So it was january. I was home, shortly to be packing my sophomore ass back to college. I'd been talking to my goold old high-school drug buddies about maybe making another run up the psychadelic mountain, and we thought maybe we'd all (the three of us) have a go. One of my pals backed out, owing to leftover bad vibes from an -awful- LSD trip/psychotic episode the previous summer.
And so we were two. But we were among friends, hanging out at a coffee shop, whiling the night away. We went out to the car, and chomped down (still hate that taste) maybe 1/16th of an ounce each: two small caps and assorted bits of stem. Good shrooms though, hippy grown and cured. We chased it with a little smidge of acid that had been kicking around my freezer for the last three months. It was a smallish dose of medium strength blotter, split between the two of us.
The effects came on rather a bit quickly, I must say, quicker than I thought they would. The brick exterior of the coffee shop seemed an awful lot like a big complecated map: the organic mountains and valleys of the surface struck through with the artificial lines of masonry. We were able to keep up with the rest of the group (about 6 or 8 non trippers) though for the time being. Eventually the idea of hottubbing surfaced, and was widely accepted.
Ah the hot tub: perhaps the finest hallmark of civilization. There's nothing like sitting in a jet-stirred pot of water, intertly relaxing, just being naked with 7 or 8 of your best friends. It was very simple, familiar, community like. The steam rose up off our bodies and framed a sky impossibly full of stars, our essance escaping as message to worlds unknown. I became very preoccupied for a time with the feeling of the propelled jets, trying to hold their liquid force in my hands under the water. I remarked, "It feels a bit like a derigible full of lighter than air cats." This seemed extreemly funny at the time, and still does today. It was a dual image: perhaps a blimp kept aloft by virtue of being packed not of helium, but rather with some species of cat that is lighter than air. Alternatively, the phrase suggested the luxurious cabin of a '20s zepplen, but with the waiters, pilots and servicepeople all being human-sized cats, looking quite uncomfortable and comical in their gilded red velvet uniforms, and floating about the cabin (as they were lighter than air). But I digress...
Aside from much similar frivoloty, not much else of interest occured until the close of the trip. There were two interesting events. First off, I had the occasion to inhale deeply of a honeysuckle bush, which sent me off on a kalidoscopic voyage into happy childhood memories and dreams of flight. And lastly, on the drive home, with just I and my fellow tripper in the car, be both saw in the same instant The Blackness lunge out onto the road. It is hard to describe. It was as if a shadow took on a third demension, moving with amorphous bulk similar to that of a hairy buffalo, and charged the road in front of our van. We stopped immediately, but it was gone. It was one of the few events of shared hallucination I have ever experienced, and it's essance was palitable. Dark, mysterious, violent, powerful, latent, all of this and more but not evil or negative. I liken it to Jung's idea of a shadow architype: that we all contain within us our shadow selves, and if we do not recognize and serve the shadow on occasion it will consume us.
The Blackess spurred a great converstation too, and is still a common point of reference for the both of us.
One final note. When I got home, I found that my parents had adopted (that evening, while I was out) a new cat. Someone had abandoned the beautiful long-haired soft white kitty with a penchont for suckling human ears! Needless to say, this was all I needed to tie the night together: a white cat, not quite lighter than air, to contrast with The Blackness in the road and guard my dreams that night.