It had only been a mere three hours since he had ingested the tiny white squares of LSD soaked paper; there had been so many in the bag that any ignorant mind would have mistaken them for confetti. With a grateful glance at his fellow travelers he had placed an unknown number of the small white pieces of blotter paper on his tongue with verve. With another sip of the champagne, he passed the bag to his left. There were six other beautiful humans sitting cross-legged in the tent. Each of them followed his example and heavily delved into the small plastic bag.
There seemed to have been a music to the words that they placed together then; a cacophony of spoken dreams and whispered revelation. With their surprisingly high blood alcohol levels and an inspiring commitment to burning bowl after bowl of sticky green cannabis, the psychedelic compatriots barely noticed the transitional awkwardness of 'turning on' to their trips.
Like a rush of blood to the head, there suddenly appeared to be a change taking place. The tent had been breathing, their eyes turned to gold. Laughter shook his carbonated mind and then released. He was amazed, now, of his decision to ingest this much acid.
Rituals and ingestions behind them, the terrestrial cosmonauts left the thin polyester-walled tent to embark out amongst the gently shifting branches. The sweet smell of grass tickled his nose as they plodded through the brush towards the night swollen beach. Emerging from the thick jungle onto the pristine and moon soaked sand, the roaring ocean greeted his attention with the sight of infinitely rippling waves. Painted clouds danced in the wind to the rhythm of the ocean's upheavals.
His vision was filled with soft flowing patterns of dancing lights, his skin felt touched by wind and a certain quiet magic. The stoic wilderness slowly vanished before him to reveal a side of nature that had beckoned him all his life. Only the spirits of iconic revelation greeted his curiosity. His senses deconstructed his grasp on the external world, to build a foundation of respect for the equality that all energy commands. He could feel the composition of his physicality slipping easily away into this garden of soliloquies.
Sprinting on the sand towards the edge of the breathing water, he was not alone. The circling laughter of his trusted compatriots formed a tight web of "you're safe now, baby". Jumping and twisting together this carnival booth of rampant attractions stayed close at arms, the path carrying them back from the light of the water into the forest.
After a lifetime of moments, they collected like raindrops on the tent, cascading into a pool within its domain. Skin exchanged the radiations of light that blood brought to their surface. He was in love with this saturation of thermal mysteries, and might have burst under the weight of such unrelinquishing positivity.
Seconds hung on each glance of the eye, and hours passed in the movements of their hands as truths were spoken between friends. Before his consideration billowed the thoughts of ascension and spiritual communion. The memories of what had happened began to fuse with his encounter of the circumstance that lay like a portrait on his mantle. For time could only resume with a journey alone into the dense darkness outside; he left the warmth to embark upon the cold.
Sentience resumed and intact in this solitary night, he lit the first of a hundred cigarettes and began this quest towards what would come to be.
Here in the heavy now, time has become only a legend in retrospect, for any other frame of reference to the velocity of his relation to the stars was vanished. But with the approach of day came the icy transition into dawn, and this frigid embrace had recalcified his wonder. Along the strobing path he soldiered on until the thickness cleared and his feet met the sand. The pitch of the great canvas before him slowly surrendered its deepest blue in honor of the Living Star's rebirth.
The sky was ready now.
He found a comfortable place to sit in the sand. He crossed his legs. He was still. He was alone.
And with a laugh from deep within him, he could suddenly understand how blessed he was to inhabit this temple to evolution. His body and mind sang each other a melody of consciousness and cellular harmony. Solitary and weeping from his eyes, overwhelmed by gratefulness for his burdens, and embraced like a child by the poetry that blessed and illuminated his skin, he cried out. The wind cried back and stole away his loneliness with its embrace. He lifted his gaze to the heavens, for that is precisely what they had become.
For hours, no ponderence disturbed his coherency, no maelstrom need be suppressed. Whole and unfinished the same; he was content to be made love to by his comprehension of the moment.
After some time spent wistfully taking it all in, an image rose in his mind that even this sunrise could not trump in beauty. He saw a certain unquenchable softness, could faintly feel the touch of skin awakening his spirit, almost hearing the hauntingly sorrowful voice of a precious human sweetly cradling his sympathy. The image was that of himself, intoxicating him with the freckled eyes of a man left hopeful and golden in spite of revolution.
Together and complete within himself, smiling in the euphoria of reclamation, and absolutely beautiful; here lay the memento along side the fleeting embrace of a life spent in as this singular consciousness. He had never felt so complete in solitude like this, except in womb.
An infant curiosity crossed quickly across his brow: was this the time he had waited for all along? He had crossed such adversity to be reborn still hopeful. The grinding teeth of his own insecurities were painted across the sky in shades of blue, yet still he pined for the adventures of being. He thirsted for experience, but not the kind that comes with simply acting ones part; he wanted the heavy, the heartbreak, the slavery, the thrill of failures.
Deeper still into the psychic realm he delved, until the faint form of a small dwelling emerged from the cloud of his rapid synaptic revelry. He approached it as a chorus broke above his head, an angelic refrain of 'Obla-di Obla-da, Life Goes On' ringing in his ears. He opened the door and crossed the threshold into the darkness of the interior.
Lying on the floor of this temple to forgotten repressions writhed the very manifestation of his sorrow and broken beliefs. He imagined himself taking this softly undulating black mass into his arms, a mother to his own regrets. There, sitting silent on the forest-lined beach and dually in the deepest dungeon of his own creation, he began to feed this abomination of hesitations and self-contempt. Providing it a sturdy diet of forgiveness, the creature soon warmed to his touch and began to shimmer. The deepest shades of violet with veins of gold, it slowly crawled out of his arms and into his chest, penetrating the fortress of his absolution.
As the last glimmer of gold disappeared into his skin, his still-dilated eyes bolted open in alarm. Lifting his shirt to examine the skin, he was exhilarated to see his own golden veins pumping life past the translucent ultraviolet flesh that lay open to his vision. His hands unnaturally glowed with the fire of their own potential: to build, to give pleasure, to share his life with the world.
With the excitement of new immortality bursting within him, he jumped to his feet as the blood again began to cycle. It was not along the beach he ran, now; rather towards the water directly, and the Sun beyond it. And as his feet reached the perimeter of the frigid ocean, he had no thoughts of drenched clothing or ruined dollar bills. He trudged ahead and found his feet grasping the surface of the sea without sinking in. He was not walking on water, he was sprinting on it. He gathered speed and leaped with every ounce of dignity towards the blinding light of the Sun.
Freedom was as pure as this weightlessness that guided his body ever closer to the Star. He found himself in the space between the planets, atmospheres abandoned to capture the greatest of lights. Hands outstretched in anticipation, sinews on fire, eyes wide-open; he had finally reached the Sun, and held it tightly between his luminescent palms. He could smell his eyebrows singeing as he drew the massive ball closer to his inspection.
Looking up at him wistfully was an almost indistinguishable figure on the surface of the Sun. He could see the form gazing at him with amazement and wonder, and he soon recognized that this tiny figure was identical to the tiny tripper that he had left back on the beach millions of miles away. Closer still, he was now eye-to-eye with this anomaly of time and space. Without speech, without gestures: it spoke in the voice of a lion, "What would you ask of me traveler?"
With his hands still tight around the sphere, he whispered, "What am I?" Without any obvious shift in his vision, he suddenly found himself grasping his soft knit hat, again on the edge of the ocean. The Sun was now inaccessible and distant. The figure has dissipated, and its potential answer had been taken with it.
But now he knew the answer, had always known it. He was this entity, a creature, a mortal man. He is a lover, a minstrel, and a collecter of alms. Apparently alive, assuredly inspired, and steeped in the lessons of avarice; he is a part of God in the body of the Devil.
He walks this forest planet with renewed stamina, with his back to the ocean and his chest towards the path ahead. He finds no thin-skinned polyester tents along this path, no fellow explorers, no hint of mischief. His learning was a triumph, his victory lap unending.
He simply forges ahead, and thanks the day for the night, and loves.