One Night in 1975
It was going to be an ordinary night at home. But, then, cousin Paul called. He wanted to bring over the new release of Bob Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks. Paul also never failed to bring over the best contraband on the coast.
It was so long ago, I can’t remember everyone who was there…Paul, his girl friend Mary, or maybe it was Sheri Del, Val, one of Paul’s troubadour friends, myself, and our 7-year-old daughter Leda who we’d let listen to the music and breath the atmosphere…we were an enclave, gathered together much like we are now, Toastmasters. The key to membership was having similar interests and being friends, feeling safe. We could really feel the bond that existed between us…the music’s stories and melodies brought us even closer together. On the same frequency band.
So, you’re asking, then, Why on earth would you need to get high? Because it made you feel like you were having a moment of paradise on earth….you heard the music’s melody even clearer, the words seem to slow down so you caught the meanings, the associations between the lyrics that you’d usually miss because you were distracted by the thoughts that followed you from your work-life, that followed you from your never-ending to-do list, that followed you from the hang-ups of relationships. The heavy cloak of fatigue and dullness that weighs down your senses, dropped away…That it could last forever.
We were gathered around the source of the music—a component from Pacific Stereo—we were sitting on the carpeted floor in a circle the better to pass the glowing yellow dube. You never heard sounds resonate so perfectly, the words were so symbolic, the symbols so transparent they were delightful, the images so vivid you felt you were in them…and you noticed how beautiful each person’s face was.
“’twas in another life-time/one of toil and blood/ when blackness was a virtue/ the road was filled with mud/I came in from the wilderness/a creature void of form/’come in,’ she said, ‘I’ll give ya, shelter from the storm.’”
Those were the last words I understood…you know how we inhale what others tell us and exhale what we have to say without thought… my language system stopped breathing…I became unable to connect syllables into words…Dylan’s lyrics and comments of friends were unrecognizable . Meaning had vanished.
If that wasn’t enough—I began to feel a huge surge of electricity flow through me as if I were a pipe-line and a river of energy was roaring through me…here I am—pulsations of raging electrons…but I am LOCKED IN, LOCKED INSIDE MYSELF! You know what that means? I was locked outside of everyone else. I howled to myself, “I’m too high! What if I can’t come down?” But only I could hear. Ooow, what if I can’t come back to ordinary. That’s when the pulsating current coursed SHEER TERROR. I would forever be a Creature Void of Form!! Unable to understand others and spellbound.
The room—my friends, the furniture, the walls, the music all became a single surface, shifting patterns of vibration and color. I couldn’t identify my friends; I couldn’t remember myself. Strange, I was still able to talk to myself. It occurred to me, “I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.”
What do you do when you realize you really need to be somewhere else? You look for the person selling tickets. Usually you buy tickets to get into a place; I was looking for a ticket to get out…and I knew it wouldn’t be free. Since I couldn’t talk to anyone in the room, I had but one choice…I thought as loud as I could, “God, if you get me outta here…I’ll never do this again.” I’d had enough of that version of paradise to last me a life-time. After making my promise, I waited it out…yes, seemed like an eternity, but gradually the words began to mesh into the familiar. The visions that stunned me were being replaced with prosaic thoughts. I experienced the euphoria of no longer being extraordinary. It was rather agreeable.
My memory returned and reminded me of my promise. I wondered if I paid too much. But I kept that key turned in the lock of those gates of paradise for over three decades and returned to being quite ordinary. Having a form and recognizing other forms. Speaking language and understanding what others mean. Being a solid, warm human although not electrifying. Being able to come inside and go back outside, and feeling at home in either place.
Toastmasters, a note of warning. When you head for The Wild Side. Make sure you’ve bought the return ticket.