There, on the small spit of land, the leaves of bushes and trees are gleaming in the sunlight. Light and beautiful. The gang is sitting at the edge of the lake in the dark shadow of trees. It is a place of quietness. Nothing interrupts the beauty. It is a place of power. All that is good. Quiet and mute.
Do you remember the fly agaric? Do you feel his call through the forest? They are attracting you to the spit. There is a red shining in the grass. Look around and see the big, red, orange, whitespeckled mushrooms.
Before, you did already meet a wonderful specimen. You stayed in his near just waiting for a while. Such a fine mushroom demands special attention. Then, the mushroom took over. You rubbed the mushroom's surface like somebody who is rubbing the eyes because s/he cannot believe what is happening.
There you squatted, quiet and silent, in deep peace of mind. You took your knife, and cut off the mushroom. You smelled it. You got a good feeling. You smoked some homegrown. Then, you walked along the lake-side, became aware of the shining spit, and you found mushroom for mushroom.