Life psychedelic

Life psychedelic.

There are no strangely brightly colors, no displacement of images to point out that our experiences are extraordinary.

The deep meaning eludes us because the sun shines the same in the Bronx, in Fayetteville, San Pedro Sula, Itaewon, and in Montevideo.

There are few mystics to cue us that what seems common place, and hence boring, is actually magic from infinity.

We are given threads of boredom and we tie them together skillfully into a predictable and dull occurrence.

With ink of boredom, we write our magical lives into non-consequential events. We write ourselves into workers and consumers. 

Through the veils we weave, we blind ourselves to the very nature of the universe in which we exist.

We follow an order, A leads to B, and B leads to C, and quite naturally we find ourselves where we are. One thing led to another, and the awesome logic of the universe, which has nothing to do with our crude common sense, escapes us.

But we are wrong, and even if the psychedelic portion of it escapes us, it is a psychedelic life, an awareness expanding life.