I support hallucinogenic drugs. I have experimented and found value. If you are curious, seek them out. You should have water with you, and somebody who you trust. I have a respectful relationship with such drugs - I am ready to learn, or I am equally satisfied realizing that my wisdom is currently adequate and I am simply a 36-year-old person having a flat-out good time.
I was sitting on the porch wrapping up the previous post when Evan stopped by to see if he could use my printer. An hour later we were on acid and wandering around under some bridges. It was the middle of a hot afternoon, and I felt comfortably amused to be hanging out with this dude and making a joke out of absolutely everything.
When I moved to Austin, Evan was one of the first people I met. He was renting a room at the previous house where I lived, a forty-five second walk from the porch on which I now sit. We have a similar world view. We share similar strategies for interacting with people and the world. Evan is intelligent and hilarious. He has no bank account or ID and he keeps a load of his belongings in an unregistered van with broken windows in the back yard of the house where we lived. His stories are borderline alarming, and he operates in a manner considerably more cavalier than my own. One example of that is how he has liquid acid just chilling out in a drawer.
"I'm supposed to just trust you with that?" I joked; sticking out my tongue. "Yes" he replied matter-of-factly as he carefully dropped a small dose from a little squeeze bottle. Of course I did trust him, as strange as that might sound. I make strong connections quickly. When the pieces all fit, I listen. We have a spiritual bond that many people might find hard to understand. We get to choose which humans we associate with as members of our tribe. That is how it works for me. I have a tribe. I trust myself to be guided by vibes.
Should I tell the rest of the story? I had a fundraiser event at a thrift store downtown to raise money for Bikes Across Borders, a group that I am riding to Mexico with in May. When I took the acid I thought my odds of making it to the event were about 50/50. As the trip intensified over the course of a couple hours, I was able to gauge my control and recognize that I was absolutely ready to bike. I was riding to the event with Jaguar, so I filled him in about why my pupils were saucers, and we set out for Treasure City Thrift.
The room was hot and I felt a bit uneasy. I walked into the store and felt the artificial lighting upon me and breathed in the humid air. People were drinking cups and cans of beer. Jaguar kindly helped me confirm that the hibiscus tea contained no alcohol. I put some in my bottle and returned to the safe pavement in front of the store. I sat on the ground with my back to the wall, and I looked up to outer space. As the sun set, it illuminated a long line of clouds from below. Winds at the cloud level stretched the vapor, and it looked like the clouds were being teased with a comb from below. I watched the subtle shifting of light as the sun was tucked underneath the earth where I sat. Once again, I signed life's contract, which I find dubious and had no hand in drafting. I sat on cement, an organism or a conglomeration of objects and concepts, part of an impossibly complex interconnected whole. I sat relaxed in my ignorance, and at peace with what I think I know.
One thing I knew is that I needed food. I felt qualified to obtain fuel, but I sought Jaguar's assistance to make sure the transaction went smoothly. I was experiencing lime green and turquoise, and thought Jaguar might help interpret part of the taco ordering process. He did.
Should I tell the rest of the story? I got Jaguar a couple tacos too, and we sat in front of the thrift store and ate. A bicycle-y looking girl walked over and stood above us. As we all talked about the upcoming bicycle trip, I offered half of my second taco, which brought her down to street level. We soon learned that she knew of Jaguar by his previous name, and they share several friends and acquaintances.
Our new friend said she was planning to meet up with the Thursday night social ride at the mid-point. I had planned to skip the ride, since I'd be at the fundraiser, and I hadn't felt very social on the previous week's ride. I was invited to come along, and I considered this bonus content for an acid trip gone well.
Anybody familiar with the origin story of LSD is aware that it can play well with bicycling. Some people might feel uncomfortable riding a bicycle after dropping acid, but I can report that I am well equipped and uniquely qualified to handle such a circumstance. I cruised with a handful of folks over rolling hills for a few miles, to a large park with a basketball court where hard-partying adults were riding kids bikes in a tiny criterium race. I stood on the sidelines as a friend of mine, Jay, put on a surprisingly adept performance. He later told me he knew about the race in advance and practiced at work. Bicycle mechanic perk.
I felt great. I felt calm and at peace. I floated toward home in a flock of bicycles, listening to music from multiple sound systems - speeding up or slowing down to change stations within the group.
That is the full story.
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