The full moon resembled a flashlight on high beam from a punctured hole through a dark sheet on the corner of the ceiling of the sky. I knew immediately when the psilocybin kicked in that I was behind the scenes of another dimension. The shadows behind the iconic lone rock were painted perfectly in the dried up lake to help to give the full illusion that the moon was illuminescent. The air had stopped and nothing moved around except for the two ravens that had observed my entrance (Steve and Tabitha). I had no doubt they were there to welcome me backstage, the behind the scenes staging of tomorrow’s dawn. My companion had turned gray and sat stoically still in his chair, the painted shadows from his hoodie had hidden his eyes from my sight to give him a statuesque appearance with a bright red checker pattern from his wool coat because well red is the most outstanding color this cold evening. Both of his knees were glowing like hot pink globes. The surgically repaired one much more vibrant than it’s counterpart telling me that the dimmer one was not far behind from failing him. “You can see the ceiling behind the stars.”- I told him. The stars were hanging like cheap dorm string lights linked together in tangled strands under a gray patio umbrella, blinking in small chaotic bursts. You could sense something curiously staring down at you behind the canopied stars. A large simbiotic being holding the umbrella just right to keep the lights in their mise en place. The Big and Little Dipper pulsated like illuminated red and yellow rapid heartbeats into their webbings to the other stars, electric currents synapsing their high ceiling frequencies around the universal patio umbrella.

One of the ravens made a flutish sound and then cackled. Their understanding of my predicament was a brief moment of bonding. I flipped back and began to notice that not only did the wind not exist here but neither had the seasonable cold weather. The dimensional temperature seemed ideal. I felt neither hot or cold beneath my 2 layers of desert evening lounging outfit. I immediately flipped back and pointed to the RV across the plains “I dont trust that camper”- I said to my companion. “Stay away from it. It doesn’t belong here”- I said casually without explanation. He followed me around our campsite, as if he was mentally recording my thoughts and findings. “Here is our peremiter” – pointing to the bare earth. I can see the yellow bouncing coils, like a old antique mattress, curving around our campsite, towards the dried up lake. “As long as we stay inside here we are good.” I offered no logic it didn’t seem necessary. I must’ve flipped again because under my feet were earth colored legos, patched together to form a synthetic floor that stretched for acres under the flashlight beam. Our campsite looked like the drop setting of a Kubrick directed moon landing. My rooftop tent trailer strongly resembling the Apollo 11 Command Module with it’s own freshly painted moon shadow. The window from the untrustworthy RV across dried up lake was lit up like an old palm reader’s travel cart. “Don’t go near that that fucking thing” I said out loud. As I walked back towards the command module the yellow translucent coils surrounding our camp began to pulsate into a dream weaver rhythm that resembled the one I had bought for my daughter at a roadside Navajo market. In the corner of my eye I could occasionally see something standing beside me with it’s arms crossed. “Did the Navajos really used to stand like this?” – I thought to myself. “Or are all those fucking cartoons I used to watch making me stereotype?” As if on cue Steve the raven cackled at me (or maybe it was Tabitha).

“This isn’t suppose to be here” I said to myself, pointing in the direction of the reservoir. “This campsite, this lake, even the water doesn’t want to be here… and fuck that RV (the bad one) over there” – I casually mentioned as I continued my walk around the perimeter.

My Scout trailer had transformed into a traveling gypsy carriage, with its awning stretched from one side to the other casting a dark shadow from the full moon (flashlight beam). The filament of the trailer’s latern flickered causing it to look like bubbles from a jar of illuminated liquid, holding some old, preserved organ, a lung perhaps from a deformed monkey. The music pouring out of the little camper Bluetooth would go from Hozier’s – Work Song to something along the same beat but muffled and fused into a bad Bollywood romance movie.

I had drank my mushroom tea on an empty stomach and started to feel nauseous. I grabbed a bag of sliced Turkey and had begun shoving it in my mouth, large handfuls of Boars Head’s finest hickory smoked chub and chased it with water from my glowing Nalgene. The Navajos would frown upon me chucking on their land and seeing as I was surrounded by them on the outer banks of my Lego floored perimeter, I thought it wise not to upset them.

I began to walk around the perimeter once again. My companion had chosen not to join me this this time. He was dimensions away from me at this time and was probably tiring of my psilocybin play by play. I once again looked up at the desert’s skyline and saw that the umbrella did not exist facing southeast. There was no ceiling or end. I could see past the blinking lights and it was breathtaking. Behind the stars I could see more stars. Behind those I could see more and more. They were all moving like multicolored glitter in a slow boiling motion. Each star giving off its own vibrant emotion. I stared at the cosmos unblinking until I could feel my eyes water. If there is a heaven I had just looked upon it. There was an unsettling yet comforting feeling of the cosmos pulling me into it. It made light speed in the Millennium Falcon look like an Atari 2600 graphic. In my mind an inner voice suddenly shrieked “STOP” and I looked away. “You aren’t meant to see that yet” -my mind reprimanded me and I obeyed immediately without seeking an explanation.

I decided to climb into my Apollo tent trailer and turn in for the night. As I wrapped myself up in my sleeping bag cocoon, my sleeping quarters resembled a backstage closet used for props. The full moon was so bright it shown through my thick tent canvas and I watched shadows dance on the ceiling. I could hear movement outside the tent. It sounded like someone or something walking around, dragging a bum foot. My friend had already turned in and by the sounds of his snoring it seemed improbable that he was scuffling around the tent. “It’s just the imps” -I said to myself. “They are moving the props around for the next morning”. I should’ve found this frame of thinking as odd considering I’d never been introduced to an imp nor had I ever seen or even heard of them. It moved slowly around the trailer, it’s one gimp leg dragging behind it. You could hear the occasional grunt as it struggled to move whatever prop that needed to be relocated for the next act. My Smittybilt rooftop tent was an inter dimensional prop closet and I was trying to fall asleep during intermission purgatory. I fought the urge to warn my friend not to shoot the imp if he heard it. He didn’t know imps like I knew them. It was just trying to it’s thankless job.

The wind outside of my tent blew hard when I layed on my left side and wouid stop when I turned right. “Stay right if you want the wind to stop”- my inner voice said and I did and with that the howling wind stopped. There’s no sleep with psilocybin. My mind was watching multiple short films and would occasionally find a show it liked. Occasionally I would sit up to manage my wits and listen to the imps outside. At one point my tent expanded into a long hallway with dark wooden 70s paneling, scattered with low wattage bulbs with exposed broken fillaments. In the middle of hallway there appeared a robotic mechanism with discombobulated moving parts made up of cogs, wheels, cams, struts, pistons and other mechanical pieces barely held togeher by nothing more than tumultuous motion. It’s colors resembled that of a modern day Iron Man armor. It danced sporadically around the narrow hallway like an unbalanced spinning top, lightly bouncing off the walls as it touched. This contraption was literally chaos itself. It harmlessly strutted around me like it was waiting for me to confront it. “I need balance” it told me although I’m not sure exactly how it was conveyed to me. Whether it was through my mind or I could read it’s language through it’s chaotic motion it was asking me to solve its puzzle as while it gyred next to me. I was staring at universal chaos and it was requesting a restart. There were no buttons, knobs or pulleys to help with the solution. “What balances the universe?” -it spun to me in it’s mechanical language. The word came from nowhere and without thought almost like it was scripted. I looked at the mass of moving parts and whispered the word “love.” As I spoke the word all the cogs, wheels, cams, pistons, struts of the being stopped moving. Like the sound of giant garage door rolling shut, the bewildered machine quickly formed into a solid v shaped shield. It’s little humming motor stopped and let out a small decompressing hiss. I woke up to the sounds of Steve and Tabitha cackling at the sunrise.