Time for me to purge again.


I feel so mellow today. As a writer I fear that calm is the death of passion. What have I got to say if I'm not thrashing around like a caged animal? Maybe I'm just medicated. No, well...yes. I am medicated. But I also have Jesus. I know that he's there, striving for me, reaching to me regardless of my resistance. Knowing that changes everything in me.

So much has happened to me in the last week that feel urgently relevant to my trajectory toward God. I hesitate to make an attempt at capturing it all. I would hate to cheapen the things my savior has shown me in trying to bottle it in a blog entry. I will try anyway because in the broad view God has shown that he will not be cheapened, cannot be cheapened.

I ate some mushrooms about a week ago. I had hoped that I would achieve some renewed sense of God. I wanted to feel like I had a handle on the events that were shaping my existence. My grandma dying and and my hatred for my father may have been catalyst. Also feeling like a demon in disguise. So I ate the drugs, plunging into the depths of whatever was there.

It started out really nice. I felt emotionally lucid, like I could express love or hatred to anyone without flinching. I felt like the weight of my soul was finally connected to my consciousness. The words that came out of my mouth dripped with meaning and sincerity. But then came the reckoning that I would soon sober up. Morning was only eight hours away. I had grabbed for a something that would not last. This wasn't right. I started to feel sick. I went in the bathroom and tried to make myself vomit the drugs. They wouldn't come, so I curled on the floor and hollered at my friend in the living room that I was scared.

Some time later I emerged from the bathroom and decided bed was the best place for me, as if I could sleep. The next thing I remember was screaming and trying to claw my way under my bed. My friend (who will remain unnamed for his privacy) tried to pull me out, then I bolted for the kitchen. What happened in my mind was a determination to execute the urge in my soul: surrender to destruction. I felt as though my body and soul were crinkling into a twisted pile of metal. What happened from my friend's perspective was that I dove for the wall above my stove scattering the tea boxes and spices to the floor. I claimed that I was "coming through the wall" and in my mind I felt as though I had to. He pulled me down and tried to restrain me, and I slithered out of his arms to the ground. Then in intervals I wailed out a primal scream. I felt inside I was being challenged to expression. I engaged the call. Then I was spent and returned to my bed.

As I laid there things started to loop. I pulled my face under my covers, rubbed my nose, looked over at a book called "Loving God", then at the guitar cable hanging off my amplifier, then I sat up and spoke to my friend. Then the loop would begin again. Each time, though it was infinitely different than the last and terribly fascinating. In my mind names and faces flew through and I spoke them at random. At this point I lost touch with reality severely.

Names and images from my past, intermingled with images from a book called "Clan of the Cave Bear" all congealed into a panorama of bliss. I heard music and created it as I wanted, feeling as though it was an extension of my soul. Then things got weird. I started blurting out everything I could imagine, uninhibited, surrendering to the perversion that gripped me. All I can remember is that it had to do with penises and vaginas, and it made me feel so incredibly daring at the moment and later overwhelmingly soiled and guilty. In the bliss of the moment I was somehow lead to believe that the Kingdom of Heaven had arrived and the way I felt was the culmination of my long-suffering faith. I thought, I have waited so long and this is so unexpected, of course it is real. At long last Jesus has returned and I am never going to suffer again.

I laid there believing that the Kingdom of God was really upon me, within me. I felt as though I was at last made one with God. I felt music flow through me and I was creating the beauty I had sold myself to. I let go entirely. I remember at some point my friend standing over me, speaking. I must have tried to explain to him that God had established his dominion and our faith was finally vindicated. Then I felt a warm wetness between my legs and the pleasure of release. I had peed.

I believed that nothing could invade the peace and joy that was mine. I really committed to the thought that there would be no more tears, no more pain. This is the only way I can gesture toward the emptiness the surfaced when the piss in my bed started getting cold. I got up and wandered to the bathroom, stripped and sat down in my bathtub. The water was too hot, then too cold and the light too bright, but the dark too empty. There was no comfort and the illusion shattered. I started crying.

I gave up on the shower and tried to sleep on the floor, avoiding the mess in my bed, but then returned to my filth. I laid again in my bed hoping to warm the urine soaked mattress to fall asleep.

Sleep would not come. Crying quietly for my fear and shame, trying not to wake my friend, I stared at the dark wall. I rose, dressed myself and told my friend I had to leave. Wrapped in a blanket, I set off in to freezing night, tears streaming steadily, blurring my vision as I stumbled along.

To be continued....

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