Comfort. The softness of the basement couch. Misery loves company.
Trickling through my fingers. Whispering across my face, her disappearing
lips trace across my cheeks. The smell is sweet, but she is rough against
my throat. Her smell isn't so much intoxicating as it is suffocating, yet
the smoke paralyses my senses and touches my soul. Her street name is
undeserving of her effect on me. Forever, she shall be known to me as
Mary-Jane. I will never know her beauty.

                                                                                                                  r
             
                                                                                                           e
  
                                                                                                   h
                                                                                              g
                                                                                     i
                                                                      h
                                                     and
                                higher
             rising
I'm

Though I smell her, feel her heat, even taste her intoxicating splendour, she is but a thought.


Exotic. Sweat. Humid. Rite of Passage.
People over there don't get it like we do. We truly do. Today is the day
that I talk to the Mother of the World. My father dances before me and the
rest of my breathren. I can see the pride in his eyes as his son is ready
to communicate with our Mother. Not my mother, the Mother of the world.
Some of you may know her as Gaia. She will speak through me, uncovering
prophecies and untold, whispered secrets. A clay cup is given to me,
filled with my key to the unlocking the brink of the normal and the
paranormal. The sacred Aya-Huasa coats my throat with liquid bliss. As I
sink into my conversation with Mother, I begin to climb the Vine of Souls.
The conversation lasts two days, and I am confronted with my worst fears,
being tested over and over again.
I'm
          being
                         pulled
                                      away
                                                        from
                                                                    this
                                                                                       w
                                                                                                o
                                                                                                     r
   
                                                                                                           l


                                                                                                                 d
          



I awake peacefully. I feel so light, so free. My smiling father waits for
me to tell him the mysteries of the world and revelations apocalised
before our very eyes. I will never know her beauty.
Though I smell her, feel her heat, even taste her intoxicating splendour,
she is but a thought.




Dry. Blasting. Barren. Great Great Great Grandmother.
Everything we know has been taught to us by our ancestors. They have
passed on their knowledge that has allowed us to proudly proclaim our
beliefs and pass on the knowledge unto others. I take the gourd, filled with
the juice of the Divine Cactus, and bring it to my lips. I am hesitant, as I am apprehensive to talk to my ancestors, I know not if I am worthy of their
audience. The moment passes, and I drink deep from the gourd. I am
encompassed by a vision. A man at a podium. His mouth moves yet I hear no
words. All I hear are phrases..."Devil's Root." The man dissolves into
colour, and all I can hear are the colours singing to me. They materialize
into the same man, but he's all different colours...he's not meant to be
like that, is he? Another phrase is audible through his flapping mouth,
"God's Medicine." All it is, is harmless Peyote. Suddenly everything fades
to black, and all I can see is the sounds playing before my eyes. Yet, at
the same time, I see nothing.


Grandmother?



      Grandmother?


                  Grandmother?


      




                                                                                                                 My child...



We talk for weeks, and I become enlightened by my ancestor. She is everything
to me now, and I am praying for my next meeting with her.

I miss you.