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In on the Secret Club
I can remember the beginning of it the best, so I'll give a shot at describing it. I remember feeling like I had been introduced to a secret club, a club that is always there, but few realize it. A club of pure thought and communication... nothing physical required. My musical & literary heroes (dead & living), some people I work with, and even my parents were a part of this club. Central to this new understanding of things, was a new and unique form of communication. I remember laughing because it seemed so stupid for people to be using telephones to communicate... this was the real thing... like how communication takes place after death. I also felt as if people had shown up outside because of me. There were some folks outside talking in Spanish. This triggered the "people showing up" scenario. It seemed like I could the understand the Spanish they were speaking, even though I don't speak Spanish. I had the curtains drawn, so I never actually saw them. I like the sound of Spanish. I could hear them well with the music off. The paper thin walls of apartment helped. So these people were outside and it seemed to me like they knew I was now in the club (or at least understood it) and they wanted me to come outside. It's ok, don't be scared... come on. They seemed friendly, like they wanted to help. I remember considering going out. I'm sure glad I didn't! I was far too inebriated to be among others. I remember saying out loud (hey, if I could hear & understand them, they could hear & understand me), "Hi guys." I was standing in the corner of the room, hadn't moved in a while. I think I was shaking. I felt very sick & scared. What was happening? The people outside seemed comforting. "Well, I'd like to come out, but you know how it goes, I just can't right now." And right then, swear to God, I heard the Spanish speakers outside leave. And they sounded sad. Bummed. Disappointed. The new guy in the club doesn't want to play. "Sorry guys, didn't mean to let you down." These where the entheogen people, part of the club I had just found out about. The southwest is full of them, but I didn't know this before. One thing these entheogen people did was drive cars. Now a big part of this experience, as I was to find out afterwards upon reflection, had to do with things I see, hear, and think about everyday. I deliver pizzas all day, so the sound of a car engine starting is something I must hear/do 50 or 60 times a day. The entheogen people (who lived the apartments around me as well) would get excited as I talked to them about how I had discovered the club. When they would talk back to me, I would hear sounds that seemed like language, like communication. Who knows if they were actually words, it made sense to me at the time. I'd respond. They liked conversing. They liked a build up. The excitement in my voice would build to a climax (like music) and end at a precise moment, get this, with the sound of a car starting outside. This happened many times and I was in control of it. The entheogen people were listening & reacting to me. I was having fun at this point. I was amazed at what I was discovering. The entheogen people were average folks who had discovered a secret, lived in the southwest, and drove cars a lot. OK, I admit, it's nothing more than a ridiculous over-amplification of myself projected into my understanding of the world around me. Mushrooms, naturally, were the key to belonging in the club. And like I said above, even my parents were in the club. I don't know where or why I got this idea. I remember asking my Dad out loud, "Dad, you knew about the mushrooms the whole time... why didn't you ever say anything?" The communication seemed so strong, so direct, so real... and what I was discovering seemed so amazing... that I felt like if I had picked up the phone and called my Dad during that moment of realization, he would have known exactly what was going on with me and would have shared in my excitement. One must discover the club on their own, but once known the members are always with you. Whew, glad I didn't make that phone call. Explaining that one later on would have been something.
A lot of it had to do with communication with people I feel close to. And the communication only seemed to require that there was no noise and that I spoke out loud & paid close attention. The mushrooms put one into the necessary aesthetic mode for the communication could take place. Good sound is the key. Heightened awareness. The paper thin walls of the apartment complex actually seemed to be picking up what I spoke and resonating it so that it would travel out. I could speak to anyone who understood how it worked, anywhere... spiritually. Distance did not matter. Quite an apartment complex, wouldn't you say?
The trip proceeded to get more and more bizarre. A lot I can't remember, and some bits that I can I wouldn't know how to express. I didn't really feel bad until I started to come down and get my ego/rationality back. I felt really embarrassed. How big a damn fool can I be? I sat there for quite a while just thinking to myself, "What the hell just happened?" I was very shaken. Ah, those times when you'd give just about anything for things just to be normal again.