Thank You

I dropped out of college when I was nineteen. I thought I couldn’t hack it; I was drinking all the time. I thought I was a failure, and maybe I was, but someone close to me went away to prison for life, and I didn’t realize how deeply that affected me until years later.

I went to work right away building air cleaners, then locating utilities, and finally (after a second, weak attempt at college) I began a career in construction. And that’s where I would’ve stayed if the industry hadn’t totally collapsed in this state.

I never gave up trying to write. I wrote short stories and terrible poems here and there, and even sold a couple stories, but I just couldn’t seem to get things going. After my third lay-off in two months, my wife at the time convinced me to do something I swore I never would: go back to school.

So I went. I obtained loans, swallowed my pride, and sat in classrooms with people fifteen or more years younger than me, trying to relate and learn something at the same time. I learned some stuff anyway.

I graduated this month, thanks to the generous support of my family and friends. I couldn’t have done it without y’all, and I want everyone to know how grateful I am. That scholastic failure that lingered in the back of my mind for decades has been put to rest. I am also grateful to the writing teachers at UNR who gave me the tools to become a better writer—tools I’d likely not have developed on my own. And I want to also thank the Writing Center at UNR, where I was able to further practice my craft while tutoring other students. Lastly, I want to thank the few readers of my blogs and stories—an artist needs an audience, at least this artist does.

I wish y’all a good holiday—stay safe and feel loved.

The Funky Spirits on Planet DMT

DMT (dimethyltrytamine) is a chemical present in mammals, and I think is released in the brain during death. It has been used in spiritual and shamanic ceremonies long before we started worshipping television. I recently had the good fortune to smoke some of this sacrament under the guidance of my most trusted friend.

 

I smoked several large bong rips before having to hand the works back to my friend, and then proceeded to launch out of my skull like a psychic rocket ship. Swirls of red and pink-checkered patterns enveloped my vision. I had the distinct sense of travelling out of my body. The room disappeared, but I could still hear the documentary on TV (A Band Called Death—a must-see by the way).

 

I found myself in a large, round chamber, similarly patterned, and I was not alone. There was a sentient presence there that I will forgo labeling. It felt feminine, even motherly, and it embraced me in several red and pink-checkered tentacles.  I felt very safe despite being awe struck. The documentary spoke about revelation, which was perfectly suited for what was happening to me. The best way I can describe it is that I arrived as if by appointment in this being’s office and it (she) chose to show me exactly what I needed to experience in the most direct way possible.

 

No words were exchanged, though I could hear the screams of hungry babies and the dying on Earth—the ongoing symphony of suffering. Mommy Tentacles placed a mirror before what passed for my body. Whatever emotion or thought I had, I saw reflected instantly in the mirror. If I chose to refuse to forgive, I saw the ugly image of my hate-self reflected in the mirror. I was the creator. I was the originator of reality, not subject to it.

 

Despite academically “knowing” this before I left my couch to wherever I went, I still choose to feel bad and get down on myself, but seeing myself in that mirror granted an understanding of this principle down to a cellular level. If I want peace and prosperity, I don’t need to struggle for it. Struggling for something creates a struggler in the cosmic mirror. We are energy, and in direct control of what we manifest. The drawback is that negativity is what many of us have practiced manifesting—I certainly have anyway. The vision slipped away and I returned to my living room feeling rested, inspired, and happy. The whole experience couldn’t have lasted longer than 15 minutes.

 

Was the being pure fiction from my head, assuring me that everything is perfect and there is no need to suffer and fret? Encountering beings is a common DMT experience. Someone I know, who had no knowledge of Buddhism, described to me his experience, which was identical to the Buddha’s description of his enlightenment beneath the Bodhi tree, complete with charging demons. I don’t think Tentacle Mom came from my head; I think I happened along and she gave me a gift to take back with me.

 

You might think all this is a bunch of hippie craziness. And I don’t really care. I’ve slowed down a bit since then. I feel less urgency in trying to get things done. I’m learning to enjoy the process more. Surely, I have much work to do, but I think I have some freaky fun and cosmically wise mentors to help me along the way.