“Are you the guy?
You’re the guy.”
She says and looks at me with confidence.
“You’re the one who’s going to show me.”
We all laugh, some of us more astonished, or more awkward, than amused.
We’re in the serenity room of an underground party on the top two penthouse floors of a hotel. Paradoxically.
This is where people who are having a bad trip go to sit it out. They sit it out with those who want to hold space for them. We’re volunteers, their friends, and a single paid medic just in case.
The woman who spoke isn’t deterred.
“This is a movie isn’t it?
If so, you’re the guy”.
A part of me lights up. A part that hasn’t has had a voice in a while. This IS a movie isn’t it.
I am the guy.
Why did this stranger on a mushroom trip happen to be so right?
Hiro Protagonist—whose microcosmos is so vast — biome arenas packed with trillions of cells — needs no external validation.
Looking back at it, did I show her anything? No.
Or did I?
Later in the night she’s doing well enough to at least sit by the dance floor in an armchair, watching the dancers.
I’ve been flowing and twisting with the music, when I look up and catch her eye.
What do my eyes say?
“I’m alive” is what I radiate.
“I witness” she radiates back.
Beyond Mountains, More Mountains 