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Shroomed

I howl at ominous shifting things sky-bound. My buddy Todd laughs, says it’s just clouds. I’m losing grip on things. That was a lot of mushrooms to swallow. Way too much.

Camping at night is fantastic if riding a mushroom trip, Todd had said. Now I’m at risk of drowning in it. I’d think again if I could. An owl hoots and it trails off to my right in a chirping buzz. It’s both confusing and highly disturbing. Todd is a pro, not tripping as hard as I, a plain Saturday night six-pack mail room guy.

“Todd, what if day is worn out? This night is probably not gonna stop! Shouldn’t I go warn my family?”

Todd’s mouth churns out words that a last logical portion of my brain work out as “Just go with it, maaannn.”

And now I am you. Us is what it all is. I am sky. I am light. I am all knowing that is and was. For a glorious bit, I know it all and I am all of it.

And I snap back into logic, in my own mindbody, vibrating back to normalcy. Todd is again in focus, so I ask to buy his last bit of mushroom caps.

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