Alfred is lucky enough to have as friends a family of druids.
The very word conjures images of sacred groves, dryads, water nymphs. It reeks of Narnia and Middle Earth. Dappled sunlight, gently trickling streams, talking fauns. Elves and goblins, witches and wizards. How I would love to have met Mr Tumnus or Tom Bombadil.
Well Alfred has.
Alfred’s druids live in an ancient farmhouse in an ancient village in a part of the world where druids once roamed freely. To enter at mealtimes is to step back in time. Perhaps earthiness best describes it. Wonderful smells certainly but an ancient and attractive wisdom in a house which seems untouched by the modern age, and the better for it. It’s Hobbiton. It’s almost earthen floors and smoke curling to a central and open chimney in a thatched roof. Mistletoe and ivy, mystery and peace.
His druid friends have been a source of much good advice and encouragement to Alfred on his recent spiritual journey. His friends have been to ayahuasca ceremonies in Peru, they have talked to aliens in a parallel universe while under the influence of the god molecule. They reject capitalism and materialism, they seek synesthesia and alternate realities.
They tell Alfred to keep a diary of his psilocybin journey and wonder whether at some stage he should go the full monty. Most modern research has concerned itself with the dramatic transformation which some undergo on large dosage; for many it seems to alter their perception permanently and for the better.
But stodgy old Alfred plods on with his micro-doses and so far has found that quite trans-formative.
The past couple of days have been days off; and interesting. Happiness level is probably around 6 to 7 out of ten. High for Alfred.
It has been noticeable that in contrast to dosage days, the old evil has popped into Alfred’s mind a couple of times. It’s literally a “zing” – the negativity just pops into his head to remind him his enemy still lurks beneath the surface. It has been banished only temporarily perhaps. Like a tree stump, it refuses to be killed by mere table salt. It needs pulling up by the roots.
Which is acceptable if not ideal. However, perhaps Alfred senses some sort of change in the air.
Perhaps he sees the sunlight outside the bars of his prison window. Perhaps he begins to see that those chains are illusory and self constructed. Well he has long known that; but perhaps he is beginning to see a way to dispel the unwanted and damaging illusion for good.
The druids have recommended that Alfred takes a break after a month. A couple of weeks off micro-dosing to see what differences Alfred may notice. And then perhaps back on again.
It is all experimental of course but so is life.