Why Your Mind Is Immensely Powerful

I see a fence in the night. It’s too dizzy to tell, but I think it’s a playground. I’m after one and a half litres of vodka and a gram of weed, how should I know? Two friends are with me, let’s call them Belle and Ethan for simplicity’s sake (so you don’t have to spell Hungarian names) and to protect their identity, who are having a great conversation.

The mouth opens and orangish liquid squirts out. I puke all over the fence. My friends look at me worried, they expect me to either black out or just simply fall, because I can’t control my limbs at all. Instead, I take a few deep breaths, and the only sentence that comes out is “give me more weed, Ethan.”

We sit down on a bench and I light another joint who knows how strong, beautifully rolled by him. I feel its neutral taste in my nose, a sure tell of upcoming elation, and maybe that’s the only thing I’m feeling, because now I’m truly high and I’m leaving this world, shooting up into the night, blazing through the dimensions of my being, until I arrive at the place I sought for so long: the void.

The void is an interesting place full of, well, nothing. It’s precisely for this reason the best place to be. I’m perfectly calm. Enlightened. Illuminated. It’s like a deaf paper, full of writing with invisible ink. Now, I can write over it, or so I think and put on some music. Brain In A Fishtank by Shpongle, to be precise. I don’t know what’s happening anymore, my eyes roll back, I stand up, now I’m dancing outside the playground, twisting my arms like the tentacles they are.

It’s already morning.

No, it’s the afternoon. I reach for a bottle of Zámolyi beer to kill the hangover. Where’d my void go?


The mind is a powerful tool. It can screw and unscrew, fastening and pulverising bits of reality. As the Buddha said:

Your worst enemy cannot hurt you as much as your own unguarded thoughts.

To illustrate a very literal interpretation, we have to travel back to the Summer of 2013, two years before my fall into the holographic safety of drugs.

I had always been a dreamer. I would say thinker, but thinking seems to have a requirement of organising tangible thoughts into transparent systems and categories of which conclusions can be derived, and I was thinking mainly in pictures and abstractions, certainly not in transparent systems. But, they were systems nonetheless. That is why the word dreamer stands closer to my disposition. Dreams have all of those, too, but they are much less tangible.

During that Summer I took part in a course, seeking knowledge in scrolls as old as the Vedas, passed on by a Master. As much as I’d love to share what happened during the course, I took an oath not to discuss it, so I can tell ever so little. I was locked in a room for four days with a few people, learning and applying this knowledge, and by the end of it, a very curious thought emerged in me which then slowly ripped my life apart.

This world does not exist.

If all I perceive are signals interpreted by my brain using my senses, what I perceive cannot be real enough. I know, it’s very easy to conjure up a counter-argument, so let’s go further. Even if my senses get a completely clear signal, the whole world as I translate it practically exists only in my head.

Do you see now the power of the mind? With only this simple thought, I lost all sense of reality. The world does not exist, it is in my head, therefore it’s subject to however I will it to change. Because, while the source of the signal is probably somewhere outside of me (although I could argue against this as well), the image is still in my head and I can use my head to imagine things.

Thus, I perceived things that others could not and I took part in a half-year long journey of my mind being reflected onto my normally perceived reality. I somehow blocked that part in me which makes difference between what’s outside and what’s inside…And all Hell broke loose.

I didn’t realise it at first, because I got sick for three weeks and thought I was in dreams when these strange scenes occurred. I remember I was in a cave where I met a strange woman. This cave exists, by the way, in the Hungarian town of Tata, its entrance hidden behind a bunch of bushes near the Old Lake. This strange woman had very dark skin, like she was covered in ash, and white hair. She wanted to show me something, so I followed her to an exit and we found ourselves in a basin, mountains surrounding us. There were enormous dandelions in the distance and the grass had the colour of wheat.

If you’ve ever seen Westworld you’ll know what I’m talking about when I say, I actually lived my imagination. In Westworld, robots can’t make a difference between memories and reality, they literally relive a scene they remember. Whatever was in my head became real.

The first time this became a problem was when I noticed people moving their hands in front of my face as if I were spaced out, telling me I’m not answering their questions. I told them, but I already did. (In my head.) They argued I didn’t. Pretty soon, I became a loner, because I couldn’t hold a conversation.

Meanwhile, my mind wanted to make sense of all of this, so it started constructing dreamlike systems, and my imagination, which was normally very chaotic, began to have an order. What the strange lady had shown me became an entry point, something that would not change, somewhere I could always reorientate myself.

And from that basin a whole new world emerged, with places and characters of its own. I was sucked right in.

While in real time, as it was mentioned before, this went on for half a year, in my mind I lived several years. If I looked in the mirror I saw my hair gained length, and, how peculiar, my brown left eye was always blue.

How did I get out of my psychosis? The mind is a powerful tool. I was a dreamer, and my inner adventures didn’t stop me from thinking some more and pondering on the question, if the world does not exist, what does exist?

The different threads came together in a cathartic way. On the other side of the cave, I was with several people who I got to know very well during my time there. We were celebrating after solving a series of problems that occurred in a flying city, preventing it from falling and saving thousands of lives. While this was a happy ending, it had its bittersweet aroma. The only way to finish the deed was to walk through a light akin to a sunbeam, erasing all memories I had of these experiences.

We looked at each other with sombre eyes, listening to the people marching outside, and sighed at the same time. We had to go.

I woke up at a table and solved the question of what was real and what was not.


This journey didn’t end here, though. My psychosis had ceased, but what happened was burnt into my brain, setting my life irreversibly in a different direction. With the cockpit wrecked, I was headed into a storm.

For a year, I wandered purposeless in what felt like a strange current, submerging into new goals and desires, yet always emerging with nothing. I became a very productive but passionless person.

I started writing in a journal, because I thought it would help me see the patterns in my life that caused this feeling of emptiness, and I also started working out as I became more and more disgusted by myself.

My wanderlust resented my aimlessness.

Then, in 2015, something clicked. My brain started remembering. I would summon up the emotions first, the associated images came only later. But, those emotions of my adventures I followed in my mind overfilled a glass, and I became restless and angry.

Naturally, I had to find some outlet, which came knocking on my door in the form of my first cigarette. I was at a friend’s place. He was smoking all the time and I wondered why he did that, so I asked him to roll me one. Unlike most people, I didn’t cough but then again, I grew up next to the ironworks. The buzz it gave me was awesome, so I wanted more. In just a few hours, I smoked twelve cigarettes.

A week later, my red eyes were lying in the grass, I was high as a mountain, and then I stayed high for a year and a half.

I became the guy who would step outside, and in fifteen minutes a dealer would find him. Because I knew so many. It wasn’t just weed, though, I drank heavily, throwing up and getting sick became the norm, almost always mixed substances I shouldn’t have, experimenting with weed plus insert any other substance here.

For half a year, I smoked something we call herbal or spice in my country. It’s much cheaper than weed, and it fucks your brain up fifteen times faster.

Just for demonstration, one time one of my junkie friends took me to a house in Biatorbágy. A family lived there, the mother and five “kids”, who were all dysfunctional adults. When I entered the place I didn’t dare to sit down, everyone was spinning in different ways and directions, one of the kids was playing with a dog in his own vomit (I hope it was his own), until I finally saw the boss, head of the herbal business, the oldest adult-kid, sitting in a torn armchair.

He was smoking his own stuff, and literally couldn’t speak, that’s how fucked up he was. His mother was tending to him, asking to repeat what he said. There was a knock on the door. It was a client. The mother answered, asked how much, then came back inside and she herself measured the amount and gave it to the junkie. It was a family business.

Towards the anniversary of me being constantly on some substance, we arrive at the introductory story, which happened after I went partying with the only people who hadn’t left me already. There were a few days when I was clean. Naturally, I saw what life I was leading and, the process being a downwards spiral, the glass that was already overfilled broke. I fell into a hole, put bars on the entrance. The hole was full of my emotions, who, no matter how much I numbed myself, grew stronger by the day. I could have no rest, I needed an escape.

You see now why I sought the void.

Because the mind is a powerful tool.


Thank You for reading.

Here’s an idea.

I want to make Drugs Are Cool a series. I have a lot of drugged stories which contain important lessons and lots of them can also be funny as hell. I could also tell what each of them (the ones I tried) does. Meth, MDMA, LSD, weed combined with various other substances etc.

I’d love to hear feedback about what you’d be interested in in connection with the subject (or if you’d rather wait until I post a bunch of them to see how they could look like).

Finally, I am not a junkie anymore for the same reason I became one. And next week, in my next article I want to show you not the why, but the how.

I want to show you how you can use this powerful tool to change your life for the better.