So this happened

Somewhere in the backyard of my mind, I remember being a happy child. Not yet overwhelmed by the dispensations of life. The events that filtered into my brain found a place vacant of thoughts. I accepted what was given, unquestioned. Headstrong, gullible, and fearless, a dangerous combination. Unconcerned about possible consequences. I knew I was protected. By what, I had no idea, but it was a force all my own.

I spoke with it, made bets with it. Questioned and argued with it. Not knowing if it was my conscience or my consciousness. Years later, after paying the tab for several poor choices, I’ve decided it was both. My conscience got me into trouble. Being a rebel anything it advised against doing, I was likely to do.

But it was my Consciousness that got me out. And I see now it was certainly divine intervention. It took a lifetime to finally discern. But it's mine. I own it. I am it. I've never been anything but it. It being my Source, my protection. My God-self. And It has always loved me. Especially through the bad decisions and near scrapes I’ve encountered. Forever hovering, near-by, ready to help me rally when I fumbled.

I came riding in with little or no identity. The only name I’ve ever possessed is my first name, the one that was not bestowed on me by the patriarch Du jour. And the person I am today has been contrived from the myriad of choices I've made. As a result, I have embodied many identities. Some I'm not proud of. Others I'm utterly awestruck by. Out of all those numerous, disconnected lives. Came me.

Some of the choices were not mine. But rather how my parents and siblings looked at me yet never saw me. I was in their world, like it or not, just or not, pleasant, mostly, but pretty much left to the wind to grow up. Until I was old enough to make my own choices. From which I managed to survive and thankfully overcome the worst of.

I’ve always felt like something greater cares for me, looks out for me. I have felt safe, despite my unwavering lack of reverence. And my skeptical trust of religion, all religion, which makes me more of an agnostic than an atheist. But it didn’t make belonging somewhere very feasible. I’ve never been a joiner or a leader. Never saw the appeal of either. But the curiosity to find An explanation to the greater question, of what was protecting me was always foremost on my mind.

In an attempt to explain the existential quandary. My first introduction, at age 23 was a book by Alan Watts. An author and pioneer of Eastern Philosophies. Many have emulated his path but none more popular or profound. It opened my irreligious eyes to the way of zen.

It wasn't long after discovering his book that the man who gave it to me was also friends with a well known San Francisco Astrologer, Gavin Arthur. It was through him I became acquainted with Alan’s youngest daughter Anne, 18 yrs old. She was married to a Harpist named Joel who played with the San Francisco Symphony, He was 36. Exactly 18 years older. They were more like juveniles of the same age. She was the epitome of her father’s teaching and has now gone on to become a workshop facilitator at the Human Awareness Institute HAI. She is a certified Hypnotherapist. As am I. Anne was a model for many important choices I made after meeting her. My life’s direction had taken a decidedly new turn.

YouTube has a wonderful collection of Alan’s amazing lectures. This is one that I chose to introduce him to those who’ve not yet benefitted from his exemplary wisdom. I chose this one to validate the point of my story.

A year later, through a different set of circumstances I was inducted into Alan Watts’ life. The man I was dating was a friend of Alan's and one of his admiring entourage.

One weekend we were visiting the home of artist-builder, Roger Somers. He built his home on 5 acres in the hills of Mt.Tamalpias in Marin County, CA. The home was an architectural showpiece of esthetic hand-carved designs. It became the epicenter of Druid Heights. A growing counter-culture community.

While researching Roger to see if he was still around. I found this interesting story in the LA Times: Druid Heights was a bohemian community. It was founded by carpenter Roger Somers and poet Elsa Gidlow in 1954 on five acres of a former chicken ranch. The name Druid Heights was given to the acreage in honor of two women, the revolutionary and teacher of Irish lore, Ella Young (the Druid), and Emily Bronte (author of Wuthering Heights).

It is now being considered for Historical status with hopes to restore it. This is another interesting article with pictures of Roger and history of the house in an attempt to save Druid Heights, posted here. They also have an active Facebook page @ Save Druid Heights, with even more history.

To say it was spectacular would be understating its uniqueness. It was relatively new when I visited so the teak wood accents were highly polished and pristine. No one at the time had any idea that seven decades later it was to become so famous, and revered.

At 25 I was still pretty impressionable. The wide-eyed ingènue in me wasn’t aware enough to know how far I was in over my head, and with whom. On that particular day there were 15 or 20 highly regarded artists, musicians, poets, and writers. It was not uncommon to see the likes of Alan Ginsberg, Gary Snyder, Virginia Satir, Alan Watts, Timothy Leary, and other assorted bohemian types roaming about. It was San Francisco, 1962, and the advent of Druid Heights’ counter-culture society. The tail end of the Bohemian lifestyle and three short years before the hippie evolution. A blending of cultures.

I knew nothing about LSD... nothing. I was married to a jazz musician and was familiar with pot and had even tried peyote. But LSD was a new apparition. Little known other than it was discovered and experimented with by a couple of academic types. They claimed it had mind-altering effects. And promised after only one guided ‘trip’ life would never be viewed the same. Emphasis on guided. Particularily by someone not on LSD to keep you from a psychic freak out. It sounded scary and for me had little appeal.

My boyfriend at the time was Bob McCorkle, brother to Locke McCorkle, a student and close friend of Alan’s. Locke was estate manager for EST founder Werner Erhardt. Through Locke, Bob became good friends with Alan and his wife. I was hostess for his wife Mary Jane’s 65th birthday party. They came to our histroric apartment at 31 Alta Street in San Francisco, and were pretty wasted by the time they got there. Celebrating all day, so by the end of the party both had passed out on our bed. Bob and I curled up on the living room couch until they woke up. What an honor. The great and powerful Alan Watts sleeping in my bed. The cream in me was surely rising to the top. That much I fathomed.

I visited Alan’s houseboat home in Sausalito. He leased the 1925 repurposed ferry boat Vallejo from Artist Jean Vargas.

From the deck you could see Virginia Satir’s houseboat, Various writers and artists in their stationary floating homes could be seen working while walking along the common board walk. It was an artsy atmosphere. With the Golden Gate Bridge for a backdrop.

Alan’s house boat, was very zen, and magazine quality beautiful. Perfect for meditation, the rooms were vibrant, each with its own palpable vibration.

On the day we visited Roger’s house, his land partner, Elsa Gidow was at a retreat in Europe, but the usual crowd was there and it was a day for ‘dropping acid’ as was the venacular. I declined and since he was driving so did Bob.

Roger’s 20 something daughter, or maybe niece, had recently returned from a trip to the Yucatan and had illegally smuggled a Half Moon Parrot under her skirt. A gorgeous creature about 8” long. He was free to fly around the house and was very personable. He took a liking to me, maybe because I talked to him in a loving way. I may have seduced him.

It adopted me and wouldn’t let Bob come near me. It sat on my chest, where I was laying on the floor of the meditation room, screeching and vociferously flapping his wings warning any approaching intruder to stay away. At one point he got close enough to my mouth and ever so gently took hold of the tip of my tounge with his beak and just held on, I could feel him vibrating as if I was his mate. He was making love to me. A very queer sensation. If I protested he could snap through my tongue in a heartbeat. But he was very gentle. Sweetly cooing his love song. I almost wished he were human.

Around us the room was a sea of undulating bodies. It felt like watching a Felini Film. They were a performing troupe of bizarre costumed, stoned trippers. Intensely focusing on strange visions only they could see. It was reminiscent of children pretending in an invisible world. At one point I went to the kitchen to help cut some fruit to feed the group or maybe just to watch them playfully fantasize with it. The Bird on my head, moved only when I coaxed him to the counter to accept a grape.

In the dining area next to the meditation room there was a solid piece of polished Teakwood at least 5 feet square with seats built into the floor and the floor hollowed out where you put your legs, so you were sitting even with the surface. Japanese style with American comfort.

Most people there had already started tripping before we arrived so the party was "in full momentum with still a few hours remaining. I was startled and more than a little wary. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was pure consciousness, untamed and amplified. The air itself was vibrating.

It took a lot of coaxing from Bob to get me to go on an LSD ‘trip’ alone with him. And when I did, reluctantly, it freaked me out. I was transcended. My unfiltered mind had projected me back in time to become the original first woman. My immediate instinct was to get off the hill. I had to leave the garden in order to walk through time correcting the fallacy that created Eden. I had a mission.

What I saw was Eve cast out of the garden for diobeying the rules. There were a lot of platitudes and metaphors running through my head, about life and religion, Adam and Eve. And my opinion towards them. I had to resolve and work through the centuries to get back to now. Barefoot, braless, no form of identity or money. I started walking. I was doing very odd things like eating leaves from a bush. Picking up gold foiled trash. People stared. Each block was a measure of time. I stopped in a little Mom & Pop grocery store, I must have looked like a wild woman with my disheveled hair, barefoot, in a flimsy shirt and jeans. I was a new breed, soon to be known as a Hippie.

For some reason—I was convinced Bob—still in the apartment doing his thing--was unaware he had taken a poison called lysergic acid. it made you go crazy. I had to tell someone. I hopped up on this poor old couples counter, histerically yelling “we have to save him”. They in turn called the police, and kindly gave me a pear to quiet me till they arrived. I was much calmer by that time but still convinced we needed to save Bob. - Poor Bob, when the cop car pulled up to our apartment. Bob had no idea what for. It was a perfectly lovely afternoon and he was futzing around the place doing chores, washing windows and genuinely enjoying the trip he was on.

Long story short I spent the night in women’s lockup in the SF city jail. Bob in the men’s. - Poor Bob.

They didn't know what to charge us with since using LSD was not a felony or misdemeanor offence. But when the police searched the apartment they found my purse and in it was a vile with less than a couple of joints of marijuana. And that was something they knew was illegal.

So that happened. I never want to spend another night in a drunk tank again. That was one consequence, I went out of my way never to repeat.

There was a large black lady sitting next to me. Her exposed dingy gray brassiere was held together with a large safety pin. She yelled out to the police matrons to get me out saying “She don't belong in here.” I couldn’t disagree with that. It was nice of her to care. Mostly the group of 10 or 12 were prostitutes and drug users. I was the only white female. It was a sleepless night filled with colorful, euphuistic language. I probably will never hear again. I hope.

Because LSD was so new and as yet unheard of. I had three or four male cops asking me what it felt like to be high on psychedelics. The ‘trip’ was over at that point, I was sober and completely shocked by my ordeal. I don't remember my comments. Bob and his lawyer arranged my bail and later that week we had to go to a hearing in front of a judge.

A friend of Bob’s who also had a houseboat in Sausalito arranged to have me stay with her. She was a lovely lady, lesbian, gracious and thoughtful. Something I really needed at that moment. She dressed me in one of the many goddess gowns she had on hand for visitors and tried to get me to shave my head, as she had done for herself. She did it to all her friends, though only a few actually considered it. I politely refused. I realized later she was the hostess for a kind of cult of followers that would drop by and leisurely spend quality time, sipping wine, getting stoned and lounging like goddesses for an afternoon. She tried a couple of times to seduce me but that was not an experience I was prepared to deal with.

One of her friends thought of a clever way to get us off from a jail sentence was to admit that someone had given me the vile of pot to calm me down from the LSD. It worked. I got a few months probation and ordered to see a therapist. No record of it. I was still pure. But not Bob it was his second offence and was ordered to pay $1500 fine plus probation. - Poor Bob. He surely didn't deserve it.

I don't know exactly what I learned about existential behaviour from this experience, but I know I was never the same after it. And with no further insight into my ubiquitous protector. A realization that was still in my future yet to be revealed. But for now, this story is getting lengthy so...

The end.

And another beginning...

Thanks for reading my adventure.