I drove past the spot where I first ingested mush*rooms and heard the voice as well. Redwood highway... coastal range. I stopped at the old piece of wood that was my altar to the sunset. The same spot I heard the clouds split open and reveal the song of my life. Somehow I expected to hear the voice again. Waiting for the waves to accidentally intentionally break some syllables in my ear... nothing happened. I walked around in circles and admired the memories torn from banister. I realized how special these spots are. The places where people carve their names in wood.