I am seeking funding to finish and publish my first novel in my home town. I am grateful for every donation and for the opportunity. Here is the beginning of my novel and the premise for the project:
"For us it didn’t begin with a Wardrobe or a Wand, but in the Year 2012, with LSD and with a Super Active Volcano. We were real Magi in a real world. I’m not saying it’s for everyone, but it is one way to come to know things; highly unexplainable things, perhaps, but things nonetheless.
He first manifested at Red Fir Flat on the foothills of Mount Shasta, bare footed, poncho’d with a Didgeridoo over one shoulder and a pound of Lemon Haze in the other hand. He reached his tanned hand into the bag and gave me what must have been a half ounce.
“Roll ‘em and pass ‘em.’ He said, “Roll ‘em and pass ‘em.”
I obliged and he disappeared.
I found myself here quite to my own surprise. Just weeks before I had come to have two hundred and fifty dollars and on a drunken night in the midst of an existential crisis, I bought a ticket to Ft. Collins, Colorado because it seemed like the spot and I left with little cash, a backpack full of clothes and a yearning in the very core of my being that I still haven’t shook.
We rolled through Missouri and Kansas and arrived in Colorado in the early hours in the morning to freezing temperatures and snow. In my own way I knew that I should just stay on the bus and go to sleep, so I did and the bus rolled on and I became something of a ghost.
Call it luck of the draw or what have you, but after Ft. Collins I travelled to Portland, Oregon, twice again as far as the ticket I had paid for without questions or hassles, through Salt Lake City and North through Idaho into the Eastern Side of Oregon and on to my own personal Platform 9 3/4. The Land of Ports.
I remember stepping out of that bus station with a sense of pending adventure as grand as any Teller of Stories had ever told and then some more. I walked and my feet knew the way. I met Angels along the way. Watchers on The Walls of Time, they pointed me to food, to shelter, to much needed gear and to the Willamette Water Front Park, where I met my people.
I was sitting on a park bench with one of the aforementioned Angelic Guides and we were eating crackers and talking about the ways to get by in this life and my attention was repeatedly drawn to a group of individuals I can only describe as dirt wizards. And in truth, that is most certainly what some of them were. The Angel noticed my noticings and said, “It was good to connect, go be with you people.” I smiled and he smiled and I went to sit with them.
As I approached their circle, I asked a toothless dready standing on his hands if I could sit.
“It’s your land too. I don’t care where you sit. I’m Vin.”
“Welcome to Portland, Buddha.”
We talked a while, smoked a lot and I noticed a man down the riverfront who was making his way toward us with a pan flute and a knowing look on his face. I watched him, as I do everyone, and felt that old feeling in the pit of my being, the one where I know that a person and I are on a collision path and are destined to interact.
He floated up with such beautiful notes circling us like wildfire.
“You don’t know it yet, but you’re my family and if you need a place, we have one out in Zig Zag, not far from here, plenty of room, plenty of food.”
It was then that I left Portland for a tipi near Mt. Hood in the Pacific Northwest, having just left the cornfields of Illinois, with a Big Wook named Munky and the vortex had me through and through."