This Is The Mad Dream of A Revolutionary

It was marvelous.

I was there that night - with Donoma and Abby Hunter. They were a very strange group and there were several ways to perceive the "trouble" Donoma got in.

I could understand it. It made perfect sense to me. One cannot profane the sacred "god of the elite" without suffering some sort of richochet. There will always be a yin to the yang.

My interest lies in the results only. Yes, it was a pharmalogical experiment. The combination I refer to as "The Diviner's Weed " (a mixture of salvia divinorum and cannabis) was by no means invented by me, but by Natura. The arrangement only came through this willing vessel.

Donoma mumbled something about dualism and the non-material mind. While I shared his optimism and hope for the future, my dismissal of his mystical ramblings came at the same rate with which they came out of mouth.

Anxious to leave the vicinity and secure our funds for the journey ahead, I broke the monotony and declared that we must leave. Donoma and Abby were disoriented, caught up in the holy moment, and stared straight through me ... blankly.

The groans of ecstasy came through their bodies and they begin to dance in a ritualistic form. I was genuinely caught up in their movements for what seemed to be hours, but were, in reality, only seconds.

"Indian sunrise...Panama Red before the dark blue fades to dawn..."

"Morning, Morning Glory; seeds, weed, twelve dreams at half speed..."

As we arrived at the motel I sat on the edge of the bed, exhausted. I rested my head on the pillow and stared out at the reflection of the blinking sign on the wall.

Sitting in a strange motel, devouring sugarcubes and waiting for another "Indian sunrise."

The darkness then faded to technicolor.

"That's it!" I thought, "The Technicolor Revolution." Perhaps it will be televised after all.