Psychedelics and Photography

The two really go hand in hand.

I have a girlfriend that is an amazing artist, not only in her professional life, but in her personal life and within her relationships as well. This woman cans food and makes blueberry ketchup and dried fruits and jams and most importantly.... chocolate. The best chocolate truffles I've ever had were made by her. She has a gift with chocolate. She makes truffles with all sorts of essences and flavors and textures, like her chambord truffles with chopped hazelnuts on the exterior, or her milk and honey truffles that, once you break through the hard tempered outer shell, explode into your mouth and melt without being runny or sticky.

One of my favorites are her habanero lime truffles. They are regular ganache on the inside, with a tempered outer shell and pressed into the top are pieces of candied lime peel and a small piece of candied habanero pepper. There is even a special way to eat these: You don't just shove them into your mouth. You pick up your truffle, take the tiny piece of habanero off the top and pop it into your mouth. You let the flavor of the pepper and the heat seep into your whole mouth, until you can't take it anymore, then you eat the rest of the truffle, letting the cream in the ganache kill the heat in your mouth and replace it with smooth lime/chocolate. Not only is the flavor absolutely incredible but the experience as a whole is unforgettable.

This particular girl happens to not partake in most "normal" substances, such as alcohol, tobacco, or marijuana. She instead prefers, on very rare occassions, to partake in psilocybin mushrooms. She believes (as do I) that if done in a controlled amount, in the right environment, hallucinogens can be very beneficial for reconnecting with people, reality, nature, and just the world in general. A few years ago she decided that, with my help, we would make the ultimate treat. A hallucinogenic chocolate truffle. The whole thing went off with much success and has become somewhat of a yearly ritual. Recently, she and another friend decided that a truffle party was in order.

The party was great, although I have to admit, I'm not one to be around large groups of people in that state of mind. So after wandering through a forest of sparkling diamonds on the perigee moon on an amazingly clear night for a few hours, I decided to take myself and one other person downtown to walk and talk and take photos.

Now I don't consider myself anything more than a hobbyist when it comes to photography, but I took some pretty incredible pictures considering I had no tripod and was using cars/railing/my friend's shoulder/tables to take flashless pictures.

And, as I'm a Libra and feel the need to relate everything to my relationships with people, not only did I have an amazing time with my friend "Patchouli" but ran into an ex..... no not just an ex.... the ex... and for the second time since we broke up 5 years ago, I felt ok about seeing him. The butterflies were less pronounced and (maybe it was the mushrooms) but I felt like we were both finally moving past our awkwardness.

Yay for hallucinogens.

Yay for photos of friends eating ice off trees.

Yay for something way better than winter blues.

My Welcome Distraction

To follow up on the last entry.... (which I should probably do, seeing as how not even many of my close friends know what I've been up to the past couple of weeks)... We move from one man to the next.

So my next relationship begins where the previous ends.

Dave drives away, leaving me to cry in my car.

Note:
-Anyone who knows me is well aware that I'm not a big crier. Some women are. I'm not. I attribute it to the emotional torment that my older brother Dylan bestowed upon me as a young girl. I learned how to cry upon command so I could keep him from hitting me, or just to get him into trouble as a form of revenge. Then, throughout my preteen and early teen years, I did so much hormonal crying that I think I may have gone through most of my reserves for the remainder of my lifetime. Sometimes I really really want to cry, but instead my stomach just cramps up and I get a pained expression on my face. When I'm really upset, sometimes I'll even try to think about horribly depressing things just to see if it affects me more, but it usually doesn't.
The exception to my general rule of no crying is my mother. This woman has the capability to make me sob when I feel like i'm otherwise generally happy. It takes her just asking casually if I'm ok for the floodgates to open. My poor mom. I know she worries about my emotional state sometimes because she tends to see the worst of it all. Little does she know that around everyone else I'm so un-emotional that my girlfriends complain about it. -

I call my mom first thing as he drives away and sure enough, as soon as I hear her voice, my own starts to tremble. I give her a quick play by play of the drama and then can't deal anymore, so I get off the phone. At this point I'm pretty upset, and to make it worse, it's beautiful outside. The stars are shining and all I want is to be standing outside leaning into Dave's arms looking up at the sky. I start to panic a little, because the crying is coming again so I start to do the phone scroll.

For anyone who doesn't know what a phone scroll is, let me explain:
This is a tactic used by many in times of boredom, panic, lonlieness, or if you just feel like you wanna step outside the box. You take your cell phone and, instead of dialing any of the numbers that you normally would, you start to scroll down your phone book until you find someone that fits whatever criteria you've got going on in your head.

My phone takes awhile to scroll. I have about 250 phone numbers and a large majority of those I only call when networking, partying, need a booty call, need a recipe, etc.

Thankfully, this time I land on one of the first names in my phonebook. Amy. The longer I stare at her name on my phone screen, the better it sounds. "Amy's perfect" I think. "Amy wont ask questions if I say I don't want to talk about it. Amy will accept me for how I'm feeling and let me move on with it for tonight." I don't want to be feeling this way. I feel like "the other woman" and that makes me a little sick. So I call her, but she doesn't answer. Then I think about my friend Julienne who's Amy's roommate. So I call Julienne, but she doesn't pick up either. I start to panic again.
Then I remember that I have the number for this film guy that I met at the bar that was hanging out with Amy. He and his friend Jeremy are up filming a documentary on the Tongass and Amy had adopted the boys and they were staying at her house. So I find this guy Terry's business card and I call him. Keep in mind this is someone I've spent a mere two hours talking with at the Alaskan. The conversation goes something like this:

Him: Hey Brooke Morgan (I entered my full name into his phone two evenings prior)

Me: Hey Terry.... So ummm.... what are you doing?

Him: Oh nothing, I'm at Amy's house doing some laundry.

Me: Oh ummm, You wanna hang out? Can I come over? You wanna go do something? Maybe take a hike, look at the stars? It's a beautiful night. Is Amy there? I tried to call her. Let's go to a bar.

Him: Wow. Uh. Let's see. I'd love to go somewhere but I actually don't have any pants.

Me: What? That's weird. No pants?

Him: Yeah they're in the dryer, but why don't you come over. Here talk to Amy

Amy: Hi, Honey, what's up? You wanna come over? Sure here's directions........Ok see you soon Jeremy and I are going for a walk, so I might not be here.

Me: Ok. I really don't care. I just need to not be in this parking lot thinking.

Amy: Sounds great!

I drive over and find that I've actually never been down the street that Amy lives on. It throws me a little bit. I actually get lost in Juneau, Alaska. It's dark, and I miss the turn a few times until I get it right. I park and walk in the house and immediately feel like I made the right decision. Amy is still there as well as Jeremy and Terry. Amy comes over and gives me a hug and to my surprise both of the boys do as well. It feels so nice to be loved that I almost start crying again. Amy offers me some of her homemade beer and some pot and I finally start to calm down a little. After about 10 minutes of chit-chat, Jeremy comes inside with wide eyes and asks if I really have a guitar in the car or if his eyes are playing tricks. I tell him it's a guitar and he's welcome to play it. We bring it inside and Jeremy starts to pluck around on it. This leads to all of us slowly coming to listen around him in the living room. Eventually he stops playing and Amy insists that I play them some tunes.

I sit down with my beloved guitar and play them a few songs and I'm so glad that I do. The look on both Terry and Jeremy's faces are priceless. Terry sits with his mouth slightly agape and eyes slightly closed, halway between pleasure and suprise. Jeremy sits with a knowing smile, bobbing his head gently to the rythym. This is what I live for. This is what I play for. People like these men, who love music and appreciate it so much that it shines all around them when they play and listen.

The rest of the night is filled with jamming and laughter. Jeremy and I start to harmonize, passing the guitar back and forth, playing songs, playing nothing, singing meaningless words and lilting melodies. At some point, Terry gets out the camera equipment and starts to film. At some other point, Julienne comes home and joins in on our fun.
It is one of the most uplifting nights in a long time. It is what my life is supposed to be. Love and laughter and rythym. Around 4 am, people start to drift off to bed and I decide that I'm probably better off not driving anywhere.
Terry sinks into one couch, I into the other. I look at him and smile and he gives me the most warm, loving smile I've ever seen. I giggle, tell him I feel like I'm at a slumber party and say good night.

Little do I know that it is the beginning of many slumber parties where I will say almost the exact same thing and he will give me that warm, loving smile again.....

To Be Continued.....

Emotional Integrity Sucks

Listening to Ray LaMontagne brings about so many bittersweet emotions.
A little melancholy
A little hope
A little love
A little sorrow


When I broke up with John, I had no intention of dating. I assumed that the healing process would be long and involved and I was ready to go alone for awhile. When Dave came along, I felt completely blindsided.
Here's this 32 year old man with a ready made family. He has five kids from multiple relationships, two ex-wives, and a recently deceased mother that he worshipped. The makings for a dramatic experience. I don't even know if I want a family. But I agree to go on a date, thinking from the beginning that it's not even worth checking out. Yet, as I start dating him, my preconceptions of this man are blown sky-high. He's out-going and interesting without having to steal the spotlight and yet nervous and child-like in his approach with me. But to look at it honestly, it's his interest in me that wins me over.
So I make a decision. I will go into this relationship completely different than any other. I wont change any big part of myself or the way I interact with men, but I will change my approach. So I'm straightforward with him in a way that I've never been with someone in the beginning of a relationship. We all know that both sexes involve themselves in intricate dances to try and woo the other and I wanted to make a heartfelt attempt to steer clear of any dating games.
So I tell him that I'm not interested in a purely physical relationship. I tell him that I don't think I'm even interested in any relationship. I tell him i'm not even necessarily attracted to him. Then I tell him that anything I say might change at any point in time. I ask him to respect my feelings and my boundaries. Then we kiss one night at my house and my resolve to shut him out crumbles. Slowly he creeps in and I find that I'm having more fun dating him than I ever have before. And it occurs to me that our emotional integrity with each other has a lot to do with it.
There's no stress, no drama, no worrying about whether he'll call, or how much he likes me, or whether I'll give it up too quickly. As the days go by I fing myself loving the time we spend together and cherishing him more for the energy he puts into the whole thing.

Then one day he doesn't call when he said he would.
So I call him and leave him a message.

Then he stands me up for a pre-planned date.
So I call him to make sure he's ok.

But he doesn't call me back
So I stop calling

Because at this point I've gotten the message and I'm assuming the worst. The break-up with the wife had been within nine months and I'm an intuitive girl.

So then I do see him.
And my worst fears are realized. The ex has gotten into some issues with the new boyfriend and is back living at the house and asking for Dave back.
A big hitch in my "turning a new leaf" plan. At this point, since I've been the straightforward, level-headed woman this time around, I have no choice but to keep it that way.
So I tell him that it's ok. I tell him I understand. I tell him there's a salvagable friendship, and while all these things are true, I wish I could shake him. I want to scream "THIS ISN'T ABOUT ME DAVE.... YOU SHOULDN'T BE WITH SOMEONE THAT HURTS YOU ON A REGULAR BASIS". Instead I keep my mouth shut. I say nothing bad about the woman, although god knows I wish I could. I tell him that until he makes a decision the door is still open, but I'm not gonna stand there waiting, and he agrees. He cries and tells me he wishes I would scream at him or hit him, or be angry but I just can't. I'm not angry at all.

As he drives away, I break down.

This hurts more than I ever thought possible. I feel betrayed, but not by him, by my own emotion. I've always been the girl able to keep feelings at arms length. I'm the tough girl with three older brothers who could cry on command, but then not cry when she really needed to. I'm not supposed to get this heavy sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach nor the lump at the very base of my throat every time I think about it. This three weeks hurt just as bad if not worse than the two years.


What I never counted on was that being more emotionally available and honest means that it's going to hurt a lot more when it doesn't work out.

Just another one of those things they don't tell you growing up.