Back at the granddaddy of all raves--twentieth century, the tribes gathered at a giant-pig-trough called Max Yasgur's Farm. Richie Havens opened the festivities with a blistering anthemic ode to a generation bent on self-expression, "Freedom, freedom", Havens wailed through toothless and contorted mouth. The incantation for the most vshoponisian rite of our time was in the air. It's ironic that it would turn into a lament and that a generation so preoccupied with not selling out, did so with vigor and justification. When Eden didn't come in a day, or bursts of orange sunshine didn't wash away all that was shameful, guilt ridden and white, when the collective dross of our ancestors didn't burn away from our souls at the end of the summer of love, it was onto further exploration and exploitation. . .commercial real estate and human potential.
No, we didn't march into an epochal procession of sun and ecstasy after those three-mud-filled-days, but hey, we've got tofu in Safeways and a President that still practices free love. But...that's another story.
Who's Minding The Gate?
Freedom was the name of an event, party, rave, exploitation, oops exploration in consciousness set in the Sierra foothills on the Fourth of July. Two days of primal bliss, celebrating the right to be free! The net info was reminiscent of tracts selling tickets to the promised land echoing the proclamations of Marcus Garvey and Brigham Young. The usual crews were there. Garth, Jeno, Jon Williams, Pollywog etc.. The setting was gorgeous, nestled in the womb of the motherhood. Pilgrims traveled through stretches of treacherous roads, as clouds of MTBE laced exhaust co-mingled with the dust. Just before we arrived at the gates of Freedom, we were stopped. Seems as though they ran out of tickets to sell. Someone forgot to mention that freedom isn't always free.
But the overall organization itself wasn't the real problem. In fact, with a network of walkie-talkies and a cadre of security guards, it came creepily close to feeling like a low level internment camp. However, even with all the hired help, they couldn't prevent someone from expressing their freedom by stealing some items out of my car.
Scents and Sensibility
After we settled into our campsite and began to explore the social terrain, I bore witness to strange affiliations at Freedom that puzzled and even frightened me. What I saw were literally children with dust masks wrapped around their faces, smeared with Vicks Vapo Rub and back packs attached--life support systems rigged up to carry them through the landscape of rave new worlds for the next twenty-four hours. They would amble about in an amebic circumlocution, like a single celled life forms occasionally bumping into stimulatic familiars. And of course there was the teething ring brigade and their jaw clenching children's crusade, marching into a chemically enhanced oblivion.
The Paid Piper
Who was leading them? Was it the promoter? Yes, let's underscore promoter, who feebly offered up a confessional and caveat after a free spirit flew too high on a GHB cocktail. He flew so high that he was airlifted right out of the camp. That's not cheap--not even close to free. The stakes for enlightenment in camp Freedom are extremely high as we read about casualties on the front lines with an increased and alarming frequency.
If our intent is to experience some form of ecstatic actualization--to be free--then there must be equal parts of accountability to balance the flight of the spirit. If that's the case who was accountable at Freedom? And if these gatherings are created as launching pads for inner exploration, then there must be a collective intent that affirms a conscious choice before the first beat is dropped. Or else the result is a highly organized effort to get people in and out, keep them away from restricted areas, and make sure that gatekeepers have enough tickets.
I suppose that this movement prides itself on it's democracy, a nearly anarchic culture without leaders or spokespeople. Tribal, with the weltshcaunng emerging from the body of the collective, without any declaration, manifestos or creeds. Oh sure, there are people doing good work out there trying to inform others about choice around their drugs--know them and your limits. At least that's a step in right direction. But what about the sacred element and the sacred tradition from which all of this springs? Just what is it and what the hell are we attempting to do here?
Standing On The Shoulders Of Giants
Without sentimentalizing the sixties (there were plenty of stoned casualties) there was an attempt seek out those who had trod upon the road less traveled. Psychic Maggellans like Huxley, Gerald Heard and Leary came out of a classical tradition. There was knowledge of Blake and the Transcendentalists, The Rig Vedas and Whitman, Maria Sabena and The Tao. There was a body of knowledge, a priori experience that people sought to bring into the present. Without being dissmissive to those of the current generation who have hunted down the likes of McKenna,
it's easy to get lost in the glitz of instant gratification and a sexy rave imagery that smacks of spirituality. If we see ourselves participating in this emerging culture, it's important to balance our lust for experience with education and a sense of history because we've haven't seen the full extent of a generation being exposed to substances and their ritual abuse.
Roots of Consciousness
In the western tradition, these gatherings have their roots in the mystery cults of Greece where Bacchus or Diyonisius were invoked and a ritual madness kept the community sane. They were designed to free the psyche from convention and dip into the deep of the subconscious. But throughout antiquity they didn't occur every weekend and were usually at the tail end of a period of work, or spiritual discipline and focus. The Christian and Pagan convergence has given us the Mardi Gras/Carnival and Easter/Lent dance of tension, release and reintegration. These celebrations are rooted in a cosmic evolution and a procession of the seasons and of a life. Even though these traditions exist, our challenge seems to be one of striking an organic balance in a highly synthesized culture of temporary autonomous zonality.
Enlightenment or Bust
How do we honor the ritual gods within us? The rites of passage so conspicuously absent in our society will create themselves at the behest of the sub-conscious. Jung noted that the sub-conscious would do anything in it's power to create the mechanism of transformation. And even if we somehow lose sight as to why we create or attend these functions, the sub-conscious will extract what we need to move us into and out of phases of our life. That being said, it could be a whole lot easier and less traumatic if it's done with conscious intent. Who knows what happened to the sky pilot that got airlifted out of Freedom or the ones that didn't make such a dramatic exit but still had to reconstruct their lives after a weekend of too much freedom. Instead of tempting fate with a dalliance of unconscious deliverance, is there a way to court destiny, evolve and still have a kick-ass time? Perhaps. At the risk of sounding like Moses driving back to the Bay Area with the pronouncements of Yahweh, here's my personal canon for conscious raving at the millenniums end.
- Choose your events wisely. Large events don't always mean bigger is better. Size isn't everything.
- Practice a spiritual discipline. E is not a discipline. Get grounded and make your life a spiritual work everyday. Give as well as take. Practice the art of balanced interchange in the way of the Yanomani. In essence know that everything is a tradeoff and treat your ecstatic experiences with respect.
- Question everything, even the desire to use substances to get to where you supposedly want to go. The music should in and of itself be enough. Try fasting, breath work and chanting instead of a substance. Even Don Juan took Casteneda off Peyote after the second book.
- Have the long view. See what has gone before you, where you are and where the journey is taking us all. There is continuity from Genesis to Revelation. Life will go on.
- Study traditions and make your exploration a holistic one. Look into the various cultures around the world. What we are attempting, no matter how slick the tech-interface is, is not new. There are maps to take us to the place where there are no maps.
- Don't be afraid to take the lead and speak your mind. In a movement where people can be herded into large areas like cattle, don't be afraid to have an original thought or even a dissenting opinion. Truth is truth. It comes from awakening, not always consensus.
- Reach out. Look around and see who's on the path with you. Be of service as well as being ecstatic.
- Create. Imbue the spirit of creativity, be unconventional and embody the spirit of the heyokeyah. Be subversive and passionate, look for ways to pierce the veil and laugh.
- And finally, if you're reading this and happen to be one of the younger members of this movement, choose wisely. You don't have to do everything that your friends do. It's your life.
Launch Site
So rounding out this quasi-moralistic treatise, I am still a believer in our ability to inhabit an evolving form of ecstatic being, from day to day life, to event. I still believe that we can take the next step in the evolutionary spiral and that this culture still has something vital to offer. As you explore and come back to this web site on a continuos basis, you will find many ways to stay informed. There will be information and insight, humor and humility, community and connection, but most of all an attempt to link traditions, epochs, eras and energies with the most cutting edge delivery of sound image that we can bring you. Remember, that your contribution to all of this, whether it be this web site, or the galactic web which we call life is important and vital. We are all the hundredth monkey.
Pax--R. Phoenix
