I was Wanderer before. I want to be him again. It’s difficult being a wandering holy man and a father. I’m still finding my way.

How I became Wanderer before is a long story. I won’t tell it here (but you can read the story in the Weekly Reader. The first two chapters are there now.)

I will tell you that when I become Wanderer, I become complete, a whole being. I will tell you that when I become Wanderer, I become a wizard, a shaman. Magic abounds then, all around me. I see it everywhere. But I don’t make the magic. That’s not how it works. I just notice it. It’s always there.

It has always taken acid to connect me to that side of myself. I’ve been Wanderer more than once before. The first time was in Berkeley and the Sierra Nevada mountains. I did a lot of acid in our house in the flatlands of Berkeley and up at our camp at Dinky Creek. That lasted a good while. The next time was doing lots of acid with the Rainbow Family and traveling. That lasted too.

This time will probably be my last time. And I want it to last as long as I do. I would be there already. I would be Wanderer now if I had any acid. For the first time ever, since the late sixties, I have run out. Part of me wonders if this is saying that I’m supposed to be doing it alone, without acid. Another part of me remembers though.

I’m waiting. My writing is a big part of it. I wander when I write. I’m Wanderer when I write.