Our little crew in Utah, after 2 months on the road.
When The Walls Close In
A Psychedelic Guide to the Great American Roadtrip.
By Ben Webby
An outrageous true story of two Kiwis who traversed 10,000 miles across America to unfuck their minds. This chronicle of drug-fueled, wild, and exhilarating escapades captures the true spirit of The Great American Road Trip. Armed with nothing but a tent, a kitbag full of psychedelics, and a thirst for adventure, the journey these two men take is bizarre, outrageous, and unforgettable. Dive into the uncharted territories of the mind and the wilds of the USA, and brace yourself for the ride of a lifetime.
A Peek Inside The Pages
I realized then that I could no longer outrun the mind. It’s too dangerous.
Whenever I give it power, it lashes out at me, like a trapped animal. Back it into a corner and it fights back.
This animal that lurks inside the depths of my mind - inside the walls - it creates fake worries and stressors to trick me into a state of perpetual fear.
It makes it impossible to relax…
I mean, some days on the big blue, she's smooth sailing ahead mate!
Absolute pearla! Not a cloud in the bloody sky.
But shit… other days…
Well Mother Nature drags you by the cunt or cock through hell and back again, just for the fun of it it seems.
On those days, a ghastly black storm rumbles across the ocean and giant waves slam into the side of my ship.
Freezing water spills onto the deck and I know this will not be a happy voyage.
Day feels like night.
Not even the Sun God wants to watch.
He disappears behind the clouds for the first time in weeks. No sun at all.
The sky grows black and ugly.
Howling winds break the mast of my ship and I lose all direction in the storm.
My boat is swept off course and onto the ragged rocks of suffering.
The rocks tear at my carcass and abuse me for all of my fuck ups, and wrongdoings, and remind me of every regret in my sorry little life, what I should've done, or could've said.
A torrent of self-loathing penetrates my body as the onslaught continues.
There is no escape.
This is the perfect storm.
The vicious grandmother of hurricanes.
Death would be better than this poor excuse of an existence.
But… there…
There amid the forking bolts of lightning, and the tower-like waves – the kind you see crashing into the cliffs at Nazaré, Portugal – and the violent thundering clouds that pour ice, rain, sleet, and blood down on me. . .
There is a clearing.
The eye of the storm.
A moment of awareness.
I unchain myself from the bondage of my mind,
Yes, the storm rages on, and giant waves still crash into my boat
But I am at peace.
The storm is far from over.
The dark clouds and choppy seas may continue for days, weeks, or months.
But I remember,
This, too, shall pass.
The blue skies will come again and the warm sun will kiss my skin.
All I can do right now is observe the storm.
It dawned on me then. My reality is entirely constructed in my head.
To find any sense of freedom or comfort in my life, I have to find freedom in my mind.
Not to be free of my mind…”