Party of One: A Memoir in 21 Songs - Dave Holmes Page 0,96

or worse, listening to rich hippies talk. “Namaste,” the circle answered.

As the talking stick passed from person to person, the stories got longer and longer, because if there’s one thing people who have the time and money to take a day off and explore their souls enjoy more than expensive sandals, it’s the sound of their own voice. Oh, you’re going to talk about finding your quiet inner voice? Well then I’m going to chant my intention. It was a goddamn bliss-off. About halfway through the circle, people just started taking the stick, breathing huge, showy cleansing breaths and saying “Wow,” and then pausing for fifteen seconds before launching into a monologue of jumbled Oprah words. It went on for a good hour. (It was actually not a very good hour.)

Finally the last person stated his intention—which was the same as everyone else’s and either took ten minutes or my dose was starting to kick in and my perception of time was warping—and we were dismissed to spend the rest of the day plunging the depths of our soul wherever we chose. I sprinted outside to find a good seat by the pool. I shook off the stress of the yoga-people talk, breathed deeply, and began to focus on the questions that led me here. What is it about me that has me perpetually on the outside? Why can’t I just relax? Who am I, anyway?

Just then, an older guy in a long white T-shirt and linen pants walked up behind me, gave me a rough and unbidden scalp massage and whispered into my ear: “I can’t wait to connect with youuuuuu.”

Oh, no.

I said, “Oh! Oh, my gosh, thanks! Me, too,” and he loped up a rock wall behind me, like some kind of mountain cat.

It wasn’t until this point that I started looking around me at the rest of the tripping hippies on the grounds. I took a good look at them and noticed that about a quarter were vomiting, another quarter were growling and kicking like animals, and everyone else was either crying and writhing on the ground like slow-motion sea bass in a fishing boat or dancing to the beat of the drum one guy was playing. (In a situation like this one guy is always going to be playing a drum.) Shamaness Pam made an appearance outside to remind everyone that the owner of the house would prefer that we barfed at the base of the olive tree, to help fertilize it. Those who were vomiting heard her and nodded, and then they calmly walked or writhed their way to the olive tree to offer it their special gift.

I have always had what I believe is a healthy fear of hallucinogens, but this was fairly pleasant. Nothing major happened, no melting trees or devil faces. The walls pulsated slightly and the clouds gave me a mild kaleidoscope effect and that was about it. Decent. Manageable. I found a place on the grass to meditate, just as Shamaness Pam came outside to offer those who felt they needed it a second dose. I probably could have gone with a second dose. I felt in control, and I felt like if this thing was going to work, I might want to get a little out of control. I thought I might want to lose myself so that I could find myself again.

But then I realized that if I took a second helping, there was no way I’d be able to drive before the next morning, and I’d probably have to spend the night in a sleeping bag around these people in a situation that I was 94 percent sure was going to turn into an orgy. Unacceptable. A handful of people took her up on it, and I sat in the sun and counted my breaths, trying to quiet my mind and focus on the here and now.

And then all the people who took a second dose came back outside, sat right around me, breathed deeply, and barfed.

After a couple of hours, the guy who wanted to connect with me came and sat at my side, and I thought: Okay, fine, let’s do this. I mean, I’m here and the clouds are dancing, let’s connect. He began to breathe, slowly, loudly, and I began to breathe with him. Ahhhhh. OOOOOOHHH. Together. Breathing as one. It felt nice, actually. Just breathing, connecting, doing whatever it was that we were doing, in a place where everyone was too busy dancing