day 1:
light filtering through my eye lids and lashes. blinking. clearing the haze from my eyes and mind. sunrise in the east and moonset in the west. diametrically opposed cycles sharing this one space and time. moontribe. a time of celebration and bacchus-esque enjoyment. frivolity, faeries and anything other than the norm. swoon. in the backseat of my car i have contorted my frame in such a way that any acrobat would be envous. all 5 foot seven inches (and a quarter) of me had spent the night in the backseat of my toyota corrolla after a day of adventuring. forth, then back, then forth again i had driven across yosemite and into the california desert to find friends, music and something i'd forgotten.
day 2:
i am surrounded. i blink open my eyes to find this is true. i am flanked on both sides by friends and strangers with a small river flowing past my feet. vibrations reaching up through the earth and into my consciousness. lights shrouded by fog machines, bass lines that never quit and figures caught in a melodic frenzy, memories of the night before flashing behind my eyelids and bringing me up to speed with where i can find myself on this dawn. all stretching arms and yawning mouth i emerge from my sleeping bag and greet the new day. true to form, this accomplished, i decide to spend another ten minutes in bag. air, light and the vaguest sprinkling of laughter set the stage for a beautiful day. i have woken up right on time, the beat hits its first drop of the day signaling to the early rises that the time for worship is at hand. those of us alert enough to heed its call begin to shake off the slumber and make our way to the clearing where service is held. a light tickle and a flash of light inform me that i have a visitor, and albino ladybug that has landed on my wrist. i count his spots, eleven symmetrically composed on his fragile shell. nonplussed i allow him peace and continue my wake up cycle. my friends are still sleeping having stayed up much longer than i during devotion the previous night. still in my garments of worship, a bikini, skirt and light sweater, of yesterday. i decide an intermediate layer would be a good idea and endeavor to throw on a spaghetti string into the mix. not wanting to dislodge my obviously very comfy new companion i carefully pull off the sweater and and replace it with my chosen day wear, now ready to join the crowd of other believers. i saunter over the the clearing, companion in tow, and approach the altar. from the turntables that gleamed in the divine morning light spun sitar jams to wake the mind and stir the body. having always been slow to wakefulness i sit out the first dance of the day and settle next to the only tree in the space. around me the campsite is still quiet, excluding the vibrations issuing from the mega speakers adorning the altar. the desert air is already collecting heat and i welcome the occasional coolness the breeze lifts from the snow fed river. in front of me people begin to move and groove allowing their bodies to lead the way to nirvana. i sway on my own rhythm, content to be on the edge of the action. a part of it yet separate. i return the smiles of lips and eyes to the other devotees, though none of us speak by now, this last day we are all caught in the spell of this desert oasis and speak its language. my companion who seemed thoroughly unperturbed by my actions and content to lose himself in the forest of my arm hairs. i slipped deeper and deeper into the music, riding bass lines of copper and fushia to sun blasts of energy, meandering along solitary melodies stretched along shorelines of the most vivid liquid fire, molten as it moved through my veins. i adjusted my posture to allow for this liquid beast to make its way along the corridors of my being. even whitey, as my new friend has been dubbed, seemed to feel the heat and left the crowded forests of my arm hairs to settle in the cool hollow of my left shoulder blade.
to be continued
Tags:
Share
You need to be a member of fly.paper to add comments!
Join this Ning Network