We dropped some acid and took off. It was funny because after getting strapped down in a hospital bed for five hours maybe more, eleven years prior, I had thought it was a thing I’d ‘a never done again. But I did. Dropped it. Jumped in the car. Left.
Did I care where I was going? I didn’t. All I knew is that I’d been ignoring my spirit for a long time. I had told God The Father Almighty I couldn’t serve Him and survive in this place. I had a living to make. I had a kid to take care of and people just hated it when you followed Spirit instead of protocol. They’d kick you right the fuck out. Spit on you. Lock you up. Break you. Get you to speak a different language.
You know what they say about broken mirrors…but let’s not digress.
Ah, that short little ride, that short little king of the world, don’t care if I’m a chic I can see it all so I’m gonna let it ride, ride. The Shamanic dance through metaphorical sight. Making medicine wheels out of discarded bicycle tires and twigs. Raising the dead and sending em home.
Feels so good to be free, to really see. To let all five thousand miles of spirit out. Letters swim and take the shape they’re supposed to. Numbers indicate position. Everything has a reference that makes sense. See. Stolen land. Stolen bodies. Stolen will. Siphoned. Spectacularly misplaced attention. So many children, so little knowledge. Juxtaposed Light. Grace. Art. Movement. Life that doesn’t just stop because you embrace things differently, because you embrace what they have always said will kill ya. All the real. All right there too. A black hole next to an exploding star. The beginning and the end of a beginning that’s neverending so it never really begins, really. And that feeling permeates everything. It looks like the past but it’s not dead so it could be the future.
Streets named after people. Peoples. Tribes. Celebratory genocide to guide your mailman to the right box attached to the right box.
No one bats an eye.
Magnetic world. When you follow your own projections. When you say fuck what they told me it means. Imma erase all that was. All that I knew. Imma drink a sip of death and reset myself. When it is your spirit signaling the Universal cues. Magnetic world. Electric Universe. Breath. Life. I wish I could give you a taste of it. But it is a cup you can only pour yourself. Communication no longer pre-defined. That is when you hear.
In any case, we all get there eventually. Death is real, by the way. Not described accurately, but real and if you bite that apple before your time is up, well let me tell ya, it’s such a long walk through hell, most people stay.
I was listening to some angels sing the other day. Angels that get down deep into the gullies. A voice crying out in the wilderness. Sometimes they’re assholes but they’ll still lead you home. At least until they forget who they are and where they come from.
Once upon a time, long, long ago, children were guided into adulthood by means of ceremony, by a rite of passage meant to bring them a feeling of ‘we got this’, ‘we are capable’, ‘this we can change’, ‘this, we’d be wise not to’, ‘this, too, shall pass’, ‘this they fucked up on’, ‘this we better not fuck up on’. Remembering all the while, that it feels good, damn good, to be entrusted, to get your shot, to be supported, to be allowed PRESENCE.
Every human deserves the right to see. With their own heart. At least once. That they are trustworthy, wanted, celebrated, and capable.