Blue moon on Flickr.Blue moon

Blue moon on Flickr.

Blue moon

humansofnewyork:

“I was driving out into the Mexican desert with a shaman, and we were on our way to a peyote ceremony. We’d just eaten the peyote, and the shaman turned on the radio, and started playing The Talking Heads. He was this little indigenous dude, just banging on the steering wheel and singing along to The Talking Heads at the top of his lungs. I thought we were supposed to be contemplating life, so I said: ‘Are you sure the radio should be on right now? Is that how the ceremony is supposed to work?’ And he said: ‘This is exactly how it’s supposed to work.’ So I just shut up and rolled with it.”

humansofnewyork:

“I was driving out into the Mexican desert with a shaman, and we were on our way to a peyote ceremony. We’d just eaten the peyote, and the shaman turned on the radio, and started playing The Talking Heads. He was this little indigenous dude, just banging on the steering wheel and singing along to The Talking Heads at the top of his lungs. I thought we were supposed to be contemplating life, so I said: ‘Are you sure the radio should be on right now? Is that how the ceremony is supposed to work?’ And he said: ‘This is exactly how it’s supposed to work.’ So I just shut up and rolled with it.”

3,376 notes

humansofnewyork:

“My mom committed suicide when I was ten. I’ll never forget the day we went to foster care. It was the last day of third grade. I was riding home on the bus with my brother, and I was so excited about meeting my friend later at the YMCA. But when we got home, all of our stuff was packed into boxes. My dad was sitting on the stairwell, crying. He wouldn’t tell us what was going on. He just told us that we had to leave. For the first couple years of foster care, he’d tell us every week that he was about to come get us. After awhile we stopped believing him.”

humansofnewyork:

“My mom committed suicide when I was ten. I’ll never forget the day we went to foster care. It was the last day of third grade. I was riding home on the bus with my brother, and I was so excited about meeting my friend later at the YMCA. But when we got home, all of our stuff was packed into boxes. My dad was sitting on the stairwell, crying. He wouldn’t tell us what was going on. He just told us that we had to leave. For the first couple years of foster care, he’d tell us every week that he was about to come get us. After awhile we stopped believing him.”

5,263 notes