The sun sets over North Finchley, as the smog of London is cured by orange haze, the sound of grinding traffic and the rush of the streets melts away as the three of us walk deeper into the forested sanctuary atop of the hill. Reaching our spot we sit in a circle amongst a cluster of huddling oak trees, where we see the falling sun slip behind the silhouetted towers of the city below.
One of my friends is a new acquaintance, Indee, whom I’ve been learning about spirituality with intimately and grown quite fond of. She doesn’t partake but is here with us anyhow. Friend number two passes me his wooden pipe packed with Changa (DMT leaf) and offers me the go around first which I happily accept.
Firing the bowl once and twice, I keep my eye of focus on the smoldering embers inside the pipe, sucking in a good lung full. Immediately it feels like I’m taken up into a very high vibrational field, it’s hyper energized frequencies made tangible by incredibly fast movement of molecules and energy flying all around in the air, I couldn’t focus on any one part even if I tried. Suddenly, I feel the familiar crumple in my chest as I lean forwards and look down at the surrounding grass which has morphed into mandalas which periodically zoom towards me. (Months later in Germany, I come across the exact same mandala as an art piece titled ‘The Flower of Life’). The surging symbols cause me to look away at the setting sun, tucking it’s head under the covers of the horizon to escape the rushing intensity.
The respite doesn’t last because something moves to block my field of vision. Who’s there? The trees?! Yes, the trees are alive and yes, they’re bending themselves into my field of vision, as if to say “Look here! Don’t miss this!” With a mixture of awe and curiosity, I give them my attention and look for a moment. They have big open, black hollow mouths in the middle of their dry, cracked trunks like old mans skin. Their big bushy leaves look like mad professors hair as they sway from side to side like sea weed drifting underwater. Their so old, all of them. Ancient beings from a long time ago, wanting to be noticed or understood perhaps I don’t know.
My gaze sweeps over them from right to left until my it turns upward where one of the greatest sights I’ve ever seen until now was materializing. The canopy of the trees above snaked together and somehow formed the shape of a perfect Buddha sitting in lotus position adorned with a huge glowing chakra (circle of energy) behind. A shining Buddha made from tree branches, imagine that! I had nothing else to do but put my hands together and bow out of reverence and love for this symbol. I had no choice, it was automatic.
Inside my inner universe, I see a projected image of Indee, whom I like a lot, dressed in jeans, a white top and red and green headscarf standing beside a ‘little me’ sitting on the edge of the pavement. She goes to pick me up and the projection zooms towards our hands clasped together. A symbol of unity. A this instant I hear footsteps approaching, crunching on the fallen leaves behind. Oh no, I thought we were alone… I dare a peek but don’t see anybody. (I’m still not able to explain that part.)
Eyes closed again, my inner space has a hue of indigo as I see a two dimensional image of a young man and woman’s face gravitating towards one another, hearts spilling from a golden white fountain at it’s center. When the faces meet I break out into a smile and feel a warm glow in my chest, I watch myself exclaiming;
“It is our Divine right to become Love itself”
The rushing dimension of space starts to zoom backwards as I feel like I am returning to the normal states of consciousness. With the final shimmering of light and flashes of stars I hear the penetrating call of the Crow sing “Caw! Caw! Caaw!” I feel like it’s rasping song is reaching from the treetops into the core of my being, the timing perfect as always.
It is said by Native Americans that they are the messengers from the void, the source of creation. They are both feared and revered for their shape shifting abilities and mysterious powers. Magic is in store for the one who hears the call. But what kind? Something wonderful or something wicked? Time will tell.
Walking out of the woods in returned sobriety, I watch and listen out for the crows but hear nothing. Only the sound of crumbling crispy leaves is heard from under our ambling feet. We follow our friends light navigating the now dim passage ways through the trees until we hit the road again and head for the warm glow of the apartment for tea.