Hamsa by Joanne Friar
I seldom describe the few times I’ve peaked behind the curtain of our collective existence to others. Most days I file these experiences under Interesting Stuff That Happened While Eating Way Too Many Magic Mushrooms and continue about the trials and tribulations of everyday life as a human in the Information Age. After all, if I hardly believe them myself, why would anyone else?
The first occurrence I usually attribute to false memory. Looking up during a trip I became quite upset that I no longer recognized my ceiling fan, its shape and color quite different. Months later I discovered what I was looking at during my first visit to an ex-girlfriend’s room.
The second occurrence I ate so many mushrooms I forgot I had eaten them and became lost in this strange new reality. In a moment of lucidity my best friend appeared before me so I jokingly asked him about the meaning of life. I would go on to blurt out his response months later in a game of Cranium, “Ticker-Tape Parade!”, much to the disdain and disbelief of the table that the correct answer could be derived from such horrible nonverbal communication between two teenagers. I couldn’t explain it at the time either. Only later did it dawn on me that we are either a special occasion in New York City or living in a game among friends and family, or perhaps both.
The last occurrence was so clear and unsettling that I have only eaten small amounts of mushrooms since, still firm in my belief that it’s impossible to know what happens next. Observing one’s future is such an absurd concept that I don’t expect to convince anyone with mere words- unfortunately such experiences must be sought on their own.
Simply ingest 7 grams of dried Psilocybe cubensis mushrooms and call me in the morning.