During my three month residency at the University of Georgia in the fall of 1990, I had many intense experiences. Only by the grace of God or the protection of my dead father (Heavenly Father?) did I survive those deep months. Today, I drifted unexpectedly into the memory of a beautiful evening spent with four of my few friends that I made while there. We had taken some LSD and had a load of laughs while wandering around the campus. The evening trip wound down with the five of us in a dimly lit room, talking lightly when at all, listening to Simon & Garfunkel on repeat. I can’t recall at all what album it was, but it played five times at fewest. The feeling is what I remember most, and certainly the drugs colored the moment, but damn, it left an imprint.
I likely was suffering from PTSD of sorts at that time, just two years after my father’s death. I was a complete emotional mess, but absolutely unaware of it, really. Nobody in my life was available to see and explain the situation, so I just went with what seemed to make me feel better (or feel less). It’s the same general state that drives millions of people to addictions of all sorts. Anyways, the escaping of reality and feeling opened the door to an indescribable feeling that night with my friends, wrapped comfortably in the sound of Simon & Garfunkel. Everything was soft and o.k.