Back into a world where the walls aren't supposed to be moving
and the colors wont swirl for sight,
I press my skin against the cool surface
of the mirror with delight.
Returned from space, from atmosphere,
from floating in the sky;
I could tell you of my journeys
if my thoughts could reach your eye.
...
There had been new magic in the journey within,
shared between the smiles and intensity.
Several humans met in congregation in the confines of my home;
we had soaked our wildness' in psychedelia,
and our empathies in more predictable chemical sanctuaries.
Ascension's chords were plucked freely in the essence of our light
as all reflections pass through rainbows towards the sweet of abyss of time and space.
A toast rang forth from lovers' lips
(whose intimacy is of the soul rather than the flesh)
to send forth with pleasured incantation
the conceptual mobility of the spirit
trickling through our every layer.
Deeper and stronger and ever more drenched in the colors light composes,
there was a surreal sense of heat from the morning's sunshine,
despite the hour preceding dawn
and the moon deceived by clouds;
eyelids sealed shut and tabla drums softly splintering the silence,
feeling far less alone in these visions of space than one might predict in such isolation,
being cradled by the dancing vibrance of patterned hallucinations.
It had become so profoundly simple to sink deeper into the unknown crevasses of the mind,
to speak with the secrets held down under our functional comprehension
and to commune with the remnants of our celestial existence.
Here were visions drenched in beauty,
steeped in the rawness of intrinsic lusciousness.
Stretching limbs had found their comforted balance,
flexing spirit shared by the resounding voice of guidance.
And although the sun never rose,
night turned back into day
and these astral subjects fell back into their bodies.
Now and here back into the flow of days preceding such journeys,
we had all returned to sobriety
accompanied by fresh gratitudes.
