Sweet Agnes

Sweet Agnes was what we used to call it, a plant divine in both thought and complexion for it gave us the power to conjure a woman unmatched whom we'd named Agnes. That was our passtime, sat in a circle with Sweet Agnes in hand, waiting till the sun rose once again.

I can't tell you when we first tried it, but it feels an age ago. Sweet Agnes does that to you, makes you forget the passing of time, drawing you away from what linearity there is in the world. You see things as they are, not as they are happening. Everything is static but also simultaneous. You live, for a brief few hours, in a world void of structure.

Many a session has my mind lost contact. The body becomes irrelevant under Sweet Agnes' trance. But it is not something to fear, we embrace what is given for we know we will return soon enough.

Even our minds intertwine. My brother, shorter and more mischievous than me, seemed to stumble into the collage I was experiencing. We saw the same sights, heard the same sounds, spoke to the same beings. I can tell you now, there was nothing more odd feeling than exploring with your own brother, sharing thoughts and dreams with each new figment.

But was it really a figment? Or did it ground itself in reality's essence? If I were to guess, Sweet Agnes would be the window that projects the future, the past and everything in between. It is the seat at which God sits, and all the gods beside him. Zeus sits with Quetzalcoatl and shares drinks with the one the Christians adore. They do not discriminate. We are toys on strings, I have discovered while speaking with Sweet Agnes.

Whenever you get a chance - and I do not say "if" for everyone will eventually meet Sweet Agnes - you must not deny Agnes' offer. Take her hand, let her guide you the way you were meant to be guided. Do not waste time in the faiths and beliefs you think are worthy, for I have found there is only one which befits all: Sweet Agnes.