He took the magazine out of the gun, and cocked the gun back. A bullet fell out, and he started to cry. What if he had accidentally shot his grandmother. What if he had lost his mind and shot himself? 

He began to cry harder, letting his fears wash away from him as tried to contain himself. He picked up the bullet and placed it on the dresser, along with the empty gun and the loaded magazine.

I can’t begin to grow unless I have a steady foundation, he thought.

 Falling back on to his bed, he ran his fingers through his hair and covered his face. His mind was swirling around like a whirlpool as he yawned, a sudden sense of euphoria rushing over him. He felt better, as if he had gotten something off of his chest. He closed his eyes, he felt very good.

He could feel his body vibrating again, and he started to see rainbow colored geometric patterns in his head. They were the shapes of mushrooms in an infinite twisting pattern that seemed to cave in on itself, like a kaleidoscope or an endless tunnel. 

He smiled, and began to laugh. It was like something kept tickling him, but it wasn’t anything physical. It was similar to rays of sunshine, a warmth of light, showering him with a conscious compassion and love. Everything was gonna be ok, he thought.

He wished everyone could have this feeling, and soon he began to feel guilty for experiencing such pleasure. As if it were some forbidden taboo that he was experiencing.

No. Said the voice. Why should a person not feel good sometimes? Should we always be in a state of humble gratitude, that we not experience what life has to offer us?

The voice was right, he thought, the voice was very wise. Why should I not feel good? How can I make others feel good if I don’t feel good first?

He thought, I always honor others, but not before myself.

He was ashamed at this thought, however. How egotistical of him to think only of himself. I mean who was he? Some street punk that sold a hippie $2000 worth of mushrooms today. Someone who skips school to hang out downtown at the arcade and sell weed. He was a hoodlum.

But he also had just got a job. He helped his grandma when she needed and he loved her very much. He cared about his plant too, he recognized how beautiful it was to help something grow and transform. He realized there were two sides to him, what he saw and what he was.

He was like the moon, he thought. While the side of him that everyone saw was in plain view and full of light, there was also a dark side that only he could see, that was always under constant attack.

True self love starts when I accept every part of myself. I can’t love others if I don’t love myself. He yawned again, and another wave of euphoria came whooshing over him. He relaxed more and gave in to the feeling, basking in the light while it was still there, still warm. He wondered if his grandpa had ever got to feel this warm light too, he had taught him a lot before he died. He remembered how cold he was to touch at the funeral.

The boy cried. He missed his grandfather very much, and he knew his grandmother did too. He wished he knew what happened to his dad, he wished his mom was still alive. His body shook uncontrollably as he began to sob, clutching at his sheets as grief filled his heart. He wanted to feel the warmth of his mother’s embrace, he wanted the company of his fathers voice. Instead he felt cold, and alone.

But he was learning to be better. He wanted to become better and to feel better about himself. He wanted to do good, to feel good. He needed to. He had to. He had to love himself, because nobody else was around to do it for him. He wrapped his arms around a pillow and hugged it. 

He wanted others to love themselves too, the same way he had come to love himself. He knew there were others out there who felt worse than him, who were drowning in oceans of sorrow. The thought made him feel worse.

He hugged his pillow tighter, wishing he could take their pain away, too. When I love myself loving others becomes easy, and maybe by loving myself, others will love themselves too.

He gave in to his grief. Crying as if he never had before, he cried for his loss, cried for his pain, cried for the pain of people he had never met and would never know, and most of all, he cried because he was happy.

He heard his heart beating in his ears. He didn’t want to be untruthful to himself, even if it hurt him. He wanted to be honest, to be true, to be real. He felt that all of the bullshit he invited was a waste of time and energy. Like the tv shows his grandmother watched, or the gossip and rumors all the kids at school found themselves in, it was all lies. He remembered the old man’s words again.

“It will tell lies to your vision.”

Television. He laughed really hard, but quietly to himself. He finally got the joke, and he thought it was very clever.

“I’ll speak my truth, always.” He whispered to himself.

Without knowing why, he put his hands together, placed them to his forehead and said 

“Namaste.”

He laughed at that too, he found it very funny for some reason. He could see the old man and Rowan the hippie bowing to him in his mind. What if everything I imagine is real? He thought. He began to ponder, what if every thought I have had is actually real somehow. Maybe I did hear Norman’s voice in my head. Maybe I did sense some dark, foreboding entity approaching.

Maybe it was the ghost, or a cat, or somebody with negative energies in the neighborhood. What if it was the spirit of the man who died? He began to wander around aimlessly through his mind, finally deciding that it was better not to be so easily entertained by the illusions in his mind, and that he should be extremely cautious when wandering around the unknown.

He yawned again, a very long one too. The now familiar feeling of euphoric light came over him again, and he decided he needed to smoke. He felt emotionally drained and needed to relax. Plus he was feeling a lil nausea, and the old man said weed was good for that.

He stepped out of his dark room and entered the hallway to the upstairs, and was taken back by what he saw. He had his eyes closed in the dark for so long his vision must need readjusting.

He could swear the hallway was flexing in on itself like a kaleidoscope, moving in and out with a wave like pattern, but also rocking side to side like a funhouse tunnel.

“Woah.” He said quietly, extending his arms out so as to touch the wall, making sure it was indeed not moving while trying to find his balance. 

He gathered himself and methodically made his way downstairs, being very cautious as to watch each and every step carefully so he wouldn’t tumble down the stairs.

He peered into the living room, and saw that his grandmother was sleeping peacefully as her dog lay curled in her lap. He snuck past her gracefully, tiptoeing past the dining room, through the kitchen, and into the backyard.

He stood outside and took a deep breath in, the cool air soothing him. He looked up into space and saw the stars twinkling, as if they were winking down at him. He felt so small but so large at the same time. 

How could he have missed this, he thought, how could he have ever taken this feeling and this beauty for granted? He threw his arms out as if he wanted to hug the sky, put his head back, closed his eyes, and smiled at the heavens. He felt connected to it all. 

He could feel the curve of the world beneath his feet, he felt the wind blow from all the way across the world, and that it did so because the world rotated and allowed it. As if the wind was the breath of the world, and the dirt was its flesh, its waters its blood.

He took off his shoes and put his bare feet onto the soil of the grass. He closed his eyes, becoming closer to the earth than he had ever been before. He took in another great big breath, tilted his head back, smiled, and fell backwards into the lawn, landing with a muffled THUD. 

He felt great, looking up at the stars he swore he saw a bright green light appear in the middle of the sky and shoot upwards, disappearing into the cosmos. He lay there in awe of existence.

“I am a vessel for light and love.” He said quietly to himself.

He yawned again, and remembered he came downstairs to smoke. He stood up and felt the wet dew from the lawn on the back of his clothes, and the small clumps of dirt between his toes. He wiped off his feet, put on his shoes, and went into his shed, his sanctuary, but left the door open.

He found the remnants of the joint he had smashed away earlier, and started to un-crumble it as best he could, straightening out the ends until it vaguely resembled a small doobie. He lit it and stepped outside, gazing at the stars and the trees. 

Appreciating everything that was around him for what it was. He couldn’t understand how a pound of mushrooms could only cost $2000. It seemed so cheap for an experience as powerful as this. Shit, he thought, these should be free and made available to everyone. It was at that moment, that he knew what he must do.

Next Chapter: The Spark