The Nomad Chronicles

don Juan and I are sitting in the Sonoran desert on a plain. He is packing a long wooden pipe.

"Diviner's sage," he grins at me.

"I don't need that shit."

"Oh, but in dreams you do."

A rattle snake crawls on to his lap, and flicks its tongue at me in curiosity.

"You're a fucker, you weird interdimensional shaman thought form thing whatever the fuck you are!"

He takes a hit of the salvia, and hands it to me. The pipe is four feet long. How did he light it? He smirks and lights it for me. I take a long draw. It tastes like white sage.

I scream as I fall into a white mothy abyss. Particles of grey shoot through my pores as I fall sideways into a maddening hell of intersecting eyes, like a TOOL video.

I am suddenly back in the desert. I impulsively slap don Juan's face. He is about to slap me, but I stop as I stare at my bloody hand full of glass. Apparently I just smashed a mirror. The pieces are one the ground now, squirming into it, trying to hide from me. I desperately try to lick them up. I get a few before they disappear into the dry desert soil.

They taste like magical rice candy as the pieces dissolve in my mouth. I lay on my back, and drink wine from an invisible glass poured by a sexy invisible woman. I feel her breath on the back of my neck even though I am lying on my back.