Purple Pill

 

Purple Berries

 

It was a largish purple pill. Purchased for ten dollars, as mescaline, that spiritual, cacti derived hallucinogen. But what was it, really? I took a swig from my canteen and swallowed it. I was tucked into a sheer cliff crevasse, a few feet below an overhang, just off the Appalachian Trail, next to Loft Mountain campground. I leaned over and peered down to the forest floor, 100 vertical rocky feet below. It was a warm, late autumn afternoon, peak leaves. I waited.

We were camping at relatively flat topped Loft Mountain, William, Wayne and I, sleeping in tents and the back of my Chevy van.  It was our favorite spot in the Shenandoah National Park. It was not then a busy campground. This permitted certain activities to be unobserved, hence, part of its allure.  I was seventeen.

I had a panoramic view to the south. Only visible were mountains, valleys, water gaps, and the forest. The sun was warm, there was a gentle breeze. I was secure in my hole, my back against the spine of the mountain.

 

Discrete cumulus cloud shadows drifted silently across the forest below and beyond. Breezes pushed up the valleys, rippling the leaves and limbs in a polychromic avalanche up the gaps, with swirls and flame-like eddies spinning into the hills. It was achingly beautiful, and peaceful. I was enveloped by natural beauty in front, solid and secure in back. Above, lapis sky, breathing shimmering forest floor far down below. I was alone, but I was not.

 

Much later, the sun touched the top of the mountain to my southwest. I carefully ascended to the trail above, collected my friends, and headed towards our campsite through the woods. Once out of sight of the trail, we became disoriented. The distorted camp sounds that we were guided by, wood being chopped, indistinct chatter, cooking utensil clanging, echoed and reverberated all around. We stopped, regrouped, and emerged in the campground, red faced and feeling somewhat foolish. We stayed close to the campsite that night.

I have had only two spiritual experiences, thus far. One was when I crossed over the rim of the Grand Canyon for the first time. Was it the altitude? The other was at Loft Mountain. Mescaline?

I visited Loft Mountain's cliffs recently, 55 years later, as I do occasionally. The forest floor has grown  up towards the overhang, the view somewhat diminished. It was almost a lifetime ago, but like yesterday. I no longer feel comfortable climbing down below that overhang. And I no longer feel comfortable taking a pill with unknown effects. But if you handed me that same purple pill now, I would swallow it.

Say, can I have some of your purple berries?
          Yes, I've been eating them for six or seven weeks now, haven't got sick once
Probably keep us both alive

Wooden Ships CSN and Y

 

Wick Hunt