Seeing Purple in the Park

When I take edibles, for the most part, I stay home where it's safe. I might walk around the neighborhood a little. A couple of weeks ago, I decided to try the drum circle in Liberty Park, where at least half of the people are also on drugs. It was farther from my home than I'd ever gone in such a state before, and the walk was stressful, as I kept worrying that I couldn't trust my eyes and might be hit by the cars or trains that appeared to be a block away. Then I got to the park and worried that someone would stab me. I'd probably be a great driver in that state because I was hyperaware of every potential threat. I'd thought I would participate in the drum circle, but I just watched. The cops showed up as I was walking away, and people started shouting some number that was obviously a warning about the cops, and I shouted it too because fuck the cops. Without knowing any context, I had no reason to assume they'd come for any reason but to harass someone much less dangerous than them for doing something harmless. Many of the people who gather there are on the outskirts of society, and probably sometimes it's because they're awful, but usually it's because society is awful. In this diverse community of weird people who like  music and drugs and look out for each other, I see the faces of God.

​Last week, I went back with less paranoia and more intention to participate. I still noticed people. For instance, I noticed a guy who looked a lot like me, beard and all, except that he was more handsome and his shirtless torso was a normal shape. I don't spend much energy worrying about my looks, but the fact that I could have looked like him if I'd been just a little luckier in the genetic lottery kind of bummed me out. But then my attention was monopolized by her. I'd noticed the attractive purple-haired girl dancing there before, at which point she already looked familiar; I think she may have been at the birthday party where we destroyed an ICE agent piñata, but I really don't know. I found her attractive on her own merits and not just because I like purple hair because it makes right-wing males lose their shit. Now, as she chatted with two friends in costumes with big wings for dancing, I really noticed her because edibles make everything more beautiful. They also had the side effect of convincing me to do something unwise that I wouldn't have even considered if I'd been in a more rational state. Yes, I decided to talk to her.

Inside the drum circle, a shrine of flowers and rocks had sprung up for some purpose I couldn't guess.

The purple-haired girl deposited a rock, then prostrated herself before the shrine. Then some old guy tossed a nickel on the grass behind her for whomever wanted it. I searched for a minute, but it had vanished, and I moved away from her so I wouldn't be creepier than necessary. (Note: this detail will be important later. The nickel, I mean, not me being creepy.) The old guy dumped several rocks on the shrine. I got a rock that I thought looked nice, and I thought asking the girl if I was allowed to put stuff on the shrine would be a good opening, but she was still busy worshipping, and the old guy was lingering, and I decided I should be a good person and try to make human connections with people I'm not attracted to, so I asked him instead. He said yes, and then he picked up his rocks one by one and showed me the fossils in them. He had little fish and what he claimed was a dinosaur vertebra.

The next time I noticed the purple-haired girl, she was holding a little burny thing and wafting the smoke over people's bodies one at a time. An even better opening! Whatever she was doing, there could be no harm in asking her to do it to me. In hindsight, the smoke could have been carcinogenic, but probably no more so than ordinary Salt Lake City air. I watched and waited patiently for her to finish with someone. She saw me looking and held out her burny thing with an inquisitive look. I nodded vigorously. She walked over, and I asked what she was doing while she did it. She said she was an energy healer who always knew what to say, and something about casting out negative energy. I think it was Reiki. I've seen some YouTube videos where a woman wafts smoke at the screen to make good things happen. She told me to stand with my feet apart, and she told me to lift them one at a time so she could waft under the soles, and of course I was more than happy to take orders from her.

This is the sort of thing that I don't believe in from a scientific perspective, but I'm not prepared to denounce it as bullshit because I've had a genuine healing experience with ThetaHealing, which I didn't have a strong belief in either but tried because my mom wanted me to. At a minimum, rituals have proven psychological benefits regardless of belief, and positive attention from beautiful women also has psychological benefits for some people, which it turns out can be very much amplified by certain drugs. She finished with me and moved on. Not that I was paying particularly close attention, but I saw her talking to a dozen other people, and I'm sure I didn't imprint myself into her brain with the force of a sledgehammer like she did into mine. I have no illusions about the nature of our interaction. But damn, it was nice.

I danced in the drum circle, but I suppose I started off tense and awkward, because after a couple of minutes, the purple-haired girl danced over to me and told me to relax and not worry about what people think. Outside of an emergency, I would never intentionally go into a woman's personal space and tell her what to do, but I wasn't mad. I told her I was brave because I was high. I had at least two reasons for sharing that - to absolve myself of responsibility for anything weird I said in my uncharacteristic confidence, and to put her at ease by letting her know that I was under the influence of something and therefore vulnerable. Oh, and part of me still thinks it's just funny to announce to anyone who will listen that I do drugs. Of course, she was just like, "That's understandable," totally unfazed. I told her she looked familiar and I wondered if we'd hung out with the same people, and she said maybe I'd been at one of her sermons, and I asked about her sermons, but she didn't hear me or intentionally changed the subject. I shared with her my feeling that most people there at the park would love me unconditionally while a small percentage would want to stab me. She affirmed the first part and said to let her know if there was anything she could do for me. I didn't even get her name.

I saw a friend from protesting, and because I was high, I went up and greeted him instead of avoiding him to recharge my introvert batteries. He invited me over to where a mutual friend I didn't know nearly as well was having a birthday party, much smaller and more low-key than the one where we destroyed an ICE agent piñata. I chilled with them and had some food, definitely not watching the purple-haired girl from a distance at any point, and then as it got dark, I helped them pick up. My friend handed me a bag full of earrings and stuff like that. As I took it from him, I let it slip and spill some stuff. When I picked the stuff up, guess what else was in my hand?

A nickel. A freaking nickel. I swear to God.

It occurred to me later that the nickel may have already been in the bag, which would mean that I stole it, but that's not how people typically carry loose change. At the time, it blew my mind, and I think it would have blown my mind even if I hadn't been high. While of course I have no proof and of course it could have been a coincidence, I don't think I'm at all unreasonable or psychotic for considering this a plausible sign from the universe - though of what, I haven't a damn clue.

I thought I would end the post there, but I held off so I could report on further developments without delay. Long story short, I thought about the purple-haired girl all week, then had anxiety for most of the day because I figured the next time I talked to her she would say she's pansexual and polyamorous and still not interested. That's the kind of thing that would happen to me. Having a great interest in spirituality, I sincerely wanted to learn from her, but the ulterior motive of finding her very hot made me conflicted. I showed up much earlier today despite the record-breaking heat, and an hour and a half later, during which time my keffiyeh made me two new friends, I saw her somehow looking even hotter now with her purple hair up. I left for a brief walk to calm my pounding heart because this time, against my better judgment, I'd come sober. I thought I should courageously face my fears without a crutch, and I thought she deserved to see my  personality without enhancements. (Feel free to say "Awwww.") Also, I just got high on Friday and didn't want to overdo it. I came back and waited my turn to talk to her again.

Two things stood out. First, I brought up the sermon thing again. Her explanation wasn't entirely clear - it sounded like she gives sermons to individuals, and other people just happen to show up and listen. She mentioned tarot card readings, and those, unlike Reiki, are something I consider bullshit. I presume she says things that apply to most people but still feel individualized, then has an excuse for why she pulls different cards if she does it a second time. Still, I'd be lying if I said she couldn't read my tarot cards whenever she wants. Anyway, she said that she believes everything is meant to happen and I was meant to say this to her, so now, solely because of me saying that to her, she'll start giving weekly public sermons for whomever shows up. I won't say when or where because even though nobody reads my blog, it would be just my luck for someone local to read my blog and then show up to embarrass me.

And what was the second thing? Oh yes, drugs. She again offered her assistance if I needed anything, but this time she specified that she grows mushrooms. I said I want to do mushrooms, but I want to be careful and not rush into it and have a bad experience. She shook her head and said that was a misconception, that people are scared of mushrooms, but mushrooms give them what they need, not what they want, and I needed to be confident and brave and get in touch with my "higher self," which is a concept I've heard and am agnostic about. I'm careful to phrase most of my spiritual beliefs as opinions, but most spiritual people, like most religious people, don't - and though she'd just done it with "I believe everything is meant to happen," that epistemological humility was a distant memory now. Anyway, she saw right through the courage I'd mustered up to talk to her and told me that I should do psilocybin microdoses for my anxiety. She said psilocybin would rebuild the neural pathways by all the (hypothetical) weed and alcohol I've ever had. indicated one of the people she was hanging out and liberally smoking weed with - a man who may have been her boyfriend, though he seemed a little old for her - and told me of the miracles psilocybin had done for his memory after being shot in the head.

She gave me a capsule that she claimed was a psilocybin microdose to get started. It was transparent and full of powder that looked like sand, which reminded me of a John Oliver segment I watched recently about unregulated gas station drugs that contain all kinds of random shit in God knows what doses. I thought I'd put it in my pocket and then maybe or maybe not ever consume it, but she said I needed to take it right now. Before I could stall, she put it in my mouth herself. Then she put her water bottle in my mouth to wash it down. I mean, she didn't overpower me. I could have easily punched her in the face. I didn't because she was hot. No, I am not proud of myself.

I figured whatever happened to me after that was her responsibility, so if I had the worst experience of my life because I couldn't say no to a hot woman who smiled at me, she'd have to guide me through it. I figured if I died, oh well, it had to happen sooner or later. All the capsule did was lower my cortisol levels and make me a little happier, like she said it would. That was fine, but jeez. Outside of an emergency, I would never make a woman ingest a drug. Now I also feel like a douche for being excited to share this story because it's one of the more interesting things that's happened to me. It wasn't exactly something I imagined when I tried to calm myself by objectively reviewing the best and worst probable outcomes of talking to her. And as much as I brag about doing drugs and being a bad boy, I'm still so sheltered that when someone in the drum circle offered me a weed cigarette, I declined because I thought it was tobacco. It's probably for the best that I didn't mix ingredients on my first try of psilocybin anyway.

At last I got the purple-haired girl's name (though she didn't ask mine), and of course it matched her face perfectly and was the only name she ever could have had. Anyway, I need someone to make me less lonely before I end up in a cult, please and thank you.

Entirely Unrelated Picture from Liberty Park this Evening