Headlight Deer

     I don’t know if it’s the mushrooms kicking in, or the fact that I’m truly connected to everything around me, or something else altogether, but whatever it is, I swear to God that deer is staring straight into my soul, trying to tell me something.

     I’m in the middle of the woods in Shenandoah National Park and I’ve been staring at this deer for what feels like forever. Honestly, I’ve lost all semblance of time and its linear nature. It’s more circular for me, at least at the moment.

     This deer and me are so close, physically, I could spit on him if I wanted to.

     But obviously I won’t do that.

     We’re close spiritually, as well. It honestly looks like he’s trying to communicate with me on an unspoken level, as if he has profound secrets that I must be made aware of, and that words could never do the secrets justice. In his eyes, I can see, I can feel the innate connection to myself, to the woods around us, to the whole world upon which these woods rest, to the galaxy and universe beyond that, and that God is imbued in it all. In this deer’s eyes, I see the way in which I breathe affects the furthest reaches of this globe.

     Am I breathing positively? With love and appreciation.

     Or am I breathing negatively? With hate and fear.

     I can see there’s so much more this deer wants to tell me. So many more secrets anxiously waiting to be revealed.

     He’s about to unveil more, but his focus is pulled elsewhere. He looks away from my eyes, over my shoulder, to something off in the distance.

     I hear Tasha yell out to me: “Yo Joey! We’re heading this way!”

     Instinctively, I turn my head in the direction from which Tasha yelled. When I turn my head back to my new friend, the deer, he’s already dashing away through the woods. I can see him only a few seconds more before he disappears behind the brown and green of the forest.

     I take a seat on the natural wonderful moist ground, feel the earth energetically pull fibers of my being into its surface. I think I should go meet up with Tasha and Dillon and Bianca and Chuck, but decide against it. I’ll find them later. And if not, I won’t. It’ll all be good. That’s what the earth is telling me through the vibrations soaring up my butt into my spine to finally arrive in my mind.

     Besides, looking at the way those fallen leaves are resting on that moss atop that log, listening to the unseen birds chirp, undoubtedly about me and my presence here, or perhaps undoubtedly about anything else birds talk about, wait. What do birds talk about?

     I’ve always wondered that.

     Because no doubt they are talking, right?

     Huh.

     No shit they’re talking. Anything that makes a sound, any animal at all, they’re all talking. Whether whales in the sea or birds in the trees.

     It’s gotta be the most ignorant and egocentric thought of man to ever think animals can’t communicate with each other as well as, if not better than, we humans can communicate with one another. It’s all just different forms of language. There’s no way humans are the only species to develop language.

     Anyways.

     Wow.

     There really is nothing like being still in the middle of the woods, away from the hustle and bustle of modern life, high on psilocybin, listening to the true sounds of nature, the squirrels squirreling around, the birds chirping, the wind blowing, trees rustling, and the water, somewhere off in the distance, gently trickling. That commercial jetliner overhead. Okay and now just nature again.

     I could sit here forever, but again I think maybe I should get up and go find my friends. They could be really far away by now. 

     I wonder what would happen if I were to lose them.

     In another sense of the word, I lost my father three years ago, to cancer. It started in his leg, was detected too late, and spread into his bones. I miss being able to call him for guidance.

     I look down to my hands, hands that my father half created.

     They’re my hands now, but they also belong to humanity, to the universe.

     I’m no longer listening to the sounds of nature. My sensory receptors have retreated into my head and now I can only hear and see and feel the unmistakable connection between me and everything else. My eyes are closed, but the purpose of life is clear as day against the black of my inner eyelids.

     We’re here to help one another get through this, whatever it is. Thanks Mr. Vonnegut, for helping me learn that.

     I wonder: if I don’t move an inch, will my friends come to me? Rather than get up and go find wherever it is they went off to, I’m thinking, can I be a magnet to attract their attention?

     It’d be nice if the earth was giving me the same vibrations from earlier, telling me that no matter what, it’ll all be good. But I’m not getting those transmissions. For the first time, I start to worry that maybe it’s not such a good thing if I end up getting lost and separated from my friends. My connection to reality at this point is strong enough to know that that connection is tenuous, at best.

     But whatever, I persist. I sit. Look straight ahead. Those fallen leaves on that moss on that log are still too mesmerizing to leave. Have they always been that wavy and undulating?

     No.

     That must be the mushrooms.

     It’s beautiful.

     Sitting here, it feels like the earth is anchoring me down, won’t let me get up and go, as if there’s something here that I need to experience, need to see. So I keep sitting, and let my friends get further and further away. I resolve to trust the earlier transmissions from the earth, that no matter what, it’ll all be good. But still, I’m growing less confident in that presumption by the second.

     And with that thought, it’s as if the anchor around me grew heavier, and quite the opposite of getting up to go find my friends happens. I instead slowly recline my back and now I’m laying down on the forest floor, staring up at the trees above. It’s comfortable. Again, it’s beautiful. A whole new vantage point from which I can discern more secrets of the woods, secrets of the universe.

     A passing thought travels through my mind: what would be the worst outcome of getting lost in the woods alone, on mushrooms? But then not wanting to entertain that potentially terrifying thought, I tell myself: don’t worry. It’ll all be good. Just ride the wave. But truthfully, I’m not sure I believe myself at this point. Dehydration and starvation and exposure and death are words that make their way to the forefront of my thoughts. Which, understandably, is terrifying. Again, I think to myself I should probably get up and go try to find them. Who knows how far away they could be at this point.

     God knows.

     God, the Universe, whatever It is that we call It, I’m realizing, knows everything.

     Damn, do I believe in determinism?

     On second thought. There’s no way I believe in that. Free will is too strong. I still have the ability to choose whether I stay here or I get up and go. That can’t possibly be predetermined.

     With the growing fear of getting lost coursing through me, thinking that a deterministic universe would have me respond by going to go find my friends, I choose to stay. Besides, lying down here is just way too magical.

     After maybe two hours, maybe 15 minutes, who knows, of lying down, I sit back up.

     Memories of past indiscretions flood my mind.

     I think of when I was a little kid, maybe 9 years old, and how I found joy in destroying ant hills.

     I think of the time in middle school when I relentlessly called Britney Rhodes stupid and an idiot and braindead until she ran out of the classroom crying.

     I think of when I cheated on Jessica, my junior year of high school, and how heartbroken she was when she found out.

     I think of the times I was mean to my dad when I was in middle school and high school. I told him I wish he’d stay out of my fucking life. Then he died. And now I wish for nothing else but to have him back in my life.

     Thinking all these thoughts, wanting to repent for my idiocy and cruelty, I can feel tears welling up from my throat into my eyes.  

But before the first teardrop falls, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

     “Hey Joey,” a voice says. The owner of the voice, of the hand on my shoulder, is Dillon. He’s the only one of us who didn’t eat any mushrooms today. “You alright bud?” he asks.

     I look up to him. I see a divine presence of friendliness. The few rays of sunlight that have penetrated the forest’s canopy are shining behind his head, illuminating a halo of goodness around him. I don’t say anything with spoken words, but say it all with my mind, with my eyes. I tell him Yeah man. Doin’ good. Doing real real good. I think I’m figuring it out. Thanks for being here.

     But apparently he doesn’t hear what I said. “Joey?” he says. “You there bud? What’s goin on? Everyone’s moving onward. Come on, let’s go.”