The first day we took 1 gram of silly shrooms, and headed up a path to a distant falls, intending to find wild mushrooms, especially amanita muscaria, the main reason we had come. Before long we left the path and headed straight up the mountainside. Then the shrooms came on. I had to sit down for a few minutes to get my legs again. I began to feel as if I were an extension of the forest floor, in fact, I began having a telepathic rapport with the trees and the Arabian carpet of wildly tendrilled life that swarmed beneath my feet. Unlike Nevada which has an austerity of life, the forest floor here is crunchy with mildewing civilizations morphing into each other. I could hear the voice of the forest welcoming me back to my roots. I hung onto a tree and noticed how smooth its bark was, sensual, with elegant markings pregnant with runic meaning. It had a feminine spirit and she soothed me. I had an intimate conversation with her, and when I left, I was engaged to her! I hope some angry tree nymph won't haunt me down.
Unlike my normal life which is acted out somewhat as a onlooker drifting through the veils, here I was vibrantly part of an enormous living beingness. As I walked, I let the forest reach up and place my feet and guide my direction, following a shaft of light or lichen marking on a rock. The trees informed me that they knew where all the amanitas were, since they are all part of each other. I was no longer goal oriented, but content to flow thru the woods moment by moment, high above the path below whereon we would hear from time to time the monkey chatter, guffaws, and clumsy gruntings of passing humanoids.
And so, letting the forest guide us, John and I stumbled upon a hidden treasure: the hideaway of a recluse, commonly called a "woodsie." A number of people secretly carry in building materials and create their own little Walden. We were amazed at this one, which must have taken many trips to carry in and build. It was covered with camouflage netting to blend in with the leaves, had its own little propane heater inside, and we could see through the windows a well-equipped library. On the door was posted "Think Good Thoughts" (a plea to possible home invaders?) and below that, the preamble by Thoreau. This was the highpoint of that day's trip; I felt that the forest had shared one of its secrets with us.
Go on to Gathering of Mushrooms