I would not identify myself as religious, perhaps spiritual but if you were to ask me what of spirits I would reply: psychological projections, merely memory. So perhaps I am sentimental rather than spiritual.
I acknowledge all pantheons and can respect their traditions:
God, Allah, Brahma; their prophets, Gautama Buddha and so on;
But a god is a construct of the mind and the prophets were enlightened men of their time. I would call this belief Henotheistic Constructivism.

I do enjoy some drugs recreationally yet I also find spiritual elements to the use of some substances. Some people encounter these elements when they pray or meditate. I find it in the use of psychedelics. I see little difference in the method used to access this mode of consciousness, whatever you call it: divine, spiritual, mystical, religious, and so on. We are all looking for/towards the same state-of-being.

I do not discriminate between drug abuser and religious fanatic: both search for truth, propelled by belief, finding meaning in their seeking. Both drug use and religious belief should be conducted responsibly.

Proposition: Emotions can be explained by three categories or  dimensions of sensation/experience:
-Physical/Biological/Neurochemical
-Mental/Psychological/Behavioral
-Subjective/Trigger/Response

The phenomenological reduction [epoché]
is a suspension of judgments about the existence or non-existence of the external world to focus on phenomena themselves.

The eidetic reduction
is an analysis of essence or ideals,
It is performed by cycling through different elements of a mental reproduction for a given phenomenon to define its key characteristics.

The transcendental reduction
is a general examination and dissection of experience derived from the mind which is supplied by the given sensate intuitions, acknowledging its taken for grantedness.
This, the reduction proper, is the realization of and acceptance
that the world as we know it is taken for granted; everything is a signifier.

Apathy, alogy and ethos, dreaming.
I spent hours lying on a bed,
My bed it seems.
Neither really asleep
nor truly awake, rather,
I drifted through states-between
and had no will,

My will had evaporated and in its wake
did flow a rivulet of dreams.
This dreamstuff, gleaming, is not memory but
the thing-between;

My love of chems need be fed,
For love doth consume us, even
if to our detriment, but I'm sure I
keep it healthy.

I have a fascination with the metaphysics, I find it fascinating
to try and fail, time and time again, to comprehend
how thought is there, and
what its substance/energy/entropy is;
If we're just biocomputers that excel
at pattern-recognition and abstract symbolism
then why is it that when the most meaningless of things strike
at me, and their possible significance is occurring, then
the realization of who put the signifier there
follows, the 'pataphysical critique.

Here I am begging another question, the search for meaning
guarantees one of finding, after all; presuming we can know,
The act in-itself is assuming, and what of the result? Even if
what's found is deemed to be nothing one can still consider
it. This epistemological fallacy is premised on a single reality.

Virtuality, surreality and liminality dispute our truth,
Communication, dreams and perception shake us from belief;
Finally, a post-metaphysical joke left us adrift in undefined meaning

He thought back,
Through the years,
Months, weeks, days,
Hours, minutes, seconds,
To those moments, surfacing
from memory, his hazy recollection
of deified drug {ab}use, came ever so slowly
to the fore of a mind that long ago swore to keep score.

Somewhere in a dream,
I remember.
Sometime in the agora,
I spent.
Someday I'll recall it all
but until then
I am the man who forgot
{his/he's} god.