New member on the East Coast

Crying for a Vision
by Justin A. Crosby


(The following essay is based on actual events. This text has been transcribed from a field recording device that Justin Crosby took with him on his vision quest to rediscover his 1/64th part Cherokee heritage.) With a foreword by Justin Crosby.

Many ancient cultures around the globe have long sent their youth on Hanblecheyapi, a lonely journey those not fluent in Lakota would term "vision quest". These adventures were designed as tribal initiation rituals and spiritual journeys to give the seeker a greater understanding of the universe. Subsequently, as I was applying for acceptance within the honorable Flying Eagle Social Club, I began to think of how these rites of passage could parallel my own rites of initiation and I decided that I too would set out on a Hanblecheyapi. The only difference: mine would be a little more lame, and overall kind of Caucasian-ish. Still, I wanted to sleep under the stars, hallucinate on at least 1000mg of mescaline from the cactus plant Lophophora Williamsii (peyote), with hopes to reconnect with my Native American ancestors that make me 1/64th full-blooded Cherokee-American. Plus, I really wanted one of those tough nicknames that usually come out of vision quests like, Black Elk, Fierce Bear, or Brad Pitt. But before I set out into the wilderness, I had to follow the tradition of old and go visit a medicine man to prepare me for what would come.
Day One:
Before sunrise, I set out on foot to see the vision doctor, only to find that his sanctuary, Denny Vision, would not be open until 8a.m. This gave me a solid four hours to meditate and clear my thoughts before our council. Around 7:45am:
A nice woman allowed me to know that I should not build fires in front of Denny Vision, and that the honorable Dr. Timothy Murray (sounds Inuit) saw patients by appointment only. Unfortunately, the next available appointment wasn't for three weeks, so I was forced to begin my vision quest (from here on out referred to as "VQ"} without the guidance of the elder Dr. Timothy Murray.
10:45am:
Found a perfectly good McGriddle still in the wrapper!
2:55pm:
I finally stepped into the woods alone, and immediately noted the beauty and splendor of Lake Johnson State Park, the awe of which over took the hunger pains that had been "ripping me a new one" for hours. At that point I had not eaten since the McGriddle, I was practically dying. It felt like days had passed.
4:22pm:
I began to feel the hallucinogenic effects of the peyote within minutes of ingesting it, (although I did at first think it was the McGriddle), and soon after, the auditory and visual spectrums were so splendid I was certain that it was the mescaline-laced rice crispy square taking hold over my consciousness. I saw swirls of colorful galaxies, creeks turned into custard filling, mosquitoes licked me (instead of biting), and eagles soared above like air show jets spelling "sweatlodge" across the sky.
Soon I found myself drifting through dense forests of lightness, and breast-stroking through neon fields of life force. I mean, I could barely stay competitive in the disc golf tourny I was in.
5:33pm;
Came in second in the local amateur disc golf bananza! Bring it bitches!
8:00pm:
Set up camp. I found a cove tucked away in the old growth forest, and furthered my peyote induced meditative trance.
6:20am: (two days later)
While in my dream like state for almost 46 hours, I was visited by a giant eagle with gold teeth and blue spandex leggings. Finally, what I had longed for, even cried for, and certainly hadn't showered for, nor wiped properly for, she gave me a new name that would link me to my ancestors, a name so strong that it remains open for interpretation. I am "forrest whittaker". The eagle woman told me what it meant in a forgotten language that to this day remains un-translatable into my native "english".


I