April 5th, 2022

What would nothing look like? Would the complete absence of anything be the same as complete something-ness?

 “If the universe never had to exist, what would we be left with?” I ask everyone around me at the dinner table on my 22nd birthday. My brothers quickly try and change the subject, as if the question I had was too dumb to bother with. But my dad and stepmom continued to listen to me; their eyes unswayed by the pull of my brothers bickering. They look at me as if I had finally asked the question they had spent the last 50 years trying to forget. With her brows slightly furrowed, as if her body was upset to even entertain the idea but her brain was curious, my stepmom said “I uhm.. I want to hear the conclusion of your thought”. Shocked by this response, I stutter: “well, this reality is not a given. I mean, it’s a given to us because it is defining our lives, and our brains don’t know how to even compute there being anything but a life... Though when I fall asleep, I forget there was a world, a life that I was living, and for a brief moment I am at peace. Because... there is nothing to see or be. Because... those concepts don’t exist, and neither do I.” I look down at my plate and play with my food. I wonder, did I overexpose myself? I never speak about these perceptions and experiences I have, at least not with my family. We were raised in the religion of science and atheism. Had I taken this further than their faith could comprehend? 

My stepmom says nothing. My father continues to stare at me, eyes relaxed, and I hoped they were digesting on how to respond. But there was never a response, just silence. Their eyes zoned, out of this world, as if their brain was doing the exercise I had just put on their plates. My experimental life had resulted in my brain creating an equation to define my parent’s consciousness in an attempt to avoid conflict. My equations of them were ignorantly linear; but in this brief moment of silence between the 3 of us, I felt like we had met the daughter of eternity. Oddly enough, the experience of diverting from the predicted path with a question of “something and nothing” broke my perception of time, and shook me. I saw the silliness of these unconscious equations of those around me & the growth occurring in this moment was painful. 

 I had to say something: “The food is really great tonight!” 

They blink and the color of their eyes change so quickly that I question if I really saw the shift occur. With a slight smile across both of their faces, “yeah! we should come here more often.”

what do you see?

April 21, 2007

Im not sure if my psychedelic journey really started when I was seven. But, when I ask my heart about the first time my consciousness shifted, this is her answer. 

It is always difficult to start a story when it is your own. I wish I could create a character out of my past, but my old self never stops evolving. How can I capture my 7 year old self with the strokes of my keyboard when her existence transcends time and space. The order is too tall, so for the sake of my own healing, I will speak of her in the present tense. 

-- The moment I woke up that day, I knew something was different. Today was April 21st 2007 : 21/7=3 : It was a perfect triangle day. I was born on a “different type” of triangle day (4*5=20). Each time there was a triangle day, I knew something memorable was going to happen. I laid in bed for a while, and watched the leaves play shadow puppets on my bedroom wall. They would play out my favorite story: that of time. The leaves would never be in the same pattern, or let in the same light. I could never ask them to replay a scene, because it was never about me. I was honored they even let me watch their dance with time. I didn’t have to be a person when I saw time pass, I could just be. But, eventually, my dad would call me to start the day, and I would be reminded of my role in this world. Today, I was supposed to be a 7 year old girl. Most days I was supposed to be this role, and I was reminded of it when I forgot. Today was different. No father was calling me to come downstairs and eat my breakfast. Actually, no one was calling me to be the 7 year old girl either. This was confusing since I had spent 7 years on this earth being told who I was supposed to be through a series of morning rituals, but today... the rituals stopped. 

No one was upstairs either. Everyone was gone, and no one had told me. I usually liked being alone, because it meant that I could continue to be silent and observe. Maybe I felt comfort in being alone because I always knew someone would eventually look for me. This was the first time no one was coming for me. I could feel it. 

I slowly made my way down each step. I usually liked to make each step as quiet as possible; the squeaking of the old wood made me feel like the house was hurting beneath my feet. I went to go say hi to my mom like I did every morning. She had been sleeping in the living room because her hospice bed was too large to bring upstairs. When I got to her, she wasn’t awake; she looked so tired. She was always awake when I came to see her in the mornings. My dad and brothers were no where to be found, so it was just me and her. I stared at her the way i stared at the leaves casting their shadows on the wall. I felt invisible, observing the flow of time. But this time, time was slower than I had ever seen it be. It was heavy too. The shadows on my moms face weren’t moving the way the leaves had been. The life was leaving her shadows, and her the light was getting lighter. I knew something was happening to her, and that she would have to live within me from that day forward. 

My dad walked in with my 5 year old brother; he had just dropped my 9 year old brother off at his friends house. I was reminded of my role again, and shook off my realization. 7 year olds should not have to carry this weight, so I should just pretend I didn’t know. My dad took me to my friends house soon after, and my friend and I went to the community park. We ran to the only tree to shelter us from the sun. I laughed and danced around the tree with her; I want to feel free one last time. Her dad fed me candy from easter, and I deviously accepted. I knew candy was not allowed in my house, but I was as much an addict as any other child was. I quickly hid the candy when I saw the red minivan pull up and my dad step out. I ran up the hill as I swished spit around my mouth to hid the scent of sugar on my breath. I gave him a hug as he picked me up and put me in my booster seat. He got in the car and sat there for a moment. He didn’t turn the car on and turn on NPR. He didn’t even put on his seat belt. His ritual was disturbed by something, so I sat in silence until he told me his reasons. Turning around slowly, his eyes eventually locked with mine. I was not used to the redness of his whites, or the layer of liquid that sat at his water line. This was a new father that I had not met before. His voice was stoic, and he maintained eye contact with me as he said in Icelandic: “Your mother has died”. My bones began to become heavy with truth. I felt gravity for the first time. I was a 7 year old girl, and now, I just I am. 

I have decided to document my psychedelic journey here since I feel the safest to share my story on this platform

this blog is going to become an actual blog