I used to be a very spiritual guy. Even before sobriety, I rejected the angry anti-theism of my east coast liberal wanna-be intellectual parents. I pursued my inner hippie through embrace of the counter-cultural spiritualist lifestyle, eating copious amounts of psilocybin, LSD and peyote with my Native American friends. Genuinely seeking communion with the gods and the great spirits, we spent our weekends wandering the Catskill Mountains, hiking by moonlight, drinking from pure mountain streams, living in teepees and lean-to’s, intermingling bodily oneness with a series of brunette beauties in flowing flowered cotton skirts.
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