January 14th, 1967
January 14th
finally arrived. I dressed in my
splendid outfit and walked to the Polo field in Golden Gate Park with the
Beatnik Gangleader at my side. We stood
on the rim of the Polo Field looking out.
Before us was a sea of freaks stretching from one side of the giant bowl
to the other. As we pushed through the
crowd of people, moving toward the middle, the electric buzz of acid sizzled
through the perfume of pot smoke lying in a low cloud over the field. A little man in a white jumpsuit, crazy hat
and goggles appeared in front of me and dumped a handful of small white tablets
in my hand.
"White
Lightning. Pass them along."
The
sssss of the word pass sizzled behind him as he pulled his goggles down and
winked, disappearing into the crowd. The
rain from the week before evaporated into the marijuana haze as the sun worked
its way up the sky. From the cosmic buzz
of thousands of people, a low hum merged into a chant to the raise the
sun. I popped a tablet into my mouth,
gave one to Jeffrey, and handed the rest of them out.
We
wandered around, looking at one another.
People sat on the shoulders of others to get a look at the crowd. Instead of anxiety, there was a low current
of expectation. Joints circulated freely
from group to group. Allen Ginsberg,
clad in white with flowers in his hair sat on the stage next to Gary Snyder and
Timothy Leary, banging away at two large hand held cymbals, chanting “Hare Om
Namo Shiva” like some pop song from the radio.
As Country Joe and the Fish started playing, people near the front of
the stage began to dance. Ginsberg
abandoned his seat and jumped down gyrating wildly with the dancers. Dogs wandered through the crowd sporting
collars of bandanas and eucalyptus buttons.
Knots of revelers staked out places on the grass with blankets and
baskets of food. Guitars, tambourines,
drums, all kinds of percussion instruments broke into impromptu jams. And everywhere people moved in the sun, their
arms whirling windmills, their hands tracing acid trails in the air.
I
turned to Jeffrey, “What are we supposed to do?’
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Suddenly,
I felt heavy in my outfit, stiff and formal.
I unhooked the side of my skirt and stepped over the pile of red velvet
as it fell to the ground. I turned my
head slowly to take in the scene. I levitated,
and floated above the crowd, flying slowly through it. People far away telescoped into my sight,
perfectly formed, and then faded, back and forth. The trees at the edge of the field were vivid.
I felt their restless movement in my
chest, all beating in time to my heart.
Then I felt the sound of my breath moving in and out. I fought to hold onto one single thought and follow
it to its conclusion, and a fluttering palpitation of panic filled me. The very molecules of my body were trying to
separate.
I
gasped for air, breathing faster and faster, turning my eyes to find something
familiar. Someone handed me an onion,
and I sank to my knees staring at the perfect yellow orb in my hand. The layers upon layers that made up the whole
opened like a lotus flower as my vision penetrated to the core, the center, the
seed. I perfectly understood the
complexity of the world contained within.
A piece of parchment fluttered to the ground before me with the words,
“Silence is Golden.” It was the very
pronouncement I waited to hear. My eyes
filled with tears, and a saltwater rainstorm poured from my core, running down
my face, a cleansing stream. I felt a
touch on my shoulder, and looked into the eyes of Daisy Mae. She was reflected through a prism of rainbow
tears, a kaleidoscope of shapes forming and reforming, never the same. I took a deep breath, the first breath in a
new universe. As the air filled my
lungs, the suspended time began a gentle pendulum, in and out, in and out, and
the mechanics of breathing resumed.
Daisy laughed at me as she squatted down, “Here, you need this.”
She
carefully arranged a brown felt fedora on my head, took my onion, pointed to
the paper on the grass in front of me. She
held a finger to her lips as she moved away.
No
one around me looked familiar. Well, no one is familiar. None of us really knows anyone. There
is no one new, nothing new, it’s all old, as old as the hills and the rocks and
the sea. We have been here before and
will be here again. Being stoned and
being aware of being stoned was exhausting.
I felt silly and a little frustrated with myself. When I looked up again into the crowd
standing around me, the face of my friend Bruce detached itself from the ocean
of strangers. He bent down and kissed my
cheek lightly, and moved on. As I slid
from the peak of my acid dream, I understood what Einstein was trying to say,
that matter is never destroyed. It was
all so simple.
When
I finally stood up, I could just barely see the stage. Lenore Kandell, the
‘Love Poet” read. It all made perfect
profound sense. The fact that Jeffrey
was lost in the crowd made perfect sense.
I had always been in this crowd at this moment, and it was where I would
always be. I turned away from the stage
and looked toward the sea as a small marionette dangling from a giant kite,
backlit by the sun, descended slowly from the sky. Crowds of people rushed in his
direction. Another miracle.
The
sun was setting. The crowd thinned. I was nervous, lost and confused. I wasn’t sure what to do, where to go. The long low wail of a conch shell filled the
field, someone took my arm and helped me into the back of a truck full of
people. Am I a refugee? Am I being taken
away? I recognized one of Daisy
Mae's boys, looked around and realized I knew most of these people. With a sly smile, Pappy handed me a sweater,
patting my arm. Suddenly I was so
tired. I hadn’t had anything to eat or
drink all day, and as if I spoke the words,
I’m thirsty, aloud, Sam handed me a bottle of juice. We joined a caravan of vehicles moving slowly
through the Park. People walked beside
us, talking and singing. Mothers holding
babies, crooned lullabies, everyone smiled and moved in the direction of the
ocean. I belong here, now. I have not
been forgotten, I am not lost.
At
the beach we sat and watched the sunset, huddled together at the edge of the
world. Samantha wrapped her arms around
me to keep me warm. It was the first
sunset I had ever seen and it was a revelation.
The beach glittered with dozens of small fires. Groups of people danced to drums and the
tinkling of bells and finger cymbals rose and fell on the waves. Soft laughter floated on the embers and the
world was suspended in time. A cosmic
time-out. No one was arrested, no one
was punished.
I
loved coming down. I was filled with
joy. I don’t know whether it was relief
or delight in the way acid shatters everything we know, rendering the world
confusing, frightening and incomprehensible, and then puts everything back into
place. I also know it didn’t happen that
way for everyone.
Another job well done. I presume the conch at the end of the Be-In was Ginsberg reminding folks to leave the park clean. Too bad he wasn't at Woodstock 2.5 years later. "Then I felt the sound of my breath moving in and out" -- I found those moments terrifying, as if I the trip was making me close in on myself, my body, my viscera, etc -- the intimacy of my own living, breathing body could freak me out.
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