8 hours ago
Sunday, February 17, 2013
in which our plucky heroine unburies bones long underground, in hope that they may be a Useful Framework...
Long long years ago, in a life that is unimaginably distant from now, psychedelia was, while not everyday, still a familiar part of life... In the same way that one cannot go Underhill into Faerie and return unchanged, so it was then, on Journeys of another sort. Those who managed to navigate from Then to this unexpected Now will witness the truth of my memories. As best my aged mind can recall, the journey had parts... the Drop, the Rise, the Peak, and the Coming Down.
This is so much like the story of F and G. The Drop was the night that he stayed here after 12th Night 2011. The Rise, that time when you feel that something is changed, but you are waiting for the sparkles to begin, that was the months at the beginning while I was in Califonia, and the chatting online, and then the gradual incline into intimacy... the Peak was for months and months, all those good times: the travel and the visiting and the daily life bits that I so cherished and never ever took for granted. The nights he would drive me home from up north, the singing in the truck... the photograpy walks and the time by the river... but it ended, unlike tripping, in a way that felt very sudden.
The Coming Down, that is the part that I must do alone. Psychedelic coming down was always that part where you are really really tired and yet still cannot sleep, there is a kind of gentleness needed, that makes me remember that I need to be gentle to myself about this, however long it takes. The best sort of coming down music has a kind of a soothing rocking quality, the only thing you can eat is very gentle food, like tea, or broth. Coming down is like the long end of the mathematical curve, and instead I got a curve with a steep cliff in it, and am still rather banged up from that. I need some kind of arnica of the spirit, a balm for the plucky though bruised girl that is still here.