Wasted. When I first became acquainted with, or introduced to,
the ideas of modern mysticism, I was living in Allston, Massachusetts
using a glass syringe (I miss that more than anything) to shoot
up crystal methamphetamine, heroin, and cocaine (whose effects were
almost meaningless), holding down a job as a computer programmer,
smoking almost anything, and what else? Oh, yeah. We had pistols.
I was taking such a smorgasbord of drugs, I never really got hooked
on any of them, except maybe the meth, or crank, or crystal ...
or whatever I was supposed to call it.
And then there was mysticism. You might say it appealed to those
who had been disappointed by life.