tidalecko
11-28-2005, 11:39 PM
This is a shroom trip report I handed in as a personal narrative essay in English class, and got an A+ on it. I wanted to share it with you guys.
The Mellow Life
Aquawatercloset
I understand now why it is considered taboo to gaze into the mirror under these delicate circumstances. My glowing reflection is the surface of a lake, distorted by waves and ripples. Though an orange haze pulses through everything in my field of view, I know that I am not really orange. My skin is white and naturally darkened by the brightest star in the sky, and could easily be mistaken for having a prominent orange hue, but I am not fooled. The fuzz, gentle and calm (yet vivaciously energetic), tells me to embrace the orange. It seems reasonable, but I can see that my hair is still brown. I’m not orange; I know better. The dull and the gullible are easily swayed by such perceptions, and their thoughts disorganized. A rational mind and willful reason are my best friends in this place. I suddenly notice my face, swaying and waving as if it is also liquid. Such a fragile mask will be inclined to fall off if I don’t act fast. Quickly, acting on instinct, my hands shoot up to save it, to keep it in place. I decide that looking into the mirror is a bad idea.
I open the bathroom door and reach for the switch; my task here is complete. Before the light dissolves completely, I feel drawn to the mirror, for vanity is habit and a vice engraved in the heart of every man. I feel more drawn to the reflection, however, and am not concerned with undue pampering. I am intrigued, as this is the first time I looked at my reflection as an individual, instead of simply looking at my reflection. I offer salutation with a lone brown eye, and when my reflection winks back, I understand. The light leaves as quickly as it had arrived, and I pause briefly, wishing to turn the light back on, realizing how much comfort I derive from being able to see all that is around me. One tentative step into the darkness, and my foot stops before the sleeping dog. Great care was required to stay in harmony with the silence all around me.
Arrival
As light promotes activity, darkness compliments silence. Taking extensive care to move silently requires movement to be deliberate, and in this absolute darkness, deliberation requires movement to be painstakingly slow; such that I appear to be motionless. The elasticity of the floor complicates this venture. Its surface is a gelatin desert, and though it provides enough buoyancy for me to stay afloat, the surface is too unpredictable to navigate with any sense of haste. Honesty and humility, two distant relatives of pride and ignorance, which had accompanied me for some time up to this point, assure me that this was going to take a long time. The wall pulses under my hand in time with a beating heart, which feels trapped inside me, and its song mirrors my soul’s cry for freedom. I wouldn’t dare try to fool anyone: this is going to take a while.
Nostalgia is notoriously impulsive at times, and faced with such a daunting task I embrace the rolling tides of time, and let pure sweet memory take hold. My thoughts return to just a few hours earlier, to a time when I thought that ignorance was bliss.
Headlights swung around to face a dirty brick wall. Tires slipped on the grass. The car shuddered, rocking over uneven earth, and jerked to a stop in what could be described as the front yard of a mobile home duplex. This was where Matt’s girl, Ashley, lived. She was a nice girl, a bit timid, yet bold and artistic. I didn’t mind her company, mainly because Matt was my best friend and I could make an allowance – he really did dig this girl. But those surroundings were unfamiliar. I didn’t know this family, or this house, or any house on that old road. I didn’t know that place. The music stopped in the middle of a clever phrase, and the engine cut off. I went inside and found a seat in Ashley’s room. We watched television, though I really wasn’t interested. I suggested we go to Matt’s house. I told them that I didn’t know this place, but they convinced me to stay. I brought dinner, and split it with Matt – Ashley wasn’t hungry. I asked Matt for a cigarette, but he was out. We decided on a trip to the nearest gas station.
Cruising on an open road with windows down, the cool night air numbed and soothed and washed away my anxiety. My nerves unwound slowly at first, but the more they unwound, the faster they were able to unwind, and I let it happen. My attitude had shifted into a more accepting gear, and I let go of things I didn’t need a-hold of to begin with. I felt disappointed in myself, and wondered why I had been so uncomfortable when everything was so right. It was easier to simply sit back and appreciate where I was, and who I was with, and how good I was feeling, than to worry and try to force things to change. I soaked in the wind and let it wash over me. Though the air is cold, I felt warm. I felt right – I felt mellow: soothing, subtle, and mildly euphoric. Matt had been concentrating on driving, but we had arrived. He turned to me and told me that he was feeling pretty mellow. I realized that his train of thought was the same as mine. I sighed, shook my head, and laughed. He must have misunderstood my response, because he reacted with a sigh of his own, and I thought may have been frustrated with my inability to understand. He repeated himself, saying, “Man, I don’t know about you, but I’m feelin’ pretty mellow.” I told him not to worry, that we’re in this together. “Trust me; we’re on the same level. I am feelin’ the mellow.” He nodded in time with the music, and I had to agree with him. The music was both an aural representation of where we were, and an indication of adventure to come. We let the song end before turning off the car.
Discovery
We were in solid agreement, and the mellow was unanimous. I was amazed at how the word was such an accurate and fitting label, and I understood the thoughts, ideas, and feelings that were the soul of the word. I understood how, though language enabled us to share thoughts and establish a solid ground for communication, we are slaves to our words. By the very nature of subjectivity, the thoughts and feelings I would associate with one word - aside from the actual definition - would always be different from how someone else perceived that word. Conversely, though two people may feel the same way, they may individually use different words to describe those feelings, and in this way, communication becomes flawed. I was amazed at how we used the same words to describe this, and I had a genuine appreciation for the opportunity to be able to communicate on such a deep level.
Though its lights were still on, and there was a lady inside, the gas station was closed. This was not an obstacle; it was opportunity. It gave us a chance to breathe free air again, to sail across an obsidian river crafted by sweat and innovation. Extending into a horizon engulfed by darkness, the road beckoned. My nose cringed at the scent of a skunk. Such a repulsive, sour odor would not have been spread so readily without a pleasant brisk wind.
Distracted by the dynamic beauty and infinite color provided by splashes of light as the car slid down the road, I became so lost in my own thoughts that it seemed like we had arrived at another store instantly. We walked to the back of Wal-Mart in search of a snack. We settled on four packaged drinkable yogurts, though only two remained by the time we reached the front of the store. Matt bought the cigarettes, and the spirit of adventure was running strong. He chose menthols to try something new.
The road that led to home was subtly contorting and pulsing, and the energetic taste of menthol was always followed by exhilarating arctic chills. I still felt warm, and ‘cold’ became more of a flavor than an absence of heat. The mellow had matured into an assured, relaxing elation that coursed through every muscle in my body. Though soothing, this elation was intense, and caused every cell in my body to sing in harmony. Blissful vibrations lifted my spirit, and a wave of clarity flowed through my mind, washing away any confusion or inability to focus. Communication became art with a life of its own, and phrases became concise so that there was absolutely no confusion. We were in an entirely new world. The gravel purred under the tires as we pulled into the driveway, and I felt compelled to get out of the car. A bur oak tree danced with magnificent fluidity, and its leaves perpetually arranged and shifted to create faces and expressions in the tree. Its demeanor was of good-natured jive and down to earth. I felt the weight of the world under me, and embraced the expansive sky above me. Everything around me was alive. All living things had personality. I discovered that trees were pleasantly friendly. We agreed that what we felt was the fuzz, which seemed as if it were an expansion of the mellow. It was much more than that, though. The fuzz is clarity of mind, strong (but good) vibrations, and a flowing pattern of profound epiphanies. Matt went inside, after absorbing this beautiful night, and I followed. It was much later now, and I felt that silence was a crucial element to this setting, as I felt nothing but respect for all resting life. Ashley had already got in bed, and mumbled at how long we had been gone when we returned. Matt filled her in, and I excused myself to use the restroom, which I had forgotten how necessary it was to visit occasionally.
Outside the bedroom, everything was dark, and there was no visible path to the bathroom. The darkness was a swirling kaleidoscope of colorless patterns. Trying to see anything in this chaos would have been impossible. There was no time to spare; I had to urinate. A dog cried when I stepped on him, and I immediately felt guilty. I knelt down, expressed a heartfelt apology, and attempted to comfort him. His tired, glassy eyes were lone orbs floating in space, occasionally blinking and trying to understand why I would act in such a cruel manner. I did my best to console the poor creature, and was content when he finally went back to sleep. I stepped over the resting pooch, and into the bathroom.
Introspection
Memory catches up with the ‘here and now’, and I find myself standing in front of the bedroom door, grateful that my arduous journey from the bathroom is complete. The door opens, and I step into a welcoming environment. The ambient light is the culmination of a mumbling television, a lively lava lamp, and a frothy aquarium. Crickets mourn the absence of daylight quite vocally. The dreamlike environment is enhanced by the soothing lights and sounds. Matt poses a musical query with an acoustic guitar. Picking up another acoustic, I speculate a reply. I can visualize the music spiraling through the air: different chords produce different spirals, and the process of balancing tones and coloring a phrase with notes feels natural. My instrument becomes my voice, as it should always be. In this way we communicate with music, and this kind of communication can be draining. Half an hour later, we set the guitars aside and recline, more content to observe than to interact.
Reflection
In observing the colors, I realize that every color has unique flavor and beauty. Life is a painting in motion, a progressing work of art. There is a story and a personality to every color, and this blend makes life fantastic. I realize that there are things I need to change about my life. I learn not to worry, and I learn to appreciate things for what they are. I learn that we never stop learning. I find a greater appreciation for my family and for my friends. I lay my head on a free pillow and close my eyes. The back of my heavy eyelids displays an infinite expanse – a canvas for my imagination. Endless patterns and wild displays hold my interest until my mind surrenders to the persuasive blanket of comfort that sleep offers. I let my imagination run wild, and it colors every pattern orange. I let it be – orange never hurt anybody, after all.
The Mellow Life
Aquawatercloset
I understand now why it is considered taboo to gaze into the mirror under these delicate circumstances. My glowing reflection is the surface of a lake, distorted by waves and ripples. Though an orange haze pulses through everything in my field of view, I know that I am not really orange. My skin is white and naturally darkened by the brightest star in the sky, and could easily be mistaken for having a prominent orange hue, but I am not fooled. The fuzz, gentle and calm (yet vivaciously energetic), tells me to embrace the orange. It seems reasonable, but I can see that my hair is still brown. I’m not orange; I know better. The dull and the gullible are easily swayed by such perceptions, and their thoughts disorganized. A rational mind and willful reason are my best friends in this place. I suddenly notice my face, swaying and waving as if it is also liquid. Such a fragile mask will be inclined to fall off if I don’t act fast. Quickly, acting on instinct, my hands shoot up to save it, to keep it in place. I decide that looking into the mirror is a bad idea.
I open the bathroom door and reach for the switch; my task here is complete. Before the light dissolves completely, I feel drawn to the mirror, for vanity is habit and a vice engraved in the heart of every man. I feel more drawn to the reflection, however, and am not concerned with undue pampering. I am intrigued, as this is the first time I looked at my reflection as an individual, instead of simply looking at my reflection. I offer salutation with a lone brown eye, and when my reflection winks back, I understand. The light leaves as quickly as it had arrived, and I pause briefly, wishing to turn the light back on, realizing how much comfort I derive from being able to see all that is around me. One tentative step into the darkness, and my foot stops before the sleeping dog. Great care was required to stay in harmony with the silence all around me.
Arrival
As light promotes activity, darkness compliments silence. Taking extensive care to move silently requires movement to be deliberate, and in this absolute darkness, deliberation requires movement to be painstakingly slow; such that I appear to be motionless. The elasticity of the floor complicates this venture. Its surface is a gelatin desert, and though it provides enough buoyancy for me to stay afloat, the surface is too unpredictable to navigate with any sense of haste. Honesty and humility, two distant relatives of pride and ignorance, which had accompanied me for some time up to this point, assure me that this was going to take a long time. The wall pulses under my hand in time with a beating heart, which feels trapped inside me, and its song mirrors my soul’s cry for freedom. I wouldn’t dare try to fool anyone: this is going to take a while.
Nostalgia is notoriously impulsive at times, and faced with such a daunting task I embrace the rolling tides of time, and let pure sweet memory take hold. My thoughts return to just a few hours earlier, to a time when I thought that ignorance was bliss.
Headlights swung around to face a dirty brick wall. Tires slipped on the grass. The car shuddered, rocking over uneven earth, and jerked to a stop in what could be described as the front yard of a mobile home duplex. This was where Matt’s girl, Ashley, lived. She was a nice girl, a bit timid, yet bold and artistic. I didn’t mind her company, mainly because Matt was my best friend and I could make an allowance – he really did dig this girl. But those surroundings were unfamiliar. I didn’t know this family, or this house, or any house on that old road. I didn’t know that place. The music stopped in the middle of a clever phrase, and the engine cut off. I went inside and found a seat in Ashley’s room. We watched television, though I really wasn’t interested. I suggested we go to Matt’s house. I told them that I didn’t know this place, but they convinced me to stay. I brought dinner, and split it with Matt – Ashley wasn’t hungry. I asked Matt for a cigarette, but he was out. We decided on a trip to the nearest gas station.
Cruising on an open road with windows down, the cool night air numbed and soothed and washed away my anxiety. My nerves unwound slowly at first, but the more they unwound, the faster they were able to unwind, and I let it happen. My attitude had shifted into a more accepting gear, and I let go of things I didn’t need a-hold of to begin with. I felt disappointed in myself, and wondered why I had been so uncomfortable when everything was so right. It was easier to simply sit back and appreciate where I was, and who I was with, and how good I was feeling, than to worry and try to force things to change. I soaked in the wind and let it wash over me. Though the air is cold, I felt warm. I felt right – I felt mellow: soothing, subtle, and mildly euphoric. Matt had been concentrating on driving, but we had arrived. He turned to me and told me that he was feeling pretty mellow. I realized that his train of thought was the same as mine. I sighed, shook my head, and laughed. He must have misunderstood my response, because he reacted with a sigh of his own, and I thought may have been frustrated with my inability to understand. He repeated himself, saying, “Man, I don’t know about you, but I’m feelin’ pretty mellow.” I told him not to worry, that we’re in this together. “Trust me; we’re on the same level. I am feelin’ the mellow.” He nodded in time with the music, and I had to agree with him. The music was both an aural representation of where we were, and an indication of adventure to come. We let the song end before turning off the car.
Discovery
We were in solid agreement, and the mellow was unanimous. I was amazed at how the word was such an accurate and fitting label, and I understood the thoughts, ideas, and feelings that were the soul of the word. I understood how, though language enabled us to share thoughts and establish a solid ground for communication, we are slaves to our words. By the very nature of subjectivity, the thoughts and feelings I would associate with one word - aside from the actual definition - would always be different from how someone else perceived that word. Conversely, though two people may feel the same way, they may individually use different words to describe those feelings, and in this way, communication becomes flawed. I was amazed at how we used the same words to describe this, and I had a genuine appreciation for the opportunity to be able to communicate on such a deep level.
Though its lights were still on, and there was a lady inside, the gas station was closed. This was not an obstacle; it was opportunity. It gave us a chance to breathe free air again, to sail across an obsidian river crafted by sweat and innovation. Extending into a horizon engulfed by darkness, the road beckoned. My nose cringed at the scent of a skunk. Such a repulsive, sour odor would not have been spread so readily without a pleasant brisk wind.
Distracted by the dynamic beauty and infinite color provided by splashes of light as the car slid down the road, I became so lost in my own thoughts that it seemed like we had arrived at another store instantly. We walked to the back of Wal-Mart in search of a snack. We settled on four packaged drinkable yogurts, though only two remained by the time we reached the front of the store. Matt bought the cigarettes, and the spirit of adventure was running strong. He chose menthols to try something new.
The road that led to home was subtly contorting and pulsing, and the energetic taste of menthol was always followed by exhilarating arctic chills. I still felt warm, and ‘cold’ became more of a flavor than an absence of heat. The mellow had matured into an assured, relaxing elation that coursed through every muscle in my body. Though soothing, this elation was intense, and caused every cell in my body to sing in harmony. Blissful vibrations lifted my spirit, and a wave of clarity flowed through my mind, washing away any confusion or inability to focus. Communication became art with a life of its own, and phrases became concise so that there was absolutely no confusion. We were in an entirely new world. The gravel purred under the tires as we pulled into the driveway, and I felt compelled to get out of the car. A bur oak tree danced with magnificent fluidity, and its leaves perpetually arranged and shifted to create faces and expressions in the tree. Its demeanor was of good-natured jive and down to earth. I felt the weight of the world under me, and embraced the expansive sky above me. Everything around me was alive. All living things had personality. I discovered that trees were pleasantly friendly. We agreed that what we felt was the fuzz, which seemed as if it were an expansion of the mellow. It was much more than that, though. The fuzz is clarity of mind, strong (but good) vibrations, and a flowing pattern of profound epiphanies. Matt went inside, after absorbing this beautiful night, and I followed. It was much later now, and I felt that silence was a crucial element to this setting, as I felt nothing but respect for all resting life. Ashley had already got in bed, and mumbled at how long we had been gone when we returned. Matt filled her in, and I excused myself to use the restroom, which I had forgotten how necessary it was to visit occasionally.
Outside the bedroom, everything was dark, and there was no visible path to the bathroom. The darkness was a swirling kaleidoscope of colorless patterns. Trying to see anything in this chaos would have been impossible. There was no time to spare; I had to urinate. A dog cried when I stepped on him, and I immediately felt guilty. I knelt down, expressed a heartfelt apology, and attempted to comfort him. His tired, glassy eyes were lone orbs floating in space, occasionally blinking and trying to understand why I would act in such a cruel manner. I did my best to console the poor creature, and was content when he finally went back to sleep. I stepped over the resting pooch, and into the bathroom.
Introspection
Memory catches up with the ‘here and now’, and I find myself standing in front of the bedroom door, grateful that my arduous journey from the bathroom is complete. The door opens, and I step into a welcoming environment. The ambient light is the culmination of a mumbling television, a lively lava lamp, and a frothy aquarium. Crickets mourn the absence of daylight quite vocally. The dreamlike environment is enhanced by the soothing lights and sounds. Matt poses a musical query with an acoustic guitar. Picking up another acoustic, I speculate a reply. I can visualize the music spiraling through the air: different chords produce different spirals, and the process of balancing tones and coloring a phrase with notes feels natural. My instrument becomes my voice, as it should always be. In this way we communicate with music, and this kind of communication can be draining. Half an hour later, we set the guitars aside and recline, more content to observe than to interact.
Reflection
In observing the colors, I realize that every color has unique flavor and beauty. Life is a painting in motion, a progressing work of art. There is a story and a personality to every color, and this blend makes life fantastic. I realize that there are things I need to change about my life. I learn not to worry, and I learn to appreciate things for what they are. I learn that we never stop learning. I find a greater appreciation for my family and for my friends. I lay my head on a free pillow and close my eyes. The back of my heavy eyelids displays an infinite expanse – a canvas for my imagination. Endless patterns and wild displays hold my interest until my mind surrenders to the persuasive blanket of comfort that sleep offers. I let my imagination run wild, and it colors every pattern orange. I let it be – orange never hurt anybody, after all.