Tag Archives: ethnobotany

Dreaming into being

              

                   you know                                            
                                 that you’re dreaming             


you thought this
                                               was going to end


you’re falling
                                                                  
    in


like a gust picked up
out of nowhere
     blowing through 
until it’s               hollow
         lit up like a        leaf                                                                 
    undulating
              steady                 then it pours
             the recension                    is boundless
                    it’s breath                    we start to see it
      through the fog
the universe became                          geometric
                    it’s lower energy           non-existence


We sat on the outskirts
of the surface—we sat there
                            with the        flashlight
                                      in our one good eye


the onset of a storm on the river
  on a sunny day                                 the dark cloud
arcing                     you return to shore
  it 
              starts to whirl a calm
    reminder not to stray too far
off the path
                                                             your ions
                                                                     blink
                                                from the dayless
                              oxygen raft
upstream—can’t say
what you          will find
                                                  it’s there
       muffled between        a      once in a lifetime
                             window                           if you

something wasn’t right—

                                                   wires were crossed
       at the edge of the universe
we couldn’t control it—it was showing us
a way out—


We’d get all harmonic—             we’d start ringing
                          —we’d shut ourselves off in silence
          just to twist the knob in rhythm
with it—                         you could hear it
                                                       clicking
             slapping piercing quartz bowls
                           that would morph
                                        volume and shift pitch—
we were always looking for that frequency
until it became us—how could we forget
                                 what was lost & found
                                                by the oak tree—
                                                     by the waters
 beating
behind your silent
          voice breathes through me—
   it’s the pulse that’s strung
through the steady gentle
                              groove
we mapped it out—we
lost it—                                                   we found it
                                            trickling quicksilver
                                                      onto the tongue
                                         hand tingles red
                                                raw skin on tight skin
                                            the sound of a djembe
                                     coming out of your
                                            ghostnoted face
                to set the depth-charge
   in our perception—
our entire life gone
out the window—
                               a circle that looks like a line—
                      it echoes back and forth
                                         into something else
you need to go deeper
into it—you need to
never come back—


in cells we sit in ceremony—
your whole entire plan
was an arpeggio—
we mapped it out
                        remember—we saw it coming
                        from a mile away—we smiled
as it built upon itself
like a spiral staircase
         into nothing
     we kept getting                                                
 
    lost in                       valves
      vortices               made of reeds
      (sunlight)              never touched this place
once                 not until we dug          ourselves
into the cold            wet               earth
 warm                            with gravity      it spun—

the moths were coming back—


we watched these doors open
and close for so long stepping
into one became as natural
                     as 
slowly rising


                 words in 12 gauge birdshot
           ricochet off the shiny flat     surface
    of the  universe     I can’t believe
      we’re here—I can’t believe
            we’re dying—

                                                    minispherical
                            flowers made of movement—
                                handheld little milkdrops…


you’re the texture—the pattern
      overlayed over everything we
thought we were—you wondered
      why it was there—I was looking into you
                                and at you
                 clay plastic angel
              organskin complexion  by starlite
we mapped it out—remember
do you see                       what I mean—
             a fragment of               lightning
           on a small metal merrygoround
        at the park without the horses

                                or standing on the edge
                                           of dawn like a prism


cloudy morning drone
with a voice like a waterfall
                            something stirs in a tomb
someone let the light in
                hit a mirror
                                                  another mirror


two of them
would come
at the same time
           it was only
in their oneness
      would the two tones
start warbling—line up
            fill the stone walled rooms
of the heart with this phase
                      recognized only by the difference
between them as seeing them
                                                                     as one
tibetan throat singing monks
sat in the circle
smoking rustica opium datura oleander
and hashish out of a single piece—
     their neighbors
                 down the road
                             making mandalas in the sand


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The tabernanthe

Sometimes you can
  see that
big wave
bumping up
  in the distance
coming for you

It’s up to you
  how you want
to catch it—If
you have the courage
  to catch it
at all

How could I say no then—
  I hardly walked
six months
before those capsules
  of root bark
were placed into my hands

How could I care
  that those with weak hearts
had already crossed over
at the dosage
  I was to eat—

You go in knowing this
  and within an hour
  the old you is gone
forever

Flooded out

That bitter metallic
  purging—the gravity—
motion sickness spinning
into the spiral
of everything that’s
  ever happened
on this planet

The sheer vividness
  of the visions / You
could hone in on
anything here specifically
like there was an
  earthbound threshold
applied to it’s living database—

It was realer than real

There were the
  Bwiti’s masks
up close
in my face—
the detail
woven into the dyed red
white fibers
  of the hemp
and the wood—

Smearing like oil
  flashing a deep blue
  ripple from every
moveless movement—

The wounded
  soldiers fighting
in the sandbox
unable to see
the way out—the endless
  wars by proxy
internalized—

The unpeeling
  of my own
everything—the darkest
  sense of peaceful
contempt—

It was as if harmalas
  were only half the story
like there was a point
where they break down 
and this is the only
ethnobotanical
that establishes itself
  on the scaffolding of
where they leave off

Fully submerged like
  you’re underwater / in
a liquid dream
electric—lightning
bolts strike
the water of your
dancing eyes
an almost religious bliss
  one could never imagine
possible without

All the things you’ve done /
  should have done /
should do

Mbira
  of the spirit—how melodic
we can be

The glass pipe packed
  with dense purple flowers—
a traditional synergy
in modern times—
it would last all night
  one grapey / woody
relaxation at a time

But flicking the lighter
was like breaking a prism

I remember laying
  in front of the fan
motionless
dissociated
feeling no pain
and flying
  all around the room
of everywhere and nowhere

It breaks down
  into psychoactive
pieces
the metabolite circulates
  for up to three months
the first time

You see it’s tracers
  flash when the sun rises
  the sun sets—reminding you
of how you got here

You feel it coaxing you
  to be the person
  you should be
and are now

And I never once
did look back

Except in awe
  at the power
of saying yes
  and no
at the same time


The sound

   Vaporizing harmine
  & harmaline all
blue and green

  We’d speed up
 pitch tempo and time
every night

   The powdery taste
  of their cherryish
boiling points

      The agents
     isolated
    from esphand
   to ward
  the evil
 eye

Of our time

   Who knocks
  on the door
 that hasn’t burned
the acrid seed

  I could
 feel myself
unlatching

   There at the crux
  of my departure
 was the potato-gun-like
sound

  This was all
standard procedure

   The cylindrical THWONK
  of something launching—
 something exploding—
beyond loud—

  Letting go
 into a crescendo
of lifetimes

  Awakening
 to a roulette
of new beginnings

Again and again


Provocateurs

                                                       Hey
     remember that time you
completely disappeared

       Where did you go

   I don’t know

they stood single file outside
of the window and the door
                                     as if they somehow knew

                those were the only ways in

or was it that perhaps they knew
                          that was where I had once been

you can smell the suaveolens
       the guacamole ataxia
                                                     the bloodred
                                                              walls

hang a lantern from an echo
                                    that was never even there

       what do you even say to that

dried nicotiana

sprinkled the kapala

in a bed of black seeds

as they came in one by one