Miscellaneous Sharings Part Deux

Today's episode is about Surreal Cosmic Experiences:

*  A few months ago I went to the post office during my lunch break.  As usual, I had NPR on the radio. 

Honestly, I don't even know if my radio is capable of playing any other station.

At any rate, when I got out of the car, I noticed that I could still hear the program I'd been listening to.  My first thought was that I'd had a stroke (my standard go-to assumption, now that I've gotten over the whole aneurysm thing).
 
After I determined that I could still feel both sides of my face, I discovered that the sound was coming from the car next to mine.  A skinny, 30-something chick with long, dark hair and wearing glasses was sitting in the driver's seat listening to the same thing I was.  For a nanosecond I wondered if hallucinations were a side effect of strokes, or if I was having an out-of-body experience.  I wanted to say something to my doppleganger but I was afraid the encounter might cause a rip in the space-time continuum.  So I just smiled to myself (me, not the other me), and went on my way.

*  Years ago, when I was living in Santa Fe, New Mexico, I drove up to Taos, a beautiful town known for its amazing skiing and even more amazing colony of artists.  As I wandered the streets I came across a beautiful old tree in front of a quirky art store.  When I got close up, I noticed an un-smoked, hand-rolled cigarette tucked into one of its nooks.  I was intrigued.  By the time I'd left the store I'd decided that, despite the fact that I don't smoke, the Universe had left this mystery cigarette there just for me.

So I took it.

When I got home I set up a lawn chair outside my bedroom window.  Over the course of the next few days, I engaged in a wonderful little ritual.  I'd sit on my chair, take a few puffs (stopping when I felt that newbie buzz, and saving the rest for later), and then dopily watch the amazing New Mexico sunset. 

I'll never know who rolled it or who left it there, but I do know this:  My Taos Mystery Cigarette was, indeed, a gift.