This evening I helped a friend take her first acid trip. I joined her and many strange points have connected in my mind tonight. The timing of this greater Mexican adventure keeps coming back to me. I can’t shake its significance. We left March Fourth and return on the spring equinox. These days have glistened in my mind into the far reaching past and now they are here so I am wondering how to move forward. I got myself this far and now where do I go? What do I do? Whatever I end up doing will it be the right thing? The questions overflow in my mind. I find one answer and two hundred new questions arise. There is no end to the cycles of existence. I feel trapped in the cogs of time.
Psychedelic trips used to have a playful tambour but that has long faded away. Significance looms around every corner. Meaning oozes out of the cracks between the cobblestone. But what is the message? The moral?
Psychedelics used to trap me inside the trip but now I feel trapped in life. Even as it is a life I desired I feel constricted by it. My boundaries are painfully obvious. My limitations are always resting on my shoulders.
The timing of this trip looms with significance. It seems impossible that I march forth on a journey on that fateful day and am set to return home at the start of a new season. I feel an old me falling away. A part of me is dying as I write this. I have to face this death. I know I need to face it but I want to cling to life. The paradoxes are destroying me.
I finally feel the desire to live, even if in small pieces and with little regularity, but the desire is there. There was a time where I did not want to live. I prayed to a god I didn’t believe in to spare me the pain of existing another day. I would pray for a truck driver to fall asleep while next to my tiny ford escort on the highway. I almost did it myself. But now I am fighting to find the desire to live and I fear that the fight is killing me. But everything is killing us slowly right?
How do I live without longing for death? How do I truly desire life? What am I living for? Why do I wake up in the morning? Early. Every morning.
Why do I write in all the journals? Words that may never be read. Do I do it just for myself? Am I just another self centered asshole? Am I actually doing any good in this world? What is even the point of asking these questions? Why does it matter where I go?
I have no answers and I doubt more everyday that I ever will. It is the empty space that makes a vessel useful. Perhaps that is what I am meant to be. An empty vessel for others to fill with their troubles and their sorrows?
Is that what I am supposed to be?
On the side of the road there is a trailer full of debris. Cinder blocks thrown on top of wire cages nestled around bags of straw and dirt. Most people would see a pile of trash. I see working materials. I wonder if that is how people view me. Down anyone see me the say I see this trailer full of debris.
Does anyone else see potential in me or am I just lying to myself? Is there anything to me?
METAMORPHIA 