pointing to the colorful strips.
"Next, LSD. Extremely powerful. It can allow you to switch frequencies rapidly, as it alters emotional and mental states profoundly. For the awakened, it helps you confront fears—fears you've ignored or shunned. It gives you mental fortitude. For the unawakened, though? It can shatter the mind."
She rattled off the physical effects:
"Hallucinations. Distorted visuals. Altered sounds. Anxiety. Depression. Flashbacks—where parts of the trip return unexpectedly. Rapid heart rate. Increased body temperature. High blood pressure. Dilated pupils."
Despite the weight of her words, her expression remained light. She spoke like someone deeply experienced.
"What does 'return of the trip' mean?" Muhammed asked. He still felt strange. Everywhere else, drugs were taboo—feared. But now, he understood that fear was projected onto him. These were tools. For growth.
"It's when pieces of the experience return—sometimes days or months later," she said. "To the unaware, it's vague. But to the awakened, it's intentional. Your higher self withholds parts of the message until the proper time. A delay. For your benefit."
"The next drug is ayahuasca," she said, pointing to the red liquid. "A sacred brew made from the Banisteriopsis caapi vine and a DMT-containing plant—usually Psychotria viridis. But ours is enhanced. Stronger effects. Stronger memory retention. Greater spiritual control."
"There are many ways to take DMT," she added. "It's often called 'the spirit molecule.' Smoking it leads to short but powerful experiences. But ayahuasca? It lasts longer—four to six hours. In our version, time dilation is intense. Seconds can feel like years. You can lose yourself in there. But the growth? Immense."
For the first time, her eyes glistened.
"So... is everyone just a drug fiend?" Muhammed wondered.
A chill ran down his spine.
He coughed—once, twice. Avoided her gaze.
"What's the last one?" he asked.
"This," she said softly.
She reached out with both hands and picked up the spliff.
"This spliff is genetically modified cannabis—infused with a mental inscription."
She said nothing else.
Muhammed stared at it warily. But for a split second—his pupils dilated.
She looked into him, unblinking.
"So… what's your choice?"
Almost every other option seemed rich with potential—powerful, revealing. But delicate. Like a double-edged sword.
Press too hard, and he might stab himself.
Press too little, and the tide might sweep him away.
He looked past the spliff in her hands—and into her eyes.
It was obvious.
He was being guided toward the spliff.
And his gut knew it too.
So he listened.
And made his choice.
he reached for the splif between her hands