The Big List of Epiphanies

I'm not an old man by any stretch of the imagination, however I have reached a point where certain aging symptoms have begun to appear. I'm not particularly bothered by aging, but each stage of life has presented me with interesting physical changes, and this approaching-middle-age stage is no different. These changes fascinate me in part because I never seriously pictured them ever happening to me.

We walk along the top of a short cliff that looks out over the ocean. The moon is making the beach glow. The ocean has pulled back, leaving acres of flatland. It's cold and windy and very late. We descend the stairway that leads to the beach.

It's 6 in the morning, and I'm partially comatose from the evil influence of my warm, comfy bed. I'm standing in the cold of a bus stop in a transit mall, as I've done a hundred times before, hypnotized by the constant vibration of the comings and goings of all the buses. I'm practicing my finely honed skill of remaining mostly asleep, with just enough remaining consciousness to recognize the moment when my bus arrives.

Irene has grown more beautiful as her belly enlarged. Men pay more attention to her when we're in public now, their flirtations have grown bolder. I don't understand why she feels uglier with each passing day. "I'm fat," she says. "No, you're pregnant," I answer. She can't see the difference.

Fred is a geek. A skinny programmer, science buff, Trekkie. He really wears a pocket protector from time to time. Even I wouldn't dare to do that.

I look up and see a middle-aged coal miner, apparently from the mid-twentieth century. He's wearing worn miner's coveralls, and is covered with what appears to be coal dust. Not just ground into his clothing, but into his face, except for a couple of clean ovals over his eyes where goggles apparently were. The miner's lamp on his head fits right in. The last time I checked, though, Portland has no coal mines.

Suddenly Eris burst in on our cabal meeting, carrying a small bag. "I decided to give you boys a present today. You want with with mystical bullshit or without?"

I was well into the task when I saw it. The code was broken. It couldn't possibly work. I'd been running it a lot, making changes here and there to examine the behavior of parts of it, so I thought I put the bug in myself. I pulled up a virgin copy of the currently shipping source and compiled it. Broken.

"John?!"

As I turn around, I see a beautiful, naked, half-soaped woman rushing directly at me. Oh, OK, I actually see a nice pair of breasts and the erotic curve of waist and hips, but let's not be picky on this point. Before I can employ evasive maneuvers, she embraces me and squeals. "It is you!"

The vibration has seduced and massaged me into a trance. I smile contentedly as I watch the miles of houses parade by. Finally, a decrepid, empty storefront passes, telling me to ring the bell and get off of the bus.

It has been over a decade since I've taken any form of hallucinogen at all, and this one is new to me. I'd heard interesting stories about salvia divinorum, though, and so I wanted to experience it for myself. I've done my homework, and have learned everything I could about the plant and its effects, its history, everything. And now, I am ready.

My six year old came tearing into my office. "Papa! Come quick!" She took my hand and led me to the backyard. "Look, a bird!" There, sitting on a rock and surrounded by blood and feathers, was a robin.

The low hum of the motor and gentle rocking of the boat have relaxed me. I let the sun bathe me and savor the fresh breeze. A fish flashes as it leaps out of the water. I take a sip of my soda.

"Hold your pole with both hands, dear," grandma admonishes. Grandpa raises his beer and winks. It's a good day.

Dan is the king of the schoolyard bullies, and I have been one of his pet projects since the fourth grade. It isn't hard to see why. I am a goody-two-shoes, he is a bad boy. I am reserved, he is gregarious. I am a geek, he is a jock. I am a victim, he is a victimizer. We were made for each other.

I was preparing the lesson for my Bible School class when the blow came, striking me hard on the back of my head. I turned to find what hit me and saw a beautiful woman standing in the doorway.

We had everything stacked against us. We barely had enough people to form a swim team at all, and only achieved that by allowing all classes to join, rather than just the juniors and seniors as was typical. We were a rough school in a poor neighborhood, and so had no easy access to a pool. The coach managed to talk the local YMCA into opening theirs for us to practice in for two hours, starting at 5am. None of us swam competitively before, and a few of us could only swim in the technical sense.

Ray was 23, a dangerous age. I hired him to produce a local radio talk show. He had all the right stuff. He had produced radio shows for a few years, he was young, experimental, egotistical, smart, curious and reckless. "Edgy" was the term we used in the blurbs.

I had finished my ice cream already, and was sitting bored in the restaurant waiting for my slowpoke sister to finish hers.

"Fuzzy wuzzy wuz a bear..." I recited.

Daniel is a large man. Large as in burly, not butterball. He has the tell-tale mannerisms of an old Marines combat veteran, which make him seem even more formidable. Like nearly all expert tattoo artists, tattoos of varying quality cover much of his body, permanent mementos from the apprentices he's taken on during his career. His facial piercings highlight them nicely. The overall effect is quite intimidating.

Career day. Each of us is given a deck of cards, with a career of some sort listed on each card. A series of holes has been drilled along the top of the deck, through which we are to slide long metal rods. The holes in some of the cards are slots, so they fall off the rod and out of the deck, leaving a smaller set. A series of questions determine which holes, and in what order, we are to slide the rods through. This continues until only a couple of cards are left, informing us what We Will Be When We Grow Up.

Exhausted, I plop onto the couch and watch the other guests. I know each of them intimately, but only here. Special friends in a special world, not to be sullied by the light of day. Outside of this house, I have different friends, a different life altogether. Two worlds that never meet. While I'm in one, the other ceases to exist.

Well, except for Eric.

The secret James Dean in me always wished for a leather jacket. When he saw the sign hanging from one in the leather store's window, "Everything inside $20 or less", he ducked in before I could notice. A close-out sale offering a cheap childhood fantasy is too much to resist.

There is a moment just after you realize that you no longer have control, but before the full consequences of that fact set in, that I love. At that moment I feel alive, electric.

I shoot through the energy fields, free and wild, playing. I wish you were here, I feel like being chased. What are you doing?

I'm a cautious driver. I've spent years driving rural mountainous highways, through thick forests and open ranges, and had long ago developed a keen eye for the road and the foliage alongside it. Deer, cattle, and the occasional bear stumble their way into the path often enough to be paranoid about them.

So when the deer materialized in front of my car, I didn't realize what had happened immediately.