I dunno exactly what I learned from these odd sacraments. They came to me at a time when I was transforming...and it is a simple fact that they were so cataclysmic that I'm not exactly sure who and what I was before...and not just psychedelics...amphetamines and opiods and nicotine with friends are all, to me, just as spiritual and revelatory. And sometimes so is drinking water, and taking a shower, and laying down or standing up.
I guess if anything they showed me to deeply accept everything, I mean everything as an experience...I feel very much that my life before acid resembled all too strongly the feelings of the main character Camus's "The Stranger". Now the resonate more closely with Valentine Michael Smith in "Stranger in a Strange Land" or that pothead kid in American Beauty, or maybe even more precisely like the imperfect icon of McMurphy in "one flew over the cuckoo's nest." yeah, that's right, fucking Kesey and Heinlein were turned on bright.
That and that all are one (that's why I cried just as hard for the dying afghans as I did those who died in the WTC, I guess) and that peace is the only true happiness...it also destroyed what vestiges of catholicism and atheism were battling in my brain and replaced them with something a lot more hindu and a lot more buddhist.
I fucking ramble like someone who's used drugs, too, god, it's only been two years, well, closer to three, but it's been so much CHANGE...
"Angel headed hipsters burning for that ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night..." pretty much sums up the whole culture that envelops spiritual psychedelics.
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Come on, dance with me, move your body, your life is free.