I told him it felt right.
Roughly one hundred fifty miles east of the beaches of Los Angeles,
in Joshua Tree National Monument, was a rock climbing route called
"Therapeutic Tyranny." Less than ten miles away, by the edge
of a mountain, the five or six disciples probably did not see Rama
handing me a tiny stamp. On it was a picture of Mickey Mouse dressed
as a wizard, waving a wand.
I was slightly apprehensive. LSD was supposed to be a powerful drug.
"Chew it for a few minutes," Rama whispered.
It was as bitter as he said it would be. I soon noticed the deep
blue sky turn to bands of crimson and yellow and orange. I noticed
the lights of Palm Springs twinkle like stars thousands of feet below.
I noticed the mammoth peaks of Mount San Jacinto gradually fading away.
So stark and surreal was the scene before me, that I had to remind
myself that this was how the desert appeared at twilight ordinarily.
"How do you feel, kid?"
"Fine, Rama," I reported, enjoying the attention. "Nothing yet."
About fifteen minutes later he gave me another stamp when I found
myself noticing that I was noticing that I was noticing that I
was
that i was
that
i
was
that hey
hey
hey
(hey)
((hey))
((((hey))))
((((((((hey))))))))
-* h e y * ------------ (it)
((it))
((((it))))
((((((((it))))))))
-* i t * ----------- (works)
((works))
((((works))))
((((((((works))))))))
-* w o r k s *-
I gazed at the lights of Palm Springs.
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