Footsteps on my right. Footsteps on my left. It is a gravel road I am standing on and the nite is sure dark out in the country. The stars are close enough to connect the dots and the trees are just black silhouettes.

Two dimensional vision. Surround sound hearing.

Shrill soprano insects on my right. Breakfast cereal crackle pop on my left. It is a bonfire we are all gathered around. We started out with the obligatory half-hearted hippie drumming and dancing, but in sudden stillness, after the thudding pittered out, we discovered something.

Each of us perhaps entirely different. Quite possibly entirely the same.

And I stare into the fire and feel the skin on my lips tighten as all bodily moisture goes a.w.o.l., man overboard, escaping, no-time-for-a-kiss-goodbye Backdoor Romeo. Don't we all crave at some point this complete transformation? Like the log deciding to not be a log anymore. Letting the blue flame dance in that secret spot that before tonite you had ignored. And your health suffered for ignorance. I lean back and open my legs as the log becomes heat, light, smoke and ash. Nothing remains unchanged.

This is not profound. This is simple. This is ordinary and common. I lift my head to see 12 other people, practically strangers, enraptured, taking in the same experience.

This is normal - an every day kinda thing.

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