Tripping to Mac Miller's "Once A Day"

"It was a religious experience."

On Music…

I tripped shrooms for the first time on July 3, 2020. The days leading up to my trip were exhausting, anxiety-filled, and generally miserable. I was carrying so much darkness inside me, and I needed to expunge myself of all these unnecessary weights. I went from apprehensive about my trip to eager, having read plenty of material suggesting it would be a very healing experience for me—it was.

I would define my trip as a several hours long scooping out of all my anxiety and pain. At one point I even said I felt like there were tiny piranhas in my chest, eating all my anxiety up so I wouldn’t have to carry it any longer.

Mostly, the trip felt as if I was shoveling sludge out of my chest over the span of three hours. I sat in my living room and cried my eyes out and gave a long and wrenching monologue to my girlfriend about how bad it feels, every single day, to be me. Eventually, I was out of things to say—I was out of sludge. It was just me and myself and I was emptied and ready to be filled with positivity and new memories. I felt renewed and also very sweaty.

I played Mac Miller’s posthumous album, Circles, four times while tripping. It was the only music allowed all day. Before peaking, I felt myself within the grooves and tones Mac and Jon Brion and company brought to the record. I wrote down the phrase: “Each song on Circles blooms into its own little forever.” I also said, “Circles is a case of Mac Miller’s infinity.” I stand by both statements. After peaking, I decided it was time to crawl into bed and listen to Circles once more. In and out of sleep, all I remember was closer “Once A Day” felt like a spiritual awakening. It was the forever of all forevers.

The morning after our trip, my girlfriend told me listening to Circles all day was like a religious experience. She recounted the songs and key moments, but all I had in my head was “Once A Day.” Each note felt like a cavern in which I could make a sturdy home. Mac’s voice felt less like a waveform and more like a cooling essence. Without the A/C on, the bedroom gets to be 88-plus degrees, but all I remember are chills overtaking my body. “Once a day I rise,” sounded less like an intro and more like a promise I had to make myself to be about my future.

I laid there and cried, and said the tears coming out of my eyes were like fat little ghosts running away from me. That’s around the moment Mac sang, “I wonder, do they see their own reflection in the rain / And look away?” The room was dark and my brow felt heavy with sweat as I spun into the question of facing myself. If I closed my eyes, I would tumble forward into my own thoughts. Seconds became hours and the song continued on, but I couldn’t move myself into the future. I was trapped in a vat of “And look away?” and I didn’t want to leave.

I came to at the final bridge: “But every now and again, why can’t we just be fine?” The word “Fine” took over the room and dug a hole in my brain. I felt it literally worming through folds of gray matter. The two essential questions of “Once A Day”—can we face ourselves, and can we allow ourselves to be okay?—knocked me on my ass. The day after my trip, I felt renewed. I felt like I could answer both questions positively and like I could carry on, finally, without holding all the darkness I so suppress.

I’m not going to say shrooms or Mac Miller or “Once A Day” freed me of suffering, but I will say… They didn’t not free me of suffering. I know I am responsible for the work of my life, but I can’t shake the notion this perfect storm of intoxicants, music, and having been in therapy for over a decade played some role in how refreshed I have been feeling.

There’s one more moment on “Once A Day” I can’t shake, too. Something my sober brain gravitates towards: “Everybody means something / When they’re stuck on your mind.” Just as all of Circles feels like a letter from Malcolm to his loved ones, these two lines feel like us writing back. I’ll never forget you Mac—you’re a part of my every day. As you sang in 2013, “A thought is love’s currency.” We are rich with it, Mac. Filthy, filth rich.