Days in the woods, waiting...

A ritual is an Elixer

its production

an act of consumption

a medicine show man

stuck on eutopian

a dream that is (PLACE)

or is it searching? simply

alchemical traces of mind

making promises in ritual

to stay

for now resisting

feelings to flea forever

there are mere moments

where a silence and still thought

takes over, starting at my fingers first freezing

and forming a clearing

instant-sense like first spark to Salvia Apiana

searching with the witching rod

the flow of this earth holds tight

for the rushes will inevitably flow

O is for Occultism

for Otto Edler

for Over-man

under which we

look left and right

when

my eyes search daily

for basidiomycota AHA's!

In the surrounding woods

my comfort

after 4

still covered in smears of house paint

smiling at the rain

and leaves showering down

tinging my cap

and readying dikarya

I start

growing the beard of Hericium Erinaceus

bearing the teeth of Hyndnum Repandum

and glow like Omphalotus Olearius

to blend in

never let the woods suspect your entry

I'm learning to love

the alone

a sense

forbidden by most

internally uncontrollable

absorbed by few

when surrounded by so many deaths

this comic nature turns

to a sense of organic urgency

meet me where the mushrooms grow

my fallen loves

and we shall feast

never under a god, but a totum

only representing you

my dearly departed

as above

so below