No this isn't about the Kris Kristoferson song, that song i've always equated, because of it's lyrics, to the alcohol and coke fueled nights that lead to a blistering and wonderful booze and powder hangover i knew so well in my quasi-youth. This is about the blissful and relaxed feeling of coming down off the mushrooms, the beautiful sensation of what i dubbed in my youth as the acid crash. There is a slight similarity in the coming down from certain psychedelics but my hands down favorite is the organic tranquility that accompanies the fungi. You sleep but in a strange reversal the hours seem like minutes and though you feel rested you know that sometime the next day a fine mid-afternoon nap will feel like Mother Earth's womb itself. And if said nap is not possible the next night will bring an early trip to bed and that same gorgeous feeling of the most peaceful sleep one can get because the night before you reminded yourself, as Bill Hicks once said, that it's all just a ride.
Since i've taken up my intensive study of the mushroom my main activities had been riding the trains to see bands pre-pandemic and laying on the couch in the dark. While i quite look forward to the day when i can hop those trains again while coming up on the boomers the occupying of my cave has become my main classroom. The mushroom will tell you what to do and where to go, there is no use planning out what you think might happen as that would defeat the whole purpose of the dose in the first place and so while i have an idea of what i might do i never really know what i'm going to do. Yes sometimes that means subtle differences while i lay in the dark. Could be that lovely feeling of nothingness, the sensation i've now begun to relate to the feeling one had before one was born. How does that work? How do you know what you felt like before you were born? Before the cosmic accident of your existence? One could call it conjecture but i believe it's more than that and the only way to really find out is to partake in these intelligent life forms which open doors that are notoriously difficult to unlock. Other times they will bring back memories you didn't know how had or bring into focus whatever may be hanging around in your subconscious. Sometimes they will make you get up and dance, to move the limbs, to stretch and wander about, even if it's in three little rooms in the bottom of your abode that our bathed in darkness and the glow of strange videos. Which is how i spent this particular Saturday night.
Since the non-grinding methods produced such brilliant results i once again decided to gobble down my little friends with the help of some peanut butter and a bottle of water. This time i actually had an idea of my dose, somewhere between 2.5 and 3 grams, not the heroic 5 gram dose mind you but a sufficient one to say the least. Needless to say once again it was like a rocket ship. Lift-off didn't take long and the intensity of it was gorgeous, every muscle and synapse buzzing as if i was receiving electronic messages from far away stars in which i knew not the name or location but who nevertheless wanted to introduce themselves. Of course the conscious mind and the mushroom were having a conversation and discussing the fact that maybe i had gotten it wrong, that the proper way to ingest these beauties was not to grind them up but to keep them in their natural state and mask the taste and gobble them down. It's a methodology that will be further explored from the confines of the cave as i'm not sure how i could pull this off riding the trains though i have my ideas which mainly revolve around those miniature cups of peanut butter now sold by the mega-agri-behemoths of commerce.
On this particular trip into the universe i spent the first part lying about as the mushrooms set in, a powerful rush that had the legs wobbly and me grinning, i shuffled off to the downstairs powder room where the lights and the beige/yellowish walls create the most lovely effect, there are psychedelic colors and trails and the walls shift and move as if they are breathing on their own. There is a mirror where i sometimes catch a glimpse of myself, looking like a pie-eyed Obi-Wan Kenobi with my hoodie pulled up, a sight that never fails to bring a giggle. As i came out the other side and settled in for the ride on this night i would spend a good bit of time bouncing around the room. The music on the telly was set to it's usual starting point, the Chromatics, and then i just let it run and see what comes up. Most of the videos are gloriously visual and i often have conversations with myself as to the meaning they were trying to convey. Of course in the name of commerce they jam commercials in every now and then and i can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the messages and the uselessness of what's being peddled. As the house was quiet and all asleep i spent a good deal of time stretching and moving in a what can only be described as tai chi-yoga-disco dancing, something i may have created or ripped off from the late David Carradine. It's interesting how much fun one can have on their own without really trying.
Now much like my psychedelic excursions my little missives often take on a life of their own. Often my planned and thought out ramble has been lost in the first three sentences and by the time i realize i've gone in a completely different direction i have the choice of scrapping said piece, keeping it, scratching my ass or consulting my cat. So back to the title of this piece, finally, in my own chaotic and shambolic way. The day after a dose there is a serenity that settles over me, a loose blanket keeping me warm and happy. The mind is alert but moves along at a beautifully languid pace. It strolls and takes frequent breaks, sitting on it's perfectly comfortable mental park bench and absorbing things in a manner unconcerned with the hustle and bustle of modern life. It's floating on a sea of tranquility and the water is sky blue and warm and it seems i can do whatever i put my mind to whatever it may be, physical labor, mental labor, laying in the grass and listening to the birds speak and the wind rustle. Watching the boyos in awe and wonder.
And of course there are the conversations, the ones that take place in the head and amuse and educate. The ones opened and begun in the dark the night before. New ones that stem from the ones opened and begun in the dark the night before. Each passing idea uncorking a new vintage, poured out and savored as i wander through another trip around the sun. Many times i'll catch myself laughing or lost deep in some thought or reverie. A funny thought hit me that Sunday morning while i sat in the early light and Little Baby Kitty sat staring wide-eyed at her mama-dada (meaning me). Funny thing about the world of psychedelics and drugs in general, for the most part people are always talking about how good the gear is, a particular phrase uttered when it comes to mushrooms. I've said it myself. I laughed out loud as i thought about this phrase. Not once have i ever had "bad" mushrooms. Could i say that some were stronger than others? Possibly. But i could also say that the weakest mushrooms i've ever eaten were pretty damn strong. I understand the whole rating system when it comes to other drugs, cannabis can range from "this shit gives me a headache" to "get me a fuckin' ambulance i'm having a panic attack". The powders run the same, acid can be speedy and jitter inducing or it can be so strong one still feels it a day later. With my fungi friends the only difference between mellow trip and full-on mind melting is the amount taken. The equation is that simple. In short, there is nothing consistently as wonderful as the magic mushroom.