Magic Mushrooms and the Game of Death

A Short Story for Your Enjoyment

The short weekend tour went well. 

Richard is a violinist. He had some classical training in European and middle eastern music, and jazz. He also liked using electronics. One extended summer weekend, he did some performances with a friend’s band at a handful of music and art festivals. 

These festivals were produced and largely populated by 21st century neo-hippies, new agers, and burners. It was colorful and enjoyable (despite some of the trappings of spiritual pretense that was always found in such gatherings. Richard was a monotheist, and found the indiscriminate and disorganized mix of Hinduism, Buddhism, Kabbalism, neo-paganism, a diluted form of Thelema, and whatever else was thrown in the mix to be uncomfortable, or at least ridiculous). 

The band’s performance at this festival, the last of the tour, was in the early afternoon. It went well, and afterward, the band had a lot of free time before returning home the following day. After enjoying the festival for some hours, the band drove to a large, three story house in the woods, whose owner had generously offered to let them stay. The house was some distance from most human habitation. It was decorated mostly with the owner’s artwork, which was based in fluorescent neo-psychedelic styles.

By the time they arrived, Richard had been running without sleep for a long time. Their host, a friendly Native American named Uncle Luke, offered him the use of a bed to catch a few hours of sleep.

Upon waking, Richard was told to help himself to some coffee. The musicians were hanging around and enjoying themselves. Then the bandleader, a talented musician and artist whose work was part of the owner’s collection, announced that he and his wife had made psilocybin tea. There was enough for everyone, and all were welcome to partake if they wished.

Richard decided to join them. 

The men in the band, the wives of a few of the musicians, and a few other women who were there gathered in one of the common areas, and sat in a circle on sheepskin rugs. Cups of the psilocybin tea were passed around. They drank. 

Richard rarely indulged in any mind altering substances, and never touched alcohol. But he knew what to expect. This wasn’t his first time with either psilocybin or other psychedelics. 

About half an hour later, the psilocybin took effect. Richard ran his hand across the sheepskin rug he was sitting on, and the movement of his hand produced a fascinating pattern of movement. He said “Here we go.”

The group of friends got up from having sat on the floor, and wandered about. Before anyone was aware, the psilocybin was hitting them pretty hard.

About half an hour after the mushrooms began to work on him, Richard went outside to look at the stars. Living in an urban area, he had few opportunities to see the stars. It was a beautiful sight.

However, after a while, Richard began weeping because the universe was too big. Being an avid reader of science, he was aware of the basics of astronomy. But the emotional and visceral reality of how small he was compared to the size of the universe, and his own helplessness in the face of eternity overcame him. 

This went on for almost half an hour. He suffered through this and several other forays into the labyrinth of his mind (including long lost memories of childhood, new memories of difficult experiences, strange interpretations of his spiritual beliefs and life philosophies, and a veritable smorgasbord of emotional conundrums). Eventually, he regained his composure and went back inside. 

Then Richard went outside again, and to his utter astonishment, the stars were gone. He frantically called his friends to ask them if they saw the same thing he did. They saw that the stars were gone. To their dying day, nobody could explain how they were not able to see the stars; there were no changes in the lighting, no clouds or other weather anomalies. It was unexplainable. 

Then, while Richard was agonizing over this, wondering if it was the Day of Judgment, he and the others heard a howling in the woods. What on earth is that? One of the musicians had wandered off into the woods, and presumably got lost. They went out looking for him. When they found him, he was wandering around with a haunted look in his eyes. He said that he saw a little man in a white suit, and the only way he could communicate with him was by howling. They led him back to the house, assuring him that the man in the white suit would be okay.

After a while, they decided to jam. Since they were out in the country with no neighbors, noise was not much of a concern. 

Richard plugged his violin into his effects and into an amp. The others set up their instruments (or those of you who may be wondering, the effects of the drug did not hinder their ability to set up and operate their equipment and play their instruments. They had been doing it for so many years it was second nature to them).

The actual music they played, however, was a different story.

The musicians began improvising in the key of A (whether it was in a major or minor key, or something more exotic, the only answer that can be given is “yes.” But A, at 432hz was the root note, that much was certain). While they were playing, Richard somehow got it into his head that he was engaging in a kung fu type battle using music. To understand this, I ask the reader to imagine a musical equivalent of the scene in Bruce Lee’s movie Game of Death. In that movie, Lee was in a seven-story building. He had to defeat a different opponent who had a different style at every level before he reached his ultimate enemy. Some theorize that these seven levels symbolize the seven chakras. 

Richard believed that he was in an identical situation. He was convinced that one wrong note would cost him his life. His friends later told him he sounded great, but that he was playing like a madman. 

It was a lamentable oversight that nobody recorded it.

Eventually, the effects of the psilocybin began to wear off. Everyone sat down to enjoy a late dinner.

It was an interesting night.

When Richard arrived home, he told his wife the story of his adventures in the house in the woods. She laughed her head off.