Every so often on my physical journeys to a particular location a spirit will tell me a story of it. This was my experience in a small hamlet called “Goldenville” near Sherbrook, Nova Scotia. I had been searching for a friend’s sister who had gone missing for several weeks. Rumour had it she landed in the clutches of some Manson-style self-proclaimed guru who had bought some property there. I knew this creep only too well, and when he came around with some dubious premise that he was under psychic attack- I played along with my own plan in mind. Needless to say, my suspicions were confirmed. He had her there drugged on rediculous amounts of synthetic mescaline. What he didn’t know was that I had a high resistence to the stuff since my LSD days in Westphalia, Germany. When the lot were too busy getting wasted and talking a lot of pseudo-religious nonsense, I buggered off into the shale fields to work out my plan of escape. It was there after a while I felt something call out from deep within that rock, a very ancient spirit. I sat down and let the images come to me as it told me its story. Where I sat was once the center of a great continent many millions of years ago. I saw the great swamps that formed in its midst, teeming with strangest life. Then came a great catastrophy and the continent divided. Spirit then explained how these cataclysmic cycles contributed to the great diversity of life forms out of which we were born. Although I knew much of this already, Spirit helped me put it together into a tangible stream of causality. This was excellent, as I was otherwise wasting my time there in that bleak landscape. As for the guru, on the following morning I threatened to torch his house lest he drive me back to Halifax, and he knew I certainly would have. Of course, once back in Halifax with 50 dollars to buy my silence, I informed my friend’s mother, who immediately sent the RCMP to raid the place on the charge of kidnapping (snicker).
