My chum Alfred has reached an odd stage in his journey into psychedelic oblivion.
Too often writers feel obliged to offer up a digest or synthesis of what they have read rather than contributing anything new or original.
Very occasionally one gets a glimpse of peace and today was one of those all too rare days.
Strange to relate my friend does not find himself in a state of bliss after two months micro dosing psilocybin mushrooms.
Success in seeking the Absolute may simply be a matter of altering our minds chemically.
Alfred is lucky enough to have as friends a family of druids. The very word conjures images of sacred groves, dryads, water nymphs.
That Archbishop Thomas Cranmer had never lucked out on magic mushrooms becomes very evident when you read the Second Collect for Peace: how wrong he was.
For the ever mercurial Alfred the sun did not rise yesterday. After a splendid microdosed Sunday, he woke with a bump on Monday morning.
My long depressed friend Alfred gave me an initial report on his experimentation with psilocybin.
I had a delightful morning over a cup of coffee with some acquaintances I had been meaning to get to know better.