Here is something I wrote down on paper.
April 1, 1996, Monday. Four mushrooms, 3 grams Peganum harmala.
rad cat motorcycle boy!!!! meoRoaralll!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I wonder when I can't snap my fingers if it is because of the innocencestill in me, or the clumsiness?
Today was a grand journey.
You should see, when you go seeking, all the voices clamoring for attention,each with a story to tell. They shout "me, me, listen," but I know I canonly carry so many stories. I pick where possible. It is like healing.You can give, but you cannot give all or there will be no more of you togive.
I lived many lives, almost heroic kinds of lives. Full with passion,breath, struggle, challenge. This happened after my encounter in greenspace in the upstairs bathroom, a floating realm where I waved to my friendRandy, saw him and his comfortable grin float by. I could open my eyes andsee the "real" world, close them and be in the green place. Here I foundher again. She, female, my teacher, my friend-spirit. She teases,chuckles, beckons, offers the white light, beams with winged creatures. Sheis like a queen of faery but different. She is an archetype of the femalein my stories, the female in my life. And she is more. She is alive.
I saw her smile, witnessed her laugh, her white teeth, her tongue. Sheknows that Sarah, my wild bride, contains all of her magic.
There is a roar, I turn surprised, open my eyes, she disappears. The closetdoor looms, and I open it. Woosh! A black jaguar leaps--at me, into me,consumes me, swallows the squirrel inside and at first I am afraid. Then Ifeel the power of this animal, stretching, pulling at my bones and muscle,growling in my thoughts. I let it dance, I go downstairs. I lie panting onthe couch, and feel this is part of what I sought, the strength, theconfidence, sparked by the feline inside me. It is part of why this journeywas, to know myself, to believe. Other animals touch me, but I ask thejaguar to stay.
It is here that the visions flood, the lives, the stories, the myths searingthrough me. At once I am tied to wood poles as lightning and thunder crashabout me, the water lashes my flesh, I yank and scream with aliveness, andin another instant I falter, knightlike and cut through, impaled in anotherbody somewhere up a tropical river. In this life of half-completed quest Ifeel death, feel myself decompose. It is wild and I am not frightened ofit.
There are other lives, all of them whole lives, not past lives but somehow Ilive them. Now, I remember only fragments.
I write pieces of my Jan & Kiri novel. I touch the end of a chapter, and amstruck by a vivid window, or light, into my other story, the girl in thatstory, rain splattered, blood dripping all over her, vulnerable, her blueeyes pleading, needing another, a point for Ander (or I?) to seek her out,go to her, right then.
I write this down, and the vision goes. It will be part of what I tell.
Soon I hush into a beautiful feeling and sleep.
My parents and Aunt & Uncle visit the next day.
Life is beautiful,