Dare to be

A young man's search through the love, madness, and enlightenment for the reason of being in existence.

The Preacher

I am not a man that would be considered a saint. My life has taken me through many twists and turns and there has been times where it has taken me beyond this physical plane. And moreover there have been times when there has been energy beyond what my physical senses could comprehend that has affected me in ways delightful, frightening, and against my will. I have committed acts that have torn me apart from those I loved, kept me up at night doing wrong by those I had just met, rambled on about family and forgiveness to a stranger that may have done me wrong, found myself telling my boss about her dead mother's rose garden present. And also sat atop a mountain and felt a touch of heaven come grace my grieving heart. From these experiences I have come to be obsessed with studying religion, magic, shamanism, energy, physics and have only been left with more questions. How do I stop these actions, how do I control them, how do I find a way to help people, is it evil, is it good? In struggling to answer these questions I have abused my temple and took the only things that I knew would help make sense to my screwed up world. In my studies of shamanism, they talk of singing with the plants. They talk about ingesting a plant and then communicating with them within their own bodies. In my drug abuses, I took mushrooms and asked them to grow within me and felt something shoot up inside from my stomach to my chest, to my neck to my head. I was so enamered with my find that I kept taking them, I kept taking them and experimenting with the spirit of the plant and kept taking them beyond good trips, bad trips and then something happened. My brain broke and the trips began coming back without the drugs. My mind would race, and I wouldn't sleep, I would start many projects and have loftly ideas about the meaning of life. And I believed that everyone knew magic and that there was a secret code that no one was ever to speak of the real magick, the kind that makes up everyday life and beauty and horrors of the world. I would also black in and out of consciousness while my body and mouth kept moving my presence of mind slipped back and forth like a ball rolling on a teeter taughter swaying from one plans of existence to another. It was in lieu of my resulting eratic behavior that I was hospitalized the first time, thanks to my family whom I do not know where I would be without them. It was also what landed me in the hospital a second time, just to be sure it wasn't just that one bad trip that did it. Then a third time because I cant remember, then a fourth and fifth time for good measure. I have a habit of getting better, rebuilding my mind, my body and then my curiosity gets the better of me and I align myself with a new social circle that doesn't know of my condition then jumping into psychedelics. That was until I was gone, and when I say gone I mean impossible to converse with forget about earth, my consciousness was taken on a five month ride through the layers of hell, down past it to the layers beneath hell going all the way down to pop out in a parallel world, through the dimensions guided by spidermen and the Looney tunes and broken down from mortal man to nothingness to a spark to something else to mortal to God at the hands of none other but kahli, Bali, and Aphrodite. Slowly these constructs of thought were removed from my mind and slowly did I have more control of my thoughts was able to process things like what people in this reality were saying to me and slowly did it all slow down. So it was that I rebuilt myself once again, and after sometime figuring my lifes consciousnesses journey detracted from this planes in the form of thoughts fluid and formless distracting me from reality for a period of five months and a little over half a year with rebuilding myself. I swore off the psychedelics and was doing well for myself with a good job and good group of friends. Until just a little less than a year ago, I learned that the love that I tore myself away from was getting married and I found myself  finding solace in my friends alcohol and weed. What proved to be a little too much, because I forgot to take my medicine and began experiencing tripping without drugs again. Except this time it was different. Instead of discovering the beauty of magic that lay in the world, it was dogmatic, full of hellish thoughts which scared me and commanded me to spill my own blood one night in exchange for the once upon a time love of mine getting out of a blood pact with the fallen angel Damien himself. I fought to not she'd any, but yet these commanding voices were insistent and so it was that I spilt two drops in the kitchen sink in the middle of the night. It was another day or two before my sister took me to a hospital. The food at this hospital was much better than the previous ones, and it was my first stay in Colorado. Compared to the previous five month journey the last of my distracted times this one was a breeze after going to the hospital. Yet it does stick out as a change in my perceptions of this cursed disease which I am afflicted. It is the only time I have felt commanded by this story of mine to do anything besides smoke cigarettes. The fact that it succeeded in causing me to self harm pulls at my worries for how this part of me is progressing. It also is worrisome that this is the way that it it without being caused by mushroom use. It scares me how normal I may seem on the surface, that it simply takes too long for my family to notice. I hate the idea that my subconscious can overcome me and take over if I do not deal swiftly with unpleasant feelings. And it further worries me that by forgetting my medicine in such a short time should put me back in the throws of another episode of the uncontrolled story of thoughts. There has to be a light at the end of the tunnel where I can be happy, healthy, and with someone I truly care about and that cares about me enough to stick around to get me through an episode and through recovery, which hopefully becomes less and less as the years go on.

The inner voice.

I think it is the reason. It is the reasoning that I found between my earlobes. Covered in synapses electrical charge behind this eye came my consciousness. It is the first thing I remember before the flashes started. Which were blurred and narrated by my thoughts. OK, is it here. A flash of blue, brown and greyish white. Not quite. Return to black then nothing, and a burst into life. And back, and the smoothness of the transition did not prepare me for the jarring charges of emotions that lay in wait, for the paths were many, but the one I ended up choosing was something beyond magick.

King under, where?

Directions to insanity

Many people have been driven to insanity. Why didn't they walk? Or take a train? Or bus? Can you skip to insanity? Or is every part leading up to insanity integral in causing the final outcome of being insane?

I am scared

For the first time in my life I am finding myself admitting to being afraid. I grew up so proud and so sure that greatness awaited me and my grand design. I feel as though I was coddled and that is some of the reason I am in the predicament I am in. Though also that not enough care or interest was taken when my life first began falling apart. I have been depressed, angry at myself for the past ten years. And there have been victims of my medium. The medium being the way I have handled my sisters death, the way my illness first arose and broke off the most intimate relationship I have had with a girl in my twenty seven years, the years of solitude and sucking at smoke and ash and draining meads and lagers and I.P.A.'s into my lungs and gullet, and the hallucinations that followed me, and the way to handle them is not to act but let them pass has only taught me not to fight now nor give in, yet it was this past january that I found myself caught in a hallucination and cutting my left hand toward no end. That is the medium! My mind and its integration of the senses leading toward a first person point of view of my own life has turned toward darker turmoil than I had ever guessed. The synapses collect the data and this voice called a thought drives on! Yet, now that I am on proper medicine I find the space between my ears more empty and hollow and not driving and it is hard to recall the proper words when I want to search for them. Lo and High how much has my life turned out differently than I might have imagined it ten or eight years ago. I have felt the touch of Goddesses vaginas slowly rubbing against my own mortal member, yet I have never felt the touch of a girl I knew so well so long ago. I hear she is getting married, and with that I truly have to give up upon ever holding her close again. She has risen to such a seat among the top of the media that I dare not watch one of the most popular shows on television. And I die a bit inside every time I think of her for it comes too easily and more often now that I am sober, the radio still plays tricks on the ears and illicits memories of the girl I supposedly betrayed.I cannot decide if I had ever truly touched her beneath and in-between her netters that I would still be tearing up all these years past sitting on a bed in a sober community wondering if my mind will hold or will I once again forgo my faculties and become lost in a hallucination of Gods and Goddesses in the mortal mind of one who dreams of forgiveness that shall never come, witches and demons, demigods and dimensional portals and Eden and Eve and norse men and Loki's dick which is inflamed by an sexually transmitted disease that is the sole cause of the burning bush in Eve. I am scared because I know these things now to be as real as the thoughts in my mind, but the power of such thoughts has me enthralled in giddy-ness describable and relatable as to those who read and first watch harry potter or star wars come upon the screen. I am scared because I do not know when or if my medium will truly break forever and I shall become an incompetent mush that my family will be forced to take care of or be stuck in a state hospital somewhere. I smoke cigarettes like it is going out of style and shall for the rest of my days because getting old and having to deal with this and natural dementia shall make an asshat out of my senses. I wish to die before the rest of my family so that I might not have to deal with another case of lost sibling or worse yet matriarch. I have been taken care of and I am scared to take care of myself because I have been going in the wrong direction too long and to finally go in the right direction and be living in a sober community for the mentally ill is admitting that I cannot take care. I have not taken care with my life. And I have been lost and have been searching in all the wrong places for the answers to life death, love and infatuation. From these moments forward I wish I could say I wish to be sane and search for another. Perhaps another that matches my kind of crazy and broken boy with her own strength and fortitude that will pull me back together to the resolute charmer and awesomely positive man I know I can be. I am afraid but I will have the courage to look back at the wreckage my life has become and stare it down until I build myself up and back into the man I know I can be. I will be healthy, I will be liked, I will make a positive influence upon the world and leave it better than I left it and I will not leave it until I have made one woman on this earth my own bride and given her many children and helped raised them until I am so old that when I grow senile I will look back upon this night and read what I have typed and exclaim I am afraid no more! and I have not been for some time!

AA or Alcoholics Anonymous

Today was the first time I had ever been to a meeting. A meeting of once drunks, two timing wasted wanderers and three fourths of a barrel of whiskey whisker lip smackers. I am an interested party, partitioning a new change in my life. The purpose of this change? It isn't hard to conceive but perhaps these following words won't do it. Yet, let me try. I am going to try to stay sober because I am a reoccurring hallucination addict. Since the year two thousand and eight I have dealt with being diagnosed bipolar after a bad mushroom trip, and that is only the second occurrence of my cycle, two years prior to that I gave up upon well someone that loved me. I was hallucinating when I broke up with her...at least I was hallucinating if you don't believe in ghosts, and two years prior to that may have been where this all started. Minutes before my families raging typhoon, comical clown, powerful princess, the beginning of my lessons in love teacher, the hero of the sandy shores, the queen of the courageous, my protector and my lost sibling who was just finding her ways death rattle. The dog may have lain it's head in my lap and told me to do something to save her without words...No no no, this is not where I meant to go. It is all I can seem to write about. The death of the black sheep, the genius fool, the grounded angel. I have been searching and winning at times moments beyond her death with her. I have racing stories that disrupt my day to day every two years. Much to the push and pursuit of psychedelics, a psychonauts mentality searching for a way to commune with the dead beyond whispered words over her urn. Where am I? What does this matter?

My hallucinations have been docile enough prior to this year. However, it was January seventh of the modern twenty second centuries twenty thousand fifteen that I was caught in a hallucination that called for blood! An act which goes against all of my cognizant being, all my fully functioning faculties, and the life of ignorance of which I am guilty. I cut, then sliced, then drew the blades silver shine over the baige of my skin, lines of depth but not of rose. I did not succeed in my first, or third, fifth or tenth, it was somewhere around my fourteenth I was brought closer to sense of What the hell was I doing? My mind preoccupied with the thought of an ex crying out to be separated from a blood pact from the fallen angel Damien. Fifteenth or sixteenth strike and there was enough depth to eek out a single drop of ruby liquid that carried the oxygen that helps my muscles and bones move and the reason my heart pumps, but a drop is far far far too much not to be taken seriously.

The events leading up to this night are a fuzz, but here is what I do know. I had been drinking frequently at night, I had been smoking from waking up to falling asleep, I had not been taking the lithium and risperidone prescribed to me by my doctors for keeping the bipolar at bay.

In the past I have had dealings with witches, deception by fraudulent friends, I have seen faries, and water turned into wine, I have had the displeasure of leaking out Loki's minion from a dungeons flame, I have seen thor's lightning as warning and I have torn my own worst parts out of myself and felt the terror of tantalizing trouble that is appealing in the darkest region of my low kept morals. Yet, I have never harmed a soul. Not myself nor any kin nor any friend, foe or fantasy. I have never harmed anyone until now. And by harming myself in lieu of being caught in one of my stories or delusions it has given me a fire in my heart, loins, and brain that it cannot happen again.

For too long have I gone and become sick then better then sober enough to try a drink, then well enough to smoke some pot, then adventorous enough to try a more powerful psychedelic, mushrooms and dmt being my favorite. I cannot continue this cycle anymore and must learn to catch myself before it ever gets so far that my faculties cannot function, because at those points I am only along for the ride and have no control over what thoughts come into my mind and what actions I might take. Prior to hurting myself my delusions and I would find a nice spot to smoke a pack of cigarettes and I would listen and smoke and that would be all, until I was noticed by someone with enough knowledge of my normal self to question if I was all right. I would go to a hospital and be treated get better and the cycle would begin again.

Alcoholics Anonymous I heard today is about giving yourself up to a higher power. Well I have slept with some higher powers in my hallucinations and I give myself up. I give myself up because I am confused and afraid of what I might do if I do not nip this in the butt. I entered my first meeting today and the topic of the day was admission of being powerless over alcohol. Yet, it seemed like such an oxymoron because I was there to take a step toward sobriety and that is a powerful step towards recovery. I find my self powerless to not stop my cycle. I have felt the height of exultation, sleeping with goddesses, and mating with elements, and the lowest I have come is that night of self harm.

With all these hallucinations of my own, of great powers and loves and dimensions and stories, is there anyone out there that believes I am a hallucination? Has God or Godess given me up as a figment? Am I praying to them or are they praying to me? Rooting for me to continue on and find my path beyond the rainbows into the sunset with a corporeal love. I don't know, perhaps I'll find out at my next meeting