Thursday 21 June 2012

And now for something completely different . . .

Wednesday night.

OK, now I have to think of something. I always write the title after the post, always. Not tonight though, I just thought it was time for something different and as I've still not finished the next installation of the Archives . . . I wish I had more time to write . . I thought maybe I could write something different. Like what?

How about the Solstice . . . of  '79

I was sixteen, fresh from the cave, when I first heard the word Solstice, I hadn't a clue what it meant and didn't care enough to ask. I'd latched onto a bunch of hippies much older than me; they were off to celebrate this Solstice thing, they asked me if I wanted to go with them to Stonehenge, I had nothing else to do, or say, so I said "OK then" . . . I had no idea where or what Stonehenge was. That didn't worry me. Staying in Oxford without these people worried me . . . So I went. It's not as if they looked after me or anything like that, I just felt safe around them. I gradually moved myself into their squat with my one indian cotton smock that had lasted me throughout my entire pregnancy. I wasn't concerned with clothes, I certainly never thought I could love a peice of clothing . . .  until one of the women at the squat gave me a bag of clothes that no longer fitted her. I thought she was old; she was possibly mid thirties. Sally. In amongst Sally's authentic 60's clothes was a simple, light purple tunic. It was velvet; proper old cotton velvet. Velvet so smooth it looked like silk, moved like water and felt like a catkin to stroke. It reached almost to my knees, I fell in love with it's colour and softness, I wore it everyday. I did sometimes worry what would happen when it wore out.

I sat in the front of the van, rolling conical spliffs, the way I'd been shown; first mixing the tobacco and red leb thoroughly in the mixing bowl, carefully glueing the rizlas together, taking pride in my job. It was my job. A few spliffs later we joined some kind of queue . . . Some kind of queue; truck loads of hippies, old buses full of colour and music. Many just walking towards what looked like an ancient campsite. A community where I would feel totally at home. At peace.

It smelt divine . . . all woodsmoke and warm flapjack, how weed used to smell and lentil daal and patchouli . . . let's not forget the patchouli. They allocated me a corner and a blanket in a big tent . . . canvas, I can smell that too. Warm canvas, musty from storage, but safe. I stayed there for a while.

I never had money and I never seemed to need any. I didn't drink or smoke cigarettes. I could live on three bags of chips with saiusage a week, I suppose I "found" odd coins for food.

I moved to the doorway of the tent and sat watching folk walking by, dancing by . . . I was transfixed. I wanted to stay here, live here. I wondered how long we might be here for. I didn't ask  . . . I knew it could never be long enough. I found my way closer to the stage to listen to some guy playing the guitar; Roy Harper. Again, I was transfixed. Hypnotised. It was beyond anything I'd ever heard. I'm not sure why I accepted the tab of acid that was offered to me, I probably didn't know what to say, so I said yes. I didn't hope it would improve anything; everything was perfect as it was. I think I just didn't think.

Some other guy was on stage now; Steve Hillage* . . . No music yet, as such, just sounds. These sounds seemed to be coming from within me. If they weren't coming from within, they were surely settling within me. The first wave gently picked me up and for what seemed like ten minutes (?) I was no longer a person. I was a ball of something, about a foot and half above the ground. I was sitting on the grass, so roughly chest height . . . soul height. I say a ball of "something" as I didn't know what it was; energy, music, light . . . me. Everything that I was, plus all that I could hear and feel was in, and of, this ball. I was just being this ball and that was it. That was me. I was neither trying to be, or not to be. I just was.

Occasionally, maybe only during the first hour? ten minutes? four hours . . . who knows? but in the early stages of the trip, I would "sink" gently back into being the more "normal" me, in human form, for a few minutes. Like an interval between waves; just as there are intervals between waves. The first few times, I panicked slightly; wondering where "I" (my body) went when I became the ball? Somehow I knew this was just the start and realised that I had no control whatsoever over these "waves" . . .  and must not, at any time, start to think I could steer this. I must go with it and not try to get back until I landed naturally. I knew there was no turning back now.

After a while the intervals faded and I just was the ball, within this ball was the "music" I could hear, although it didn't feel like hearing the music; it was more like being the music.Tasting the music. Zing was the noise that I thought I was, but not a ziiingy zing; not like you'd imagine a zing to be. Not zesty. Not in an onomatopoeic kind of way. Just a constant slow and low zing . . . zing  . . . zing. Amazing.

The final landing was at sunrise, roughly six hours later and it was all beautiful. The sky. The field. That was all of it. I lay in the grass for the whole day . . . unaware of any standing stones, or any Solstice, or any Stonehenge, whatever that was.

I was only aware of the magical aromas, all mingled with, and carried along by, woodsmoke . . .  And the gentle strumming and picking of hundreds of silvery strings . . . And a brand new part of me, the part that was left when the rest disappeared. Hmmm. Zing.

Happy Solstice x

* OK,  just for the record this is the second half of the track that Steve Hillage was playing when I first started riding those waves . . . Just as I left the shore.
Lunar Musick Suite. Part two


26 comments:

  1. I feel nostalgic for those times. What a wonderful recollection and well written. And you were only 16! I love the bit about the "old" lady giving you some clothes. I remember being 16 and thinking I would rather be dead than 40! Ha, ha how little did we know really.
    Love Kiwigirl xx

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    1. Hey Kiwigirl . . . I'm still editing! I kind of posted prematurely . . . I know you won't mind.
      Nostalgic? . . . O boy when I listened to a few versions of this track last night to find the "real" one . . . I could almost taste the after taste from the acid!! how mad is that? and parts of the music made me want to cry for that day . . . be back there in that field when life was so simple. All I possessed was the carrier bag of clothes from Sally . . . O my, I'm off again.
      Happy (belated) Solstice to you Kiwigirl, I hope all things are going your way ;-) with love x

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  2. What a memory! I was mesmerized as I read this. I would love to have been there. My memories of dropping acid aren't quite as magical as yours but it was quite a lot of fun. Is "red leb" hash? So funny that you thought the woman in her thirties was old. I remember those days, too. Once upon a time... xx

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    1. JJ, yes it's as clear as if it were yesterday. I need to just get on with writing these "archives", as it all comes back so clearly once I begin to think about it.
      That was one of the more intense trips . . . Just me and the ball. Well, not even me really; I was the ball.
      Yeah it was hash, I've not seen any for years; Lebanese Red.
      Thinking back, I reckon most of the folk in that squat were "30 odd" . . . I thought they were old and wise ;-)
      I'm glad you enjoyed it JJ Happy Solstice to you and yours x

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  3. I never did any chemicals. My brother did everything and was rather messed up so I was afraid to try anything. It sounds like something that would have been fun at 16. Now? I think it would freak me out a little too much. Weed spaces me out enough - and even that I have to watch I don't do too much and never when I'm drinking.

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    1. Jeannie,
      I wouldn't take one for any amount of money now, no way. I would totally panic and freak. That was then in a time and place where it was "the done thing". The weed nowadays is way too strong for my liking. It used to be mellow and just chill me; now it makes me paranoid and withdrawn . . . I realise this could be partly me, but it's still super strong.
      I wish I'd been afraid to try one thing . . . Or even wise enough to say no.

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  4. Wow, looking back and reflecting - see how far you have come, Lovey??

    My first trip was at the age of 15. My weren't we both young and naive? Trusting and silly. I couldn't imagine doing that now. I'd be to afraid of a bad trip. It'd be just my luck *eye roll*

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    1. I wasn't very trusting in general, but I think I had got into a habit of just taking anything after having left my daughter . . . Even on good days (like the festival) I was so used to taking drugs, I didn't give it a second thought. Fucked up I guess.
      I would be afraid now too, although, having tried one last trip 13 yrs ago, I can say acid aint what it was.
      It's just as well I've made SOME progress in 34 yrs . . . Or was that sarcasm ;-)
      Take care Lovey x

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  5. Honey you have made tons of progess. I used to trip in my middle teens. They were always good trips. Just like the person that commented first, I would be terrified to trip now at 45. Too much emotional trauma and I just get this gut feeling it would be a bad trip. Be well, be happy and always find a sense of peace to make it through the day.

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    1. Hi Lori, Yes me too, I wouldn't take one for a million quid . . . Then again they are very weak nowadays, but it can still go wrong.
      I get that gut feeling about all drugs now . . . except the one that I'm still struggling with; but the clean times are getting easier - less of a fight (sometimes)
      I keep hearing what your Dad said about this being it; not a rehearsal . . . Just the one chance at life.
      Thanks for being here Lori x

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  6. Great description of tripping if I do say so..;) I remember people who took too many trips, and really screwed up their neuron transmitters! I just didn't like it, and quit after a few times.

    Anyway, wasn't that a time! We are not that different in age, we have a little overlap. I was in Europe from 1966 to 1973. Fun years, great memories.

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    1. Hi Lou, Thanks! . . that's all it was meant to be; just a happy Solstice memory . . . I'm glad you appreciated my description ;-)
      I was never over keen on the "lack of control" aspect of it . . . But I foolishly persevered, as I do.
      I thought of you today; I decided I'm now accustomed to my 5 mile daily walk . . . and I can pick up the weights, rope and work out again!
      Thanks for reading Lou x

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  7. mmmm..lovely description..by the time i started tripping acid was weaker and i didn't trust it after seeing my sister have a bad trip.Then i discovered mushrooms and spent my last term doing my a levels wandering the fields with eyes downcast in the hope of spotting a magic mushroom,or two.Then mushroom soup shared on a beach watching a magical moon rise...ok,you got me remembering...thanks for the inspiration again!And i so wanted to go to stonehenge but i was doing my a levels and i was a stranger to england still in those days....i used to watch to watch the news broadcasts and wish with all my heart i was there....

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  8. Hey ;-)
    I watched loads of Stonehenge footage on You Tube last night . . . I was looking out for your ex and "that" bus and I thought about you, and if you maybe used to go there . . . A lot of the footage was about police invasion, The Beanfield eviction, etc, it was horrific really . . . Sickening.
    Anyway enough of that . . . I'm so hoping for a lie in tomorrow. Anytime after 7 would be a bonus . . . Sometimes I'm really not ready for that alarm. And sometimes I am. Hey ho . . . I'll come and message so I can ramble on for a bit . . . x

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  9. I never ever did acid, I was far too scared of losing control, and after seeing some of my mates getting completely blasted, even years later, I was glad I didn't.

    In some ways I envy you your experience, in others I feel sorry for you. You just seemed to drift, without conscious thought or impulse, and that to me is anathema.

    Get an objective and steer towards it.

    Please note, that this is NOT a criticism, merely an observation.

    Keep well.

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    1. Twisted Scottish Bastard . . . I didn't like the "losing control" aspect of it either, but I learned to cope.
      Now, I'm pleased you only said I SEEMED to drift, with no conscious thought or impulse. I'd say I acted very much on impulse until five years ago . . . I have many conscious thoughts these days; sometimes to the extent of being told to "lighten up" ;-)
      My objective is to stay clean, to get myself an N/A sponsor and to work the twelve steps. To bring up my children, which requires many decisions and huge responsibility, but you know that. Every day I steer towards this objective. I don't know what an anathema is?
      I've only reached 19 yrs in the Archives . . . There's still some serious drifting years to cover.

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  10. Steve Hillage - now there are memories - coming from Kent lot of that type of stuff around coming out of Canterbury... Still continues with Syd Arthur

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    1. Hey . . . it's rare to find anyone who has heard of him these days. I've never heard of Syd Arthur, I'll check him out later, Thanks.

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  11. You ae exciting.I loved that patchouli perfume.I had it in a a compact and when i was writting letters to my boy friend I would rub patchouli on it so he would think of me.

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    1. Hi Bev . . . I'm not exciting anymore . . . I reckon I had enough excitement in my first 40 years to last me . . . then again, who knows? there could be some more in store for me ;-) I still have patchouli in oil burners around the house, Love it.

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  12. It sounds so cool! I have a few clothing items like that, that I wear continously until they literally fall apart.

    Great post!

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  13. Hi Catherine xoMwah!
    Some say cool . . some say damn stupid ;-)
    I plead insanity.
    It's awful when a favourite item of clothing is on it's last legs . . . And there's no chance of replacement. I had a pair of jeans that I patched in velvet (I like velvet) . . . eventually they were patchwork velvet jeans . . . then they were reincarnated as a bag . . . then a "bra top" thingy . .. which I still have! although I would never wear it; I can't possibly chuck it.
    Thanks x

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  14. I love patchouli to.I wonder how it got the name.Velvet is beautiful.I never owned it but it is so soft like fur.they dont make cloths like they used to right?I wanted a black velvet bra with diamond straps but it did not come in my sixe.

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    1. Hi Bev, I think it's the name of an indian flower, the perfume comes from the flower. I might google and check that.
      So right, they don't make clothes like they used to. Also automatic washing machines ruin clothes fast.
      I made a velvet bra. I got my favourite bra and sewed patchs of velvet all over it, until it was totally covered, straps and all . . . I've still got it. It's a work of art, although it doesn't fit me any more. Maybe my daughter will want it as a "vintage" piece when she's older ;-) Thanks for reading, enjoy your day x

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  15. Ah, memories. A few joints, some music, no cares, patchouli, art college, Syd Barret, London, acid, Paris, travel. Now I'm an old hippie in France, with a veg' patch, 2 dogs, and alcohol.

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    1. Eh Oui,
      I'd forgotten about Syd Barret.
      Sounds to me like you have everything you want Cro . . . I think it's quite rare to see that.

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