IN May of 1984 I decided to eat some psilocybin mushrooms to celebrate a year of AA and no cocaine or beer. There are no secrets, I took all the cocaine so I could feel like a Republican and fit in with everybody else. Now I got the mushrooms in Mankato from Sara Little Wolf and they were the real stuff. I had actually fasted from the night before and so, when I gobbled the first ones down at Palid Ida’s shack on the banks of the old Glenwood Ravine Creek, they lurked around in my gut for about forty-five minutes and then, son Of A BITCH! Away we went. I immediately knew that this was not going to be any kind of replay of Noserot City and so I made my escape from the Usual Lewd Party Associates, to drive back up the ravine out of Mankato and out to my farm by the back roads. I knew I would not be back this way for awhile, that there was a lot to take in, and I wanted to be alone in order to be sure to miss nothing. More than twenty-three years on it all still seems too much to try to write down, silly to try even, and I expect that an artist in fusion-glass alone might come close to alluding the optical intensity and integrity of it all. There were loads of peculiar physical sensations all waiting to break loose, and I said “Okay, you guys, just let me get us (!) back to the farm alright and with no cop-hassles, and we’ll be just fine.” By the time I got into the yard on the road North from the Eagle Lake cemetery my brain was a real committee-meeting! I staggered and said that we would just have to go inside and lie down for a bit but it was decided to lie down in the grass East of the house. The sensation was acutely one of falling UP into the stars. All of the time, now, there also was one rotten irritation or another, all-over insane itching, gas-pains and farts that did NO good, razorsharp ENDLESS urination, whatever, but it all was just like the dirty walls in an old house where you’ve been happy as a little kid and the grownups all told great stories. Everything else was really completely other, and the crows that flew around in my mind were all silver, or green and red like macaws. Later I went indoors. Upstairs in my grandfather’s old bed I lifted up from where I lay and floated back downstairs, back out in the yard East of the house, back of the old Ford pickup by the double-corncrib. It was still darker than Hell and it seemed as if a storm had come up. There were no stars, just a pale purple glow out of the ground and tree-trunks. Then the wind howled down out of the Northwest and lightning swept across the treetops in flat wide blades and panels. I was shoved to my knees and scared spitless. The ground buzzed and rumbled under my knees — and, the whole comedy hurtled off Waseca-way to the Southeast. Back in bed again, I sat up all at once and looked around at the net curtains bellying in the dawn-breeze and passed out. In long dreams then, I saw coming up from out of my lower belly all sorts of colored segments, very clean and clear and sharp, orange and lapis, green and red and coffee browns. Later, I got up, felt flat and fouled-up and far from home, but not hung over. I was just sort of wistful for my feeling about how bright it all had been, even at the scariest point. As I said, it never did turn into the usual Republican-consumer cocaine-swindle, and I never have had psilocybin since. I had not so much as taken LSD before this, could hallucinate enjoyably on good pot and supposed that on acid I’d have gone nuts or something. On the other hand, it felt as though I had the right to this one good experience and positively didn’t need to try it again. But, I will once more somewhen, I think — once more. That’ll be enough….
[Emmett R Smith all rights reserved 5 November 2007]