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It was a glorious morning in late August when me and my friends went mushroom hunting in the meadows in the outskirts of my place in Mexico. We searched in the patches of tall grass left uneaten by the cows that looked at us uninterested while ruminating. Hidden inside these tall patches of grass, there were large bodies of cow dung.
Mushrooms feed on cellulose, that is why they grow there. Cellulose is broken down by the cow’s digestive system to facilitate the growth of mushrooms, and it is the excess of nitrogen in the soil around the dung that keeps the cows away from eating the grass.
We collected the mushrooms filled with a mix of veneration and enthusiasm and then proceeded to a nearby forest where we ingested them. I had taken a couple of psychedelics before, but nothing had such a strong effect as these mushrooms. Gradually, geometrical patterns of previous unseen hues and of complicated shapes twirled and tinkled. My body felt a bit like rubber and I was yawning a lot. Everything seemed to breathe and was alive and conscious. When I went into a deeper stage, there was no longer an “I” but a “we” – me, my friends and the forest became a single unity, rejoicing in the mystery of existence.