Chapter Five: “Futureshock: Medellin and Ayahuasca” – Page 4

I know I’m no mathematician now, but if you could purchase something for thousand dollars a kilogram in one place, which just so happens to be Columbia, and you can sell that very same kilogram in another place for $150,000 – would you risk it? That’s the question that kept going around in my mind, over and over. And you have to think about the situation I’m looking at and realize that I have the means, motive, and opportunity to commit a crime. With all of my worldly contacts? My contacts in the Middle East? Should I go from white to black, and join the professional criminal class? At 52 years of age, with no 401(k) retirement plan or family assets to speak of, you do a real gut check. The Padre gave Luisa a gram of cocaine, and we walked back to the truck cab, where she did a line on her cell phone. Then we went back to our taxi, drove back to the city, had a very nice steak dinner, and went back to my apartment. I pulled out a big fat marijuana blunt, and we smoked and talked and made love. It was an extremely sensual experience. And I looked forward to someday retiring in Columbia because these people understand freedom. Everyone is left to their own devices, and your own personal responsibility is something that you need to personally manage. Massive poverty, but everyone is actively hawking in the economy backed by cocaine.

What is your price? At what point in your life do your financial problems that cannot be resolved through a normal 9 to 5 job cry out for an outside-a-box solution? For the next week, I spent as much time as I could with Luisa looking at all of the markets and proud people. We drank, we ate, we danced the rumba, and I knew I was home. Even though this city is rather dangerous from time to time, if you keep your head and wits about you, you’ll be absolutely fine. Meanwhile, the ayahuasca experience was still unfolding chemically in my mind, as there are some very serious aftereffects of the medicine. My dreams were vivid and surreal, and the most simple thing could have profound meaning and symbolism. It was as if I had crossed the path from a language using animals into the territory of symbol-using animals. After all, symbolism is the purest form of an international and cross-cultural language for humanity. And I started to pay particular attention to the symbols that crossed my path. Luisa told me that she had a surprise for me and wanted to take me to the airport to return to the United States. So she swung by in a taxi, picked up my bags, and we made the 30-minute trek up the hillside to the international Airport. We got out of the taxi and she kissed me while lifting up her right sleeve on her blouse and showed me my name tattooed on her right breast. I was floored, and a little bit honored. Then I flew back home.

At the writing of these memoirs, I met 1905 10th Ave. in Phenix City, Alabama. My dad had a meeting with the probate judge here in town who was contacted by the CIA and FBI, requesting that I be committed to a mental asylum. My dad explained that I was his caretaker, and he was my caretaker. At 84 years old, after my mother’s passing two years ago, my father’s emotional and mental health has not been in good shape. Even though I am supposed to have delusions, the onset of dementia in my father’s brain has started to show signs in his bodily and psychological control. So for the moment, we live in a precarious balance where I have to take care of him, and he has to take care of me. That said, the CIA and FBI really don’t care about family matters such as this, especially when a presidential election is going on. Anyway, I promised my father that I would reside with him until his passing. I just couldn’t see putting him into a nursing home, and frankly, I’m somewhat financially dependent upon him right now.

Read more about Chapter 6.….