Shroom Essay

The fog came rolling in and I suddenly felt myself consumed by some unidentified, transparent force, and every few moments, seconds, split seconds, I felt it surge through my veins, as if it finally made sense. It, the all encompassing everything, IT. The thunderous call of the Technicolor fountains was screaming just outside the window. Exploding in the sky like an electric orgasm of the eyes.

Where am I? Jamie is lost somewhere in the dense fog that turned this suburban living room into a London street in those awkward hours after the pubs have locked their doors and shortly before the kiss of dawn on the horizon. Only it's not quite the fog anymore. This translucent mass before me is twisting and contorting as if it were, as if it were trying to reach me. Speaking to me faster than sound, it is trying to show me some hidden message in the veil.

Somewhere a bit deeper in the house, a drunk girllauglaughing and the house is laughing back as the walls breathe in and out, slowly, almost undetected. I can see them, but I'm listening to the fog, listening to the twisting pastel yellows and pinks that are flooding the room with a smell that could only be compared to the sweetest flower never known to man. And the subtle way these towering walls pulse around me, never closing in. Just the gentle, soothing energy of the house I had, for whatever reason, never considered before. Never seen in motion before. This amazing energy in every day things that once sat on a counter, collecting dust untouched, now had feeling, now had raw energy, now had cosmic mobility.

Why aren't you here? Why can't you be here? Jamie asked, somehow without addressing me by name and still engulfed in the pastel fog, I know the question is mine to answer. I can't be Jamie. It's not possible, I replied with a Zen-like calm to my wisdom. Obscure, but I knew what she was asking me as soon as the words touched my ears from across this damp English street. Why I could not see how beautifully the grass outside was sparkling in the sun or understand the language of the clouds that hung in the sky like picture frames.

Because that was her trip. Not mine.

And the incredible frustration that I could be no more than two feet from her and still not be a part of all the amazing new things she was experiencing disappointed her. No Jamie, I can't be in your head, I thought to myself with a knowing smile. I have been here before. I have felt this temporary nirvana like a rush of understanding. As if you were to break down into molecules and stand inside a rainbow and ride it like the giant slide at the state fair. But I've been on this ride before and I've seen its loops and turns. I know what is waiting at the top of the incline and while I'm too busy admiring the view, the blind rush that proceeds the sudden gut wrenching drop.

But Jamie has never before seen the great deal of useless white weeds on the lawn become shimmering silver like pieces of the moon scattered on the placid ocean. She has never noticed the vast beauty of the ordinary sky, and a dog we both see everyday is suddenly striped with the sof red reds and most passionate crimsons while his thick, beautiful hair gleams and shines and ripples in the light. And she wants to see it all and take it all in, feel the rapid river of blood coursing through her veins and every sense as if she had just opened her eyes from the womb andparepared herself for the world.

This temporary and artificial enlightenment, the most beautifully secret feeling in the world. And she is feeling it now, for the first time. But what Jamie doesn't understand is that I too am left in awe at how wonderful this room has become. I too am suddenly finding meaning and letting go. There are no flaws before me, just a racing, twisting, turning, giggling, grinning, euphoria surrounding me. And the air out in the street as I lay and stare at the silhouettes in the sky, feels like a cool blanket on your bare legs when you crawl into bed on a warm summer evening. And every drop of rain feels like each and every nerve in my body is attuned to the tiniest concentrations falling onto me like static electricity.

And laying on this barren street on the fourth of July with my best friend, my boyfriend, and my companions, staring up at the sky with a belly full of magic mushrooms and a head full of weed, I am home. Far from my street with my house and my room I am home. And suddenly, somehow, we all know, just know, this night, this feeling will never end.