The way to Post Eden

It was a warm day, June of 2007, I came home from the library after getting food in Lacey by bus.  I was about to turn twenty-eight and it became more and more apparent. I was becoming more and more an alcoholic.  Wincing, I took another shot from a mini-liquor bottle and looked out through the drawn blinds to a house across the yard.  I looked to see if anyone was there but nobody was so I laid back down on my bed and fell asleep.

 Through subtle whispers, three or four unknown friends began to elevate me with wisdom, they were complete strangers but I had somehow already known them from before I was even born.  They began to soothe me upstairs in the attic of a bedroom inside our informal and lost reception house.  It used to be our headquarters but we returned to it gathering cobwebs amid a vast and boundless untouched wheat field.  The wheat outside was bright golden yellow and innocent in all of its divine and natural beauty.  But inside the weathered and bleached wood planks we were the harvested and processed wheat, given a name by God but now lost, and in search of finding it again.  The vengeful, staunch and just atmosphere of the room was apparent as seen through the dusty air, it hung in my nostrils and clung to my clothes in narrow barely visible strips of yellow sun light.  But it was peaceful, blissful and shielded us in privacy.  In the dim shadows I could not tell if there were more entryways attached to the ceiling or built into the floor but it was certainly cluttered and I could see a pencil, scattered clothes and some school supplies. The people were young but at the same time they were very old, some had red hair and at other times it was black.  At first I see a female and then I turn around to face a male.  But we’re all on the same page, all of us, we are part of the same hive mind.

I awoke thinking maybe I am losing touch with avatars of real people somewhere out there, who are sleeping with me in the physical world.  In February 2014, these dreams started again, always accompanied with the sense that I wouldn’t make it unless I did something heroic to remove the ugliness that was put upon me.  I started to become a giant in my heart because I knew I had to overcome something up ahead, something that I eventually had to do to myself;

And so I found myself on the sixth floor balcony of an apartment building, surrounded by fur trees many times taller than the building itself.  It was sunny, and beautiful and I was trying to tell my family that many years ago, humans stood taller than even the trees which loomed out in front of us, but they refused to believe me. It seems immediately after that I was taken high up in the air over a city that looked like Houston, the city I was born.  But I was still not high enough to the same height as the head of a titanic, spindly plant creature I saw far out in the distance amid a tornado like wind.  It’s long spindly appendages morphed into a more human form then it shrank and densified into Doctor Doom, but still a towering giant Doctor Doom in a costume and cape with hood, and he began to tower over me as I approached closer and closer.  The closer I got the more he increased in vividness as his massive arms moved closer to me, until he got so close he caught me in his hand and his titanic form towered directly over me.  I crossed under his shadow and then I remember looking down to see if he would hit any buildings but he never did! Standing on this titanic beings hand was like your coolest movie in 3d and on dmt.

I fell asleep to these types of dreams three or four times after I ETS’ed from Ft. Stewart, and I came to realize they had rem dream portals to follow that would lead me to extremely vivid states, but I did not have the lucid capability to find them on my own.  They just decided to appear in 2014, with dmt gifted to me from the titans and giants, It’s excreted from our pineal gland which was once the third eye of our giant ancestors who always saw with their third eye in their dreams.  I began opening my third eye as I went through a dream portal overlooking the Bryckingham Palace.  It was super massive and carved like those 16th century mud-flood master pieces that were torn down and thrown in the swamp. It was too clean, an opulent decadence deemed too worthy, so I ran across the bright artificial golf turf, between flat white plaster homes calling for help.  I trip over a neighbors lawn hose to instantly be sent into a subway portal.  I walk around and find a grey hound bus to board which takes me to a downtown library courthouse.  I go up the stone steps and inside to see books and records of my life and lives of others, and then go to my old house on Mattson Road overlooking the new landscape dotted with water and islands and seeing Oakville in the distance, looking much more built up in the future.  I then play hand rock scissors dressed like a bear in a dark and brown dream portal chamber and come out the other side within many trees and covered in jungle growth.  This is my grandparents old house,  just up the hill from my parents, it was hidden behind trees that were inhabited by Sasquatch, but they rarely show themselves to us.  Down the hill through the trees is my parents house.  I have to sneak into my sister’s room first to get the weed but its always sometime in the late afternoon where I walk onto the deck to talk to her.  I wake up in my old basement room with a orange and green tiger carpet covered in a warm light, and it seems somebody did well in keeping this place up.  I look out the window to see an opportunistic orange dusk rising up over the 70 acre property and so I run into its green fields and its copious forests. I may even have to undergo the wrath of my parents one last time but even after I wake up I vaguely wish that I lived there again, and I’m the one with the big house overlooking that dream portal that lay next to paradise.   Because after I fall back asleep there’s a Motel portal, were I’m walking outside along a flat wooden walk, with its old dried out boards laying side to side in the same direction as steps or staircases and I never can find my room.  So I begin walking up and down a busy main street vaguely remembering being part of a cadre that were too immature so I came down from my high shadow hideout where I could see a bright reptilian sub-division parked way below.  I end up upstairs in a red Victorian holiday house with burgundy walls.  My housemates bedroom smells like potpourri and I visit her upstairs in a spacious silver living room installed with futuristic purple lava lamps, but I feel so groggy and sluggish that the dream becomes terribly vivid in a way that freezes me and makes me immobile, but at least I’m in the company of a friendly stranger;  Dad’s Tarkiss car almost drown me in the blue waters, but I grabbed a hold of his net while standing on the dock and took me into his red many roomed flat.   But upstairs in a parallel dream I huddle in a turret behind blowing transparent sheets, drinking coke in a purple blue neon lit house.  I somehow end up on the galactic federations space docking station.  I was one of the first to board a super sonic train that enters into a dark tunnel.  Out the other side I step onto a aerial docking station where I board a large hi-tech commercial air-craft, I have to wear ear-buds and other gear just to handle the noise and ruckus of the flight.  But I ultimately ended up in space, not an endless and infinite space, but a finite and celestial heaven, inhabited at the very center by a super-massive sheening and glistening orb that is all-intelligent and putting on a cerebral light and effects show.

And then I finally enter back into Post Edenic Paradise, either all in one trip or broken up into two or more.  I’m taken to a subterranean marine base housing a four dimensional interactive globe of prehistoric Earth, there visitors charter the path they are to take.  I remember chartering a specific course and then I paddled my way through a dark viaduct leading out of the base’s main station.  I paddled through a black tunnel and then out into an open power-station built half in the water and half out.  Here, the orbis geographica of antiquity began coming closer into view, and I began to see how over eons, the land masses began to spread further and further apart to create the oceans of today, nevertheless, the water of this particular area was still a bright and sparkling indigo color, and you could see right through down to the coral reef biome which still separated the land masses by just a few miles of shallow tropical seas.  Because of this I was able to gauge how well I could handle the rest of my life, it dealt with channeling our giant prehistoric ancestors and learning wisdom from their teaching.

After my charter I’m dropped uninvited into a giant Victorian Pre-tartarian house in mid day.  I can tell from the sterile off-white light coming in through the cymati-tech windows.  I was never told anything was here but I felt a presence telling me I had to find my way out without getting caught, and the thing I never saw that inhabited that house was a beautiful giantess with long jet-black hair.  I seemed to fall out of an antique Victorian sewing box that folded out of a cabinet in the wall, as if I was a gnome you see in those fake YouTube videos.  But I finally made it unscathed out of the house and into her giant flower garden and planting beds, and somehow over her giant boulders which fenced her prehistoric mansion from outside invaders.  But outside of those pristine and vivid walls was nothing but a barren land of tumble weeds and inhabited by nomadic Amalakite tribes.  Yet there was a tinge of paradise in the air that grew more intense as I walked close under the legs of the giants who appeared out there.  They were towering and adorned in toothed necklaces and clutching tungsten pikes.   But I threw my fear to the side and still kept treading my path, until the giants faded away and I ended my journey in the company of a tour guide who led me to a city out in that vast and flat desert.  I entered into a a city of megalithic temples and fortresses under a looming arch and entered into a temple where I was shown or given something divine and dealing with my path.

As I began to exit post edenic paradise I found my exit dream portal in the pages of my favorite comic book artist, Geoff Darrow. I was marveling at his detailed and intricate work on the blue biomechanical Godzilla.  It had interconnecting appendages and it covered a vast space which formed its own colorful alien world.  I realized it was my own illustration that I was doing for fun and at that point I may have entered back into some prehistoric city that existed at some point in the distant distant past.  The architecture of the buildings and the very landscape itself had a sort of cartoon, fish eye lens effect to them that was very subtle.  The sky was not blue but red, as if such a heavy dusk was setting that the light retreating off the refracting glass in the sky dimmed the Sun’s rays to appear red and no longer bright yellow. I appeared to be entering a city built on a lava canyon with metal steps and stone staircases. They led me into a fabricated wall of buildings, slightly dilapidated, masterfully fashioned and stacked one upon the other, like some ornate prehistoric shanty metropolis.  Once inside I passed through a narrow door and through two or three cluttered rooms, into and even more cluttered space no larger than a closet. Standing within its tiny opening I faced the skull of a sixteen foot giant on display, amid a wide array of maps, gadgets and tools, used for finding the truth but long lost to time. I believe my brother was with me briefly, refusing the validity of this giant skull even as he stood there staring at it. I could not help him see the truth and I left going back out same way I came in.

  It would be on June 11th, 2014, my birthday, I would catch a fleeting glimpse of what I thought was a tiny glowing orb that looked wispy in the air, directly above my head.  I saw it as I was walking back from 7-11 and I swear it was only for no more than a second.  I feel it was foreshadowing a brighter future and it already knew what I did not yet know myself, even at that stage.  Only after I came back from visiting my cousin over the fourth of July did I have the epiphany that life as I’d known it was no longer worth living . . . unless.  The same year I had three nightmares, the first was more of a morningmare, cause it happened when the sun was shining down into my window.  It was of a demonic face with piercing eyes that bulged red and veiny, and it would not stop staring menacingly back at me.  But I feel it had just as much to do with the alcohol addiction I was battling a couple years prior, as I was still overcoming it and I was in one of its last throws.  The second was of myself, although I wasn’t aware of it at the time, I was staring back at myself sitting down on a bench behind tinted glass doors.  I could not see my own face,  just the sides of my legs, I was horrified to open the doors and pass by this stranger, and just the sight of his presence chilled me to the bone.  The third was of myself again, and I was looking at myself and I saw that my head was caved in and I appeared like a hideous mushroom man with a horrible fungus, hideous features and debilitating handicap. I was hopeless in front of my peers who could do nothing to help me. These were all portends to a fate that was quick manifesting into permanent reality unless I did not take drastic action to turn it all around.

2014 winded down and I began my first year of un-fucking what the orthodontist clinic that still stands today allowed done through abusive adoptive parents and an incompetent foster home.   This is where it starts to get crazy for me,  this is what ultimately ended up giving me PTSD undergoing the process.  Not because of doing what I was doing to myself, but having to see the look on peoples faces as they were seeing the apparent results.  I thought it would all go smoothly but that was far from the case, it would go about as rough as you can imagine it going.  As January turned to February, and February turned to March, humanity as I’d known it would grow more wrathful and less hospitable.  At first I tried immersing myself in my work but by the end of 2015, working became more and more unbearable and simply pushing my face back out became more and more the only priority.  But as I began my second year of un-fucking what that yes man orthodontist had done, I was not paying attention to the damage I was doing to my left cheek.  Still I went on with it, high out of my head on weed and buzzed until I got leaky gut off of too much caffeine.  And then the second Amanita binges began, this time gifted with patches running along my daily route to the grocery store and into town by something divine.  It was during the second muscimol trips that Adam and Eve both bid me one last blessing, on an intense muscimol high that had left me vomiting.  Still, they waved to me from somewhere southwest of time and told me to write on the wall if I saw them, so I did.  I wrote I could see them waving and I waved back, as I could vaguely see them through time.  I might meet them again and I sensed these lives we live now are nothing but brief illusions.  I continued languishing in downward descending physicality, sick to my stomach from a toxic dose of muscimol when I sensed an invisible alien like entity, some akin to a squid or some being with many appendages, it came briefly into my room to see who was calling him up.  The dark being was invisible but I still knew it was there, it came in with a powerful rush, squirming into my room and passing through the wall under the ceiling, inside my  darkened closet.  But then it left just as quick as it came, and all I was left with was its brief reverberating echo to move on.  I could also sense we are the ones somehow still underwater and this concave reality is causing us to form invisible bubbles that run up and in toward the center of Earth.  Then I really got a sense of this fake holographic simulation as I stared blankly at the wall and then threw up into my cooking pot.  I turned off the lights in a daze and began entering into chapter two of this ensuing wrathful evil eye and glares that were throwing daggers into my stomach.

  As I was at the bus stop making my way down to Parkland, where I moved, I believe I saw what had planted those amanitas while at the bus station during a blustery and wet day; through the clouds in the sky I swear I saw a white orb. It was so high that it would be nearly impossible to catch unless I did not point it out to you, and even then it would be hard to see because of its pure whiteness blending in so well with its surroundings.  It occurred to me that maybe it had something to do with the blustery weather that month and the growth of the amanitas along the road.  Whatever the reason it brought in chapter two.  It seemed I came out from  the dark, cold and whipping rain to a new place that I hoped briefly would welcome me, I spent my new years chocking down my last dried out amanita in a new room with wood flooring in Parkland,  the seedy, unincorporated commercial district of Tacoma.  Disappointed it only gave me a buzz, I walked out into its dark cold concrete to get a couple more cheladas.  Its stretch went on for miles under dead electric lights, fast food signs and gas stations.  Even though I moved to a student neighborhood next to PLU I was feeling like a foreigner in a foreign land that was desolate, dark, cold and black.

 My left molar was so far back I had to be willing to cause a certain degree of damage to my left cheek in order to get it out far enough to where I could continue on. What damage and pain I was causing was masked under a marijuana and caffeine riddled trance, and I lost sight of that again.  Instead I though about how to heal myself and get myself right after this short but extreme second chapter was over.  Winter turned to spring and spring into summer, I remained aloof and writhed in my chair as I pushed and pushed and pushed.  I turned the house into a festering dump, nobody took out the trash and it became overran by fruit flies.  Still, I continued on as I watched Joe Rogan Experience on my Wacom Cintiq and fell further into physical decay with caffeine and chocolate rotting my stomach.  October saw menacing cops in flashing lights, driving into the parking lot as I make my way back to an empty home.  My little snitch firewall is going crazy, flashing red ip addresses and hostnames on my screen and telling me I am in danger, but I am not listening.   Two latinos or mexican males, younger around in their twenties come into the house and break into Kristin’s room right across from me.  I would be forced to throw my garbage into other people’s trash bins and the only one left, Kristin, is always gone either at work or somebody else’s house, and she never wants to come back inside.  The yard was turning into a miniature junk yard and I had to move out of there or else, but I know I left Kristin with a minor psychological stain on her brain that she will never be able to easily erase.

That is the end of chapter two, a short and extreme chapter to this shapeshifter’s journey that would lead me into chapter three.

This is a much longer chapter, and one will probably not retell in full right now, but it is a much better chapter, despite all of it’s own shit that it brought and that I still have to endure.   It was down here I finally got to take a real assessment of how much damage I’d done so far and it lead me to moderate fear; I completely lost symmetry in my left cheek.  Eating or even smiling became difficult, but I was still determined to break my jaw if I had to, at all costs, as long as I could end what I was going through outside.  I could already see a tiny light just starting to become visible.  Somehow, after losing $400.00 to a scared young lady in Olympia, I made my way back down to Centralia, where I was sent to a orthodontic clinic there on a whim as a boy.  I still remember it somewhat vaguely, It was like any other sunny summer day.  I thought I was going out to run errands with her like usual but she told me something that took me by complete surprise.  But now hope washed over me after feeling blue and melancholy because my beautified summer evenings were ruined from having to separate from family.  I just sat there in my chair having to listen to Golden Girls next door, and not yet realizing that next year would bring a messy and bloody first PRP session.  A January of losing a little too much blood, feeling the cold shock of having to clean it up of the plastic bags and the carpet floor and then walking out into the cold snow, not knowing if you will ever get the chance to heal your damaged cheek up properly ever again.