poetry

The Mushroom Spoke Again: In Dialogue with Terence McKenna. {poetry}

Terence McKenna: “Somehow I was finding out that thing that you cheerfully assume you can’t find out. But it felt like I was finding out. And it felt… and then I can’t remember what it felt like because the little self-transforming tykes interrupted me and said, “Don’t think about it. Don’t think about who we are… Think about doing what we’re doing. Do it! Do it! DO IT NOW!!!”

And what they meant was use your voice to make an object. And as I understood, I felt a bubble kind of grow inside of me. And I watched these little elf tykes jumping in and out of my chest; they like to do that to reassure you. And they said, “Do it.” And I felt language rise up in me that was unhooked from English, and I began to speak…”

Me: Sometimes I forget my essence, which is everything but material.
Sometimes reality makes me forget the things that took much time to comprehend.
Somehow it comes back to me, the forbidden knowledge.
And the elves in the garden start developing voices.
And the mushroom speaks again.
And then colors prevail, images of distant realms,
Walls melted down by passion,
You feel it in your heart, you know it, the voice of your Master,
Uttering what you cannot bring to reason,
Uttering yet most familiar phrases,
Using the most suitable voice,
Whispering (sort of) things already known,
But forgotten:

Myself: amongst my selves 
my gentle nature rests 
and the soul restores itself in silence 
quietly, quietly 
and the emptiness of nothingness 
starts to reveal 
entities of exquisite kind
unreachable, untouchable 
seen behind closed eyes 
praised, revealed 
with something beautiful 
coming from a fair distance 
unheard before
but felt somehow 
from deep within 
and so familiar —
the mouth opens 
sounds escape 
and silence gets broken 
into most profound melody —
the music of poetry:

The mushroom (through me): They used to be androgynous,
but they learnt how to speak —

now they can say how much it hurts
when one of the sexes runs away from its own ending — 
its own self, 

(for which it actually yearns all of its life   
in order to be whole again); 

so they detached and carved painfully in stone:
now there is You 
and now there is Me 
now we are loneliness…

all of his life the man is in search of his woman,  
the woman… of her man, 
we are androgynous indeed 
happy only as one — 

fortunate is the one who finds the missing piece —
the other sex of the Self;

unfortunate are those suffocated by loneliness
becoming greedy and forever demanding:
“I want more, I want everything,
give me more, give me everything —
give me that which is not mine !”

Terence McKenna: “We have been to the moon, we have charted the depths of the ocean and the heart of the atom, but we have a fear of looking inward to ourselves because we sense that is where all the contradictions flow together…

… What blinds us, or what makes historical progress very difficult, is our lack of awareness of our ignorance.”

The mushroom (singing): And Ignorance Is Bliss.

***

Viola Damjanovski is from Skopje, Macedonia. She writes and translates poetry and short stories, and loves the avant-garde and unordinary. While she was young, Viola used to sing in a goth-psychedelic band (part of the bands consisting the first Macedonian Rock Encyclopedia). She has published short stories and poetry online under a pseudonym, and loves words, music, paintings, and everything out of the ordinary.

***

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