After I fled the dead scene my mother decided it was time for me to seek treatment. The only thing I wanted was to be part of my biological family, so I agreed to go, even after a physician heard my story and was of the opinion that all I needed was a little time to come down and would be fine.
THe drive to the institution was about 35 miles from my home town of Seldom. A small single engined plane accompanied us by air for most of the journey, flying big circles along the county black top. I found it to be a little peculiar, but didn't say anything. After arriving at the institution I began hearing a small plane circling the property by air, its engine clearly audible in the big old and depressing building. You can bet I kept my mouth shut.
A while later after my first group session a short and pudgy native american woman from the Lakota tribe approached me. "Do you hear that airplane?" she asked.
I felt the color drain from my face and looked around to make sure nobody else was listening. "Yeah, I hear it," I said. "Why do you ask?"
"Because it showed up when you did," she replied "and its been buzzing this place ever since."
lw
An effect where one thinks they are more important than they really are?
Good observation. I think you hit the nail on the head.
lw
Looking back, I think it way my eyes that got me into trouble, as far as delusional thinking goes. (One is blue and the other half brown, half blue)
I remember an old latina approaching me once after I'd moved to California, gazing into my eyes and telling me I was marked. (For what? I don't remember.)
And then there was the David Lindley set I caught when he opened for the Dead at laguna Seca. While I really liked his music, the set in question was the first time I heard him do "Hands Like a Man." And when he got to the part about "How you gonna hide from the policeman - With one eye blue and the other one brown," things started getting a little personal for me. (I ended up in the bad trip tent during that one. hehe)
lw