Doors to the Dead

The last time I saw my father alive was this summer, a few months after he died. I am lying in a cool, dark sauna room inside a small wooden house in the mountains. My two friends are in the loft right above, sleep watching over my mushroom induced journey below.

First I am surrounded by rotating images of extravagant colors and patterns. My heart is fast. My skin is cold. I remember to remind myself that these sensations are not a sign of threat and rather part of what keeps me in bodily reality. All of a sudden Herbert is right there next to me. To my left. In the same position as I am in. Lying on his back squeezed into the space underneath the sauna bench. His young self. I don’t need to move or touch him. I stay still, feel his vibe, his aliveness. I am him.

The scene feels peaceful until suddenly a long haired, brown dog appears. He sits on the floor to my right. Herbert had one like him in his youth. The dog is vibrating, full of action potential. He jumps up onto my small bench. Oy, its getting tight in here. The creature has force, his body pressed against mine, his fur is smelly and in my face. Maybe friendly, maybe territorial. I push him off- ‘no!’ Asserting against my fear. Gone. Even though I just felt his dog body density, I suspect that he wasn’t materialized. Wow the under world dog came and left. Just like that. My father also left. Ciao Papa.

My heart is quiet now. Thank you. I am going outside to pee by this big night tree.