Friday, December 28, 2012

The Vision (Flash Non-Fiction, 1200 Words)

This story is my attempt to describe one of the craziest experiences of my life.  McKenna would be proud.  I have been at my in-laws this week (who don't have the Internet!) and just came home for the afternoon to do a few things around the house.  Sorry for the raw draft but I wanted to get some more original content out there.  Don't forget to share or +1 if you enjoyed it.  Thanks, AJ

The Vision

by AJ Snook

The third floor is my semiprivate sanctuary. It's the place that's allowed my teenage mind to survive into its 30s and, subsequently, fatherhood – that mind of wonder, inquiry and bliss. My room up there is a far cry from the decadent man caves so popular these days. No leather sofa. No surround sound. No humidor. No Chivas Regal. Unlike a teenager, thankfully, I have outgrown the need for braggery. Actually, I have – through a conscious effort – succeeded in widdling my list of friends down to a toothpick. Just a few to go all in with. Afford the time put the work in on a few instead of spreading my bets too thin.

What I lack in superficial sticker shock up in my room, I certainly make up for in humanist depth. Books on Eastern religion – Suzuki, Ram Dass, Alan Watts. Notebooks filled with novel sketches and thoughts not to be forgotten. A rug for sitting, table for working. White walls and a simple brown shag rug. Usually a laptop used sparingly as a music player, a thesaurus, an ebook, and more.

But the one thing that really makes my room standout from the rest of the house is the small wooden box that sits unsuspectingly on the bookshelf, on top of a used copy of A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. It's not for jewelry or trinkets, no, it's where I keep my mind expanding substances, my tools for self-discovery. My metaphysical body shop. Instead of ratchets and oil cans I keep magical herbs and a ceramic pipe in the exact size, shape and color of a cigarette (in case I need to make my mind lab mobile).

As I'm in my room last summer I hear my wife, three months pregnant call up the stairs to me, “Honey, dinner's ready!” (She knows what I'm doing and is neither supportive nor antagonistic.)

The stuff I'm smoking is a synthetic form of THC that I got from a buddy of mine whose a chemist (one of the perks of growing old and continual down the path of the psychonaut, though slightly more lonely, is that your friends become more useful, more powerful). To say that it's strong stuff is as non-descriptive as saying Katrina was a strong hurricane (true but lacking qualification). The partaker must know the possible damage before getting involved. A bout of hunger and a nap on the couch are not parts of this game.

Warning: Expect lapses of introspection and that lead to simultaneous realizations of both the horror and wonder about the nature of reality so metaphysically robust that one lacks the language capabilities to translate said epiphanies back into the sober world in a quantifiable and constructive way.

Translation: You might meet some motherfuckin' thought aliens beamed full-speed into the meat receiver you call a noggin.

So with dinner getting cold I suck down a full bowl of the stuff in one careless gulp. In roughly five-hundred words, the consequences are documented below.

It hits me right away. Like after a sucker punch from the champ my brain gets a regular jostle and my head is put into a different place altogether. The walk down the steep winding stairs is accomplished only through muscle memory and great reliance on the banister and faith that it won't break under my weight. I splash through the beads draped in front of the entryway and into the living room/kitchen.
Immediately I hear a cute, “Can you do me a favor and cut the onions?”

My confidence is through the roof so I oblige and get to cutting. My head has a pulse running through it that feels rythmic and intentional. A homing beacon perhaps? Chop, chop, chop. Cutting has never been so much fun. After only about thirty seconds of cutting, though, it happens. The pulse in my head intensifies and it feels like something is quickly approaching me. I can feel a sort of gravity or pull on my being. I imagine how planets and other celestial beings feel when they get too close to each. For every reaction...

Next I'm in a dark place. My consciousness doesn't feel lost. It's still intact but it's not in my body. Am I dead? Will my kid grow up with a single mother? These thoughts come to me but the very existence of this space I'm in puts my worries to rest. If this exists then my unborn baby has nothing to worry about...ever.

Next I see two large figures appear. As I'm writing this I'm sure my memory couldn't bring back their true shapes in worldly terms, but my earthly mind seems to want to reassemble them into giant white and silver heads with eyes of light, the texture and color of them pulsating in waves of the supernatural hues, never solid, always flowing. They are the size of suns but they see me very clearly.

Again translated as best I can they communicate to me through pulses of cosmic energy (love?): 

“Welcome. We want to show you something before you leave.”

“Before I leave? What do you...” but I never got an answer as their show began in all its grandeur.

Out of the depth of space emerged a plane of pure light energy. It stretched for as far as I could see, perhaps to infinity. Nothing existed but the vacuum of space minus the stars and planets (Is that familiar space – the only space I know – different than where I am now?), the two giant conscious beings, me, and this plane of light. But through some kind of psychic cue the godly due (working together), allowed another plane to rise up from the first, hovering parallel above it. Then a second hovered down below it. Three parallel planes of infinite (conscious?) energy and power expansing out into the infinite void.

What exactly were they showing me? Other dimensions that lay parallel and connected to each other because of some universal, natural order? That's the best I could come up with. But I woke up on my kitchen floor. Back here in this realm of words and pictures. Not more than two seconds had passed, although at least three minutes had gone by in that other realm. My chopping knife was staring me in the face, so close I could smell the onions on it. I can't say that I learned much that I can apply here in a worldly way (not getting rich off of this experience if you know what I mean). All I can say is that it was real and not a construct of my imagination or subconscious.

The three truths that I can take away are as follows: aliens are real but they don't need ships, the mind is a cosmic beacon/receptor for said aliens, and there are drugs here that just might catalyze a face-to-face with them. Keep an open mind.

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