Sitting on the park bench while the strangers around me lazily enjoyed the Summer day, I waited for the mushrooms to kick in. Once they did, I would hop on my bike and ride towards anywhere until reality crashed back down on me, and then I would peddle home to my bed, roll into it and fall asleep. Were drugs really as dangerous as I'd been lead to believe? I was about to find out. I glanced longingly at the bicycle I'd ridden here, leaning on it's kickstand in the almost unnaturally green grass. Was the grass in the park really that green, or had the psychedelics begun to take effect? How long had it been since I'd downed the white, moldy tasting caps, maybe a gram or two, on my dealers couch with a bag of chips to muffle the taste? Surely not yet the half an hour I was told it would take before I'd start to 'feel it.' And yet everything was uncharacteristically colorful and clear, too much so to be my imagination. When a butterfly flew by about thirty feet in front of me, and I could see the movements of it's wings almost in slow motion, I decided I really must be 'feeling it.' The manicured nature of the park suddenly seemed very unappealing to me, so I hopped on my bike and pointed my front wheel towards the nearby woods. With an uncharacteristic fearlessness (but not recklessness), I didn't dismount my bike to descend the steeply declining dirt path that brought me into the woods and would eventually bring me back out again. I steadied my handlebars as the thick roots, which would make useful steps were I on foot but acted as hazardous obstacles as it was, knocked me around. Somewhere in my mind I came to the realization that it was true what they said. Drugs are dangerous. But at this point the shrooms had a hold of my brain, and that tiny rational part of my mind was overridden by all the other parts, which were finding way too much joy in my heedless behavior to care. Once I'd finished bouncing my way down the dirt slope into the forest, I was overwhelmed with awe at everything I could see. I felt no shame in my huge, contorted smile, my loud genuine laugh or the drool and spit running down my chin and I gleefully beamed at everything from the flowers to the soil. As I rode deeper into the forest, my bike gradually disappeared from underneath me, and took my body with it. All that remained was a floating consciousness, nameless and nonexclusive, no more or less significant than the countless others it shared the planet with. It's reason for existence, it felt in this moment, was to observe that which had formed through billions of years of chaos and disorder, and to learn from it. It was true what they said. Drugs were dangerous. I followed the path until it brought me out of the woods and weaved in random patterns through networks of streets and roads, no bike below me, no body on top of it, carefully taking in and processing everything I was seeing as if for the first time. I came down as the sun did, feeling like I've lived years in this one day, and headed home, my recently returned head filled with perspective. On the way, I stopped to observe an ant colony in a crack between sidewalk slabs. I felt a thousand tiny consciousnesses crawling around on the cement.