The ceremony ended with the ashes of the fire being spread out. The way the sticks had been arranged had made a Thunderbird of the mound called “The Road” that spread like wings from above the fire pit. I stepped out of the teepee after the ashes were dispersed and the closing prayers to be greeted by the morning sunrise; drums within what seemed to be the cells of my body were still reverberating in a hum. The ground under my bare feet felt spongy and soft. The tables were set with plates of roasted honeyed blue cornmeal and some other tid-bits that I don’t exactly recall. The women, who didn’t attend the meeting, were serving and they all had an aura of love that is hard to explain. It isn’t so much that I felt love… the earth was love and love was more than kindness. It was a vibration I could actually see… a note I could hear in the low hum of the earth. The beauty of everything and everyone on the glimmering mesa wasn’t obtrusive but was as gentle as a mild breeze… it was as a bow across the strings of a viola… the viola of the earth. My feet took me back to the goat pasture… at that time the Bible thumper was harassing the women serving with scripture. I watched him and then called him over the gate of the fence. Charlie goat greeted him with a push on his hand when he entered. I warned him that he was getting himself committed if he shoved back. Scratch his chin and pat his side but, beware, don’t push back his head or you may regret it. The thumper was not to be told what to do by any heathen so he shoved back. By the time he got out the gate Charlie’s intent to put his butt over the fence with a last head butt halfway succeeded. So much for curses, I laughed in a deep and satisfying guffaw that rumbled so I feared I might explode.
On another day, Beatrice’s Afro-mate (I can’t remember his name) and, three year old André’s father, invited everyone to the Kiva for a group meditation. Most of us hadn’t tried it since the meditation at New Buffalo. We sat around the tiers of the Kiva… some could sit in the Lotus position and knew quite well how to meditate but most were like me. He was a great instructor as he took us through the ropes in a guided meditation explaining how the word, “Om”, works. What I remember most about his instruction was the advice that “Om” is a word that needs no embellishment. Just let the word come from the breath he advised. The breath should rise from below the lungs… from the gut, if you will. Let the “Om” out from there and let the word regulate your breath… something like that. I truly don’t remember much more but that much stuck with me. I remember this much of what he taught when I now meditate some forty years later.
Stan was a cynic about all this spiritual jive, especially the claim that meditation was a high above drugs. We talked about it afterwards in the A-frame. Stan was a few years younger than me but he was far more honest about his feelings and so much more spontaneous about acting on them. He brought up the subject of women and the fact that he had heard a lot about free love but had not had any sex since leaving Detroit. We talked about how it wasn’t that much different from the way it was with straight culture. Women and men seem to gravitate towards each other for qualities of strength, security and so on… is the man smart enough and able enough to provide protection and care for their children? I noted that Charlie goat has quite a harem because he is able to do just that and I’m sure we laughed about it.
Stan then asked whether or not these chants would be of any avail along the lines of fixing us up with a woman. It was then that we started chanting; “Pussy… Pussy… Pussy…” We must have repeated “Pussy” a hundred before we stopped. We blew out the kerosene lamp when Stan asked in the dark, “Do you see any women?”
“No, Stan, I think it might take some patience."
The very next day a VW van pulled up into the parking lot where two women and a couple of men unloaded from it. I didn’t think much about it but the idea of the chant the night before stuck in my head. Later that day I heard music and smelled pot coming from the room with a door facing the Kiva. I’m not sure but I think it was the room of a guy named David. Stan and I stopped in to see what was going on. A frizzy-haired dark skin beauty was playing a twelve string guitar. She smiled at me directly while she played. The other women with her, whose name I can't recall was from Georgia, and sang along in a sweet Georgia peach accent most obviously eyeing Stan. The one playing the guitar stopped playing and introduced herself to me as Sunflower. Sunflower then asked me where she and her friend could bathe because they had been on the road a few days and longed for some water. I told them about the Stage Coach hot springs and how far it was but she declined that idea asking if there was anything closer. I then mentioned the pond but that the ice was barely thawed from winter. She said that she didn’t mind if it was closer and asked if I could be their guide.
Well, my answer took no hesitation. I was more than willing and we headed out directly… she and her friend but left her guitar and the other two guys at the room. We hiked over the mesa and down to the pond stripping off our clothes. My eyes feasted on the bodies of the gorgeous nymphs along our side. Stan and the women were dipping their feet in the water to test it when I decided to show some bravado and dove in over their heads with a huge splash. I have to admit that the icy water was a shock I could hardly bear and would normally leap immediately out of but I stayed in it to show off yelling above my shivers, “Its fine…, th…th… the wa… water’s fine!”
The high altitude of New Mexico held snow on the south slopes in the shade but, if you were out of the wind, you could sunbathe. The four of us sunned after everyone got wet and played around in the freezing water at least long enough to clean ourselves. Yes, we sunned on towels and I held Sunflower close allowing the goose bumps to melt away with the passion of chilled bodies warm themselves in love making that went higher than a mere roll in the hay… or should I say, grit of the earthen dam. I fell for Sunflower right then and there. We had been pretty unabashed about getting it on with each other as was Stan with his woman.
Stan stayed with his squeeze down at the dome and Sunflower spent the night with me in the A-frame. It was a great night for me as we made love and talked. I then spoke of Easy Rider and how my character was like Wyatt’s and Stan’s was more like Billy’s. At least, that was how I saw myself…, as more serious and looking for something while Stan just seemed to be just going along for the ride. She seemed to agree and actually said something like, “I saw that when you came in the door today.”
Woah, I thought, I got this girl charmed. She finally told me that she needed to sleep as she would be heading out back to Los Angeles in the morning. Then I threw in something I’d read about Easy Rider and that how Peter Fonda’s character, Wyatt’ had been given an option as Captain America to stop at New Buffalo… get right with the earth but instead he chose hit the road to his destiny as America was doing and all those implications. She agreed with that too and that is when I made the proposal, “Why don’t you stay here with me. We would work well together, I can’t make it here without a woman and your arrival was no mere chance.” I said that earnestly in reference to the chant the night before.
Curling up to me she said, “You seemed to have a mystical power that commanded the room when I saw you today George. I can’t stay; I have a boutique to run back on Sunset and responsibilities.” Then, after she kissed me full-on, added, “Don’t allow your fantasies of who I am to you sap you of that power… you are going to need all you have.”She moaned, "Easy Rider, this is far enough for us to ride for now, eh?"
Sadly, I knew she was right but I had no idea what she meant… a premonition of sorts I believe.
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