Psychedelic Therapy 1

The campfire is peaking. Light range spotlights are above the flames as the fire swirls in circles while the wind blows. I’m starting to hallucinate. The flames move wildly in every direction. Light orange beams from the fire are shooting toward the sky. Life is like a camp fire: it has a beginning, middle, and end. Light orange rays from my eyes beam to the fire, as if I’m Cyclops from X-Men. I’m telling the fire that it’s not in the end stage of life. The fire and I keep shooting lines of orange beams, symbolizing that we’re vibing with each other. The desert dirt draws a line around the fire as if it’s a protective barrier. The dirt has risen two feet high, circling in the fire and floating in the air. Even though the fire is calmer and smaller, our connection remains strong. We continue feeding off each other, shooting lines of light orange laser beams. The buzzing sounds from the crickets, bugs, and other insects vibrate intensely in my ears while the strings of light orange beams shoot from the top of the fire toward the sky form the letter V. Two campfires radiate light orange laser beams, both toward me and up to the universe. Standing for long periods and walking around the canopy aren’t options anymore. I’m feeling grounded to the desert floor and the beautiful fire in front of me a few feet away. My eyes zone in to one moving star in the sky. As it’s blinking, white, green, and red stars are twinkling and orbiting around the white moving star. I sit up straight on my chair, blinking my eyes twice, surprised. The eye-catching star drifts away. Was that a UFO or is the peyote medicine doing its work? I sit in front of the fire, hitting the small wooden drum with my right hand, radiating energy to the fire and cosmos. A tarantula comes out of the stacked rocks surrounding the fire as a protective barrier. It’s approximately two feet away from me. I freeze and stop hitting the drum; the spider freezes. I begin hitting the drum with my hand again and the tarantula calmy goes in between the gaps of the rocks that circle the firepit. The Sacramental Tea, a 12-ounce drink of 12 to 15 peyote buttons, is empty, six hours later. The last hour or two of drinking made me feel nauseous. Rather than letting the ego and personality dictate my actions by forcing myself to drink a shot every 20 minutes or chug the last two or three shots straight from the bottle, I say, “No.” Instead, I follow the suggestions of and wait 30 to 40 minutes to prevent puking. Nausea and vomiting are common symptoms when consuming peyote. The strings of light orange beams from this fire show a letter V again, coming from the flames and shooting upward toward the sky. Is the V representing life (victory or vengeance), a country or city (Vietnam or Vienna), or something else? My ego and personality want answers, but my spirit says, “Stop looking for answers. No expectations; whatever happens, happens.” My ego and personality shut up, and my spirit goes with the flow. I don’t know what time it is, and it doesn’t matter. I feel childish and playful as I lay on the left side of my body on the mat staring at the fire. Tears run down my face for no reason as the wood cracks from the fire. I sit on the ground with my legs crossed a few feet from the fire. I grab the wooden rattle instrument from the spirit house and shake it, causing my body to move forward and backward as I shake the rattle (shhh, shhh, shhh-shhh-shhh; shhh, shhh, shhh-shhh-shhh; shhh, shhh, shhh-shhh-shhh). I look deeply into the fire as the wood cracks from the burning. My head moves side to side, my eyes roll to the top of my head, and I look up toward sky as the shakes from the rattle get louder. I’m in somewhat of a trance, doing a solo ritual, to either release something or to rekindle my soul (shhh, shhh, shhh-shhh-shhh; shhh, shhh, shhh-shhh-shhh; shhh, shhh, shhh-shhh-shhh). The coyotes howl throughout the mountains in different directions. I reciprocate by shaking the rattle a few times (shhh, shhh, shhh-shhh-shhh). They respond, and so do I with more shakes. Many coyotes howl from afar. I continue sitting on the ground with my legs crossed. The fire is hypnotizing, making time, thoughts, and the future feel irrelevant. I’m crying again for no reason; this time it’s stronger. The only word that comes to mind is compassion. We’re all battling something. We all want to be happy. We all want the same good things in life. We’re more similar than we think. Nobody is perfect. This is the first time in 40 years that I’m not crying for me. When I cry, it’s because of me, me, me. I’m in tears now for compassion. It’s 3:30 am. I urinate with the mini flashlight in my mouth. I feel bad for peeing on the bugs and ants. I apologize; my intentions aren’t to degrade them or make them drown in my green pee. I sit on the chair and stare at the fire, which is heading toward the end stage of its life, and there are no more wooden logs. The fire turns purple. Wow! Now it’s back to orange. The bottom of the fire logs resembles burning coal. The big and round wooden circles have mini red/orange rubbery scorpions popping out in 3D. Baby gummy worms surface above the scorpions and dance freely side by side. The fire, the three scorpions, and the worms are turning purple. It’s almost sunrise. The clouds sink above the mountains, flowing like water, quickly changing to light purple and light blue.