Ghosts Talk, And Frogs

An omen for the cocoa and golden colored maidens not talking caucasians, Is my black skin that is the thirst that quenches itself with the delectable understandings of understanding and compassion. My omen calls and destiny awaits. It is destiny that calls the writer to put forth in their thoughts into words to one day be read to you reader. Writing down these ideas is just the sandpaper to the freshly cut ukelele or Ipu, to chip away at the brain for a freshly, well rehearsed lovely thought.

Many writers and song writers have difficult times portraying the love one may share with someone on a page or in song. It can be done, but the depth and quintessential essence of what love really is is harder to describe than the relationship between dark matter and frogs. Frogs reign supreme. Like I said it can be done but it will prove itself to be a mighty quarrel. I believe love is something sticky and gooey, that creates new salable bonds between two or more objects . Love can be characterized as that last bite of chocolate cake when you’re already full but you’re really in it for the thrill of a chocolatey center and a fluffin fluffed up perimeter of a pastry. What is this about? Was this about me describing my love for someone who is a lighter pigmentation than me but making it a clear point that they aren’t Caucasian? Maybe it was an ode to writers and how there really aren’t enough words to describe the love one shares with another. Let’s make more words! Or was this to segway into the relationships of frogs and the beyond?

Some frogs have a natural occurring DMT element in them called 5-me0-DMT, so when we say we’re trippin we’re really frogging, or hopping, from different subjects to different scenes. This totally toaded psychedelic toasting comes from the Bufo Toad which is indigenous to America and is used by the Native Americans in healing and shamanistic rituals to this day. DMT is different from your regular acid trip, it is a lot shorter --5 to 20 minutes-- and it transports you to a different dimension that has different sentient, conscious beings in which you communicate with for a short period of time. Some trips transport you, some have said to astral projection DMT, and some claim to have visions that pertain specifically to that persons life. Paratripping is the act of having psychedelic experiences without having taken psychedelics. which leads me to wonder, what are these frogs really on? For those of you who don’t know, a psychedelic trip charges your preconceived ideas of what you believe to be reality and what you believe to be important. It is almost as if in there, the psychedelic world is the real world and out here is the dream. You feel more, love more, and conceptualize the most profound thoughts that could only be called a Godsend. If anything gets you close to dark matter consciousness it would be the psychs. Pulling thoughts from the depth of your mind is the essence of what a psychedelic trip is about, it allows you to see things from different and deeper perspectives than ever before. Lovely stuff. You see, frogs were born in the water, to leave, and one day return. I would love to hop with the frogs one day, my ancestors, my beloved. To chill with the toad is a mighty accomplishment. Tapping into the mind of a toad is something most people subconsciously wish to do. Remember how in Jurassic park they took the DNA of a frog and mixed it with dinosaur DNA to make dinosaurs? What was in that juice I say! Most toad and frog tadpoles are born black and gradually gain color over time. Such an extraordinary creature.

Birds would always greet us on the most psychedelic of nights, how mysteriously pleasant it is to be in the presence of a creature so close to the heavens. Birds shit out most of the seeds for the plants you see all around the world, these creatures literally carry little ecosystems in their belly. They died and die again you know. Some will fly and keep flying until they reach their home away from home. She be remarkable I tell.

Her curly hair glistened in the wind as the stars shined down ever so bright, relaying a message of the relative relationship we have with our relatives in the heavens. Santana played in the background, Maria Maria, oye como va, and then black magic woman. All to set the mood into an experience that our ancestors would appreciate. The waves gently rolled into the shore, moon a third of the way up in the sky. As I zoned out into the music I shifted the sand on the towel that we were laying on back onto the sand. I looked around, empty beach, just us. She asked me if I believed in ghosts as we gazed into the stars. Sharing stories of the supernatural of our past can unlock a feeling of utmost satisfaction for the metaphysical. Spirits closed in, to make the right move that would have us locked into eternity for just a quick second. The wind picked up, fluttering the water rolling onto the shore. Had she known I've seen ghosts? Did she know we were just ghosts on a beach, wavering with the stars.