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.