Addiction to Intoxication - Where the Best and Worst of Human Existence Come Together and Meet (at the Very Same Time)
The Final Visitation?
Someone was holding my hand, giving me a slight shake. I heard the word OVERDOSE. Like a recording losing power, the voice was almost unintelligible. I was terrified, but mainly I didn’t want to die.
In 1999 I had a heroin problem. I was a young Republican with too much time and money on my hands. My software business was going well and what had been infrequent use became time consuming and tiresome. I went to a hospital twice to detoxify. This worked for a week or two. I had a number of visionary dreams through the course of these treatments that reflected my relationships with friends, family, the struggle between good and evil, and eventually an ultimate revelation.
A Xanax dude, some Snoop Dog Don, passed plasticized packets of skull and bone. I went home after the ordeal of purchasing street drugs. I put the drug in my arm and laid down on the bathroom floor to rest in oblivion.
In a few minutes I was walking with my friend Ron looking for another connection and more dope. It was a silent grey fall day. The only thing I could hear was Ron’s voice and our footsteps. Two young women in gauzy white dresses approached us. “We’ll take over now Ron, you can go”; he was gone.
They talked to me while we walked through old tenement houses. There were people in the houses but they didn’t see us. We were specters in the ghetto. They may have been two of my daughters a few years hence… or angels. I felt they loved me. I realized they weren’t using words but their thoughts murmured in my head. They spoke of what I had learned - how we are all connected and why whatever we do affects everyone.
We ascended dark attic stairs and emerged in light as if on a mountaintop. The panorama of humanity lay beneath us in timeless, placeless reality. Physical objects were transparent but we saw layered translucent shapes, undulating like lava lamp amoebas. The shapes had different shades and intensities. Benign brown predominated but tan, pink, green, red, black and others flowed slowly. My guides informed me these were souls of groups, nations, institutions, and of people. I understood the souls were composed of ideas, intention, emotion, and character. Their tendrils intertwined into other soul-shapes – their thickness determining the extent of the effect they had on each other. It was a slow, unending dance of light and color.
Amazed at the revelation, I looked deeper to see the identity of these forms. Religious people and politicians rarely had lightness but were mostly composed of dark matter. The more they were concerned with acquisition and edifice (physical and intellectual), the darker they were. There were some souls that were so dark, you could feel their hunger absorbing the light from souls around them.
I noticed some black forms in the distance whose edges were tinged with angry red. My companions became alarmed. They wanted to close the vision before we were noticed. Dread welled inside me and I began to sweat with fear. The dark shapes were forcefully devouring other souls into their evil berserker madness. Our fear became greater as one reached for us, feeding on fear.
We retreated down to the hallway. My companions told me that I knew what I needed to do; and asked if I had had enough or wanted more. I went through a door and drifted in silent grey mist. I was alone in this nothingness but there appeared a figure clad in inky, swirling robes absorbing light and life. It was of the kingdom of Thanatos and wanted not merely annihilation but the extermination of the merest memory of my existence. I felt colder and the clammy feeling became more liquid.
Something on the other side of reality was happening. The dark horror became agitated, angrier. It shrieked, loud and piercing - a scream filled with anger and indignation.
I looked into the face of a third angel who woke me with the dreaded word, “overdose.” Her face radiated kindness and concern. I could see her soul. I grabbed her hand tightly so she could pull me back into life. During the ambulance ride to the hospital I still looked at the EMT as an angel. I kept holding her hand and stared at her, wishing to not die. The bitter burnt taste of heroin poisoning permeated my blood, coating it like rancid fat.
I’ve had 10 years to reflect on the vision of that final visitation. Ideas, intention, emotion, and character are the essence of our lives. These “ephemera” and their competing interactions cause us to behave as we do. What we are, do, and most importantly, think affects everyone. I still had a number of questions to answer. The most immediate was “How was I to conduct the rest of my life?”