Manifesting a New Writing Destination

There are times when I say to myself, Why didn't I ask for a million dollars?    

Today I awoke with outlines spilling out of my head faster than I could capture them in words... But they would have to wait.  There were emails, text messages, and phone calls to answer.  I would need a shower... and then I would quest for a new place to park myself to write.  

Freshly washed, dressed, and primped; I biked south from my Northern Liberties home.  Where were those coffee shops I had meant to visit so many times?  I wandered around South Street, over to Head House Square... Then backtracked.  Cafe Ole was overflowing with people- One more small circle, then maybe I'll head back there.

That is when I found it... on 2nd Street, just south of the restaurant equipment wholesalers, United By Blue (UBB); Coffee and Retail, under one roof.  The long, tall-ceiling space housing a coffee bar on one side and a retail display of tasteful, fun print t-shirts and an array of totes and bags was screaming, "Welcome".  

As I ordered a soy cafe au lait (reasonably priced at $3), I asked, "Two questions; Do you have wifi, and do you accept credit?"  Yes, indeed.  

I parked myself on the big comfy leather couch in the back, trying to avoid the temptation of looking at my retail weakness- bags!  That was when Brian Linton, founder of the United By Blue team introduced himself and showed me the full line.  He explained to me that it was their opening today.  "Enjoy- This is only the beginning. There will be more stuff coming in.  Feel free to hang out and write!  We run our offices upstairs."

The local United By Blue brand has made its home in Philadelphia, up until recently residing at 12th and Callowhill.  Linton founded UBB in 2010, after ending other unsatisfactory attempts to create retail ventures that would benefit the environment.  "When you give money to a nonprofit, you don't know how much of the money is actually being put to use and how much is going into someone's pocket," Linton stated, "Some nonprofit head honchos make six figures."  This time, rather than giving proceeds to a third party, Linton created a way to put his profits into direct efforts, "For every product sold, UBB removes one pound of trash from oceans and waterways through company organized and hosted cleanups... We have organized volunteers, transportation, and media coverage for cleanups across twenty-two states, so far."

Linton sites the importance of media coverage to increase awareness of the cause.  It is not just about cleaning up.  It is about encouraging people to make better decisions.  "The materials of cigarette carton discarded on the ground in North Dakota is going to go into a creek, into a river, into the ocean.  All water leads back to the ocean... Water is life.  It is what connects everything.  It is why people chose to settle where they did, when this country was founded.  It is what we look for on other planets."

United by Blue is excelling in spreading its message with its brand and products, already featured on the Today Show, Redbook, as well as many local Philadelphia publications.

Linton's enthusiasm for clean water started in his childhood.  Growing up on a small island in Singapore, he developed a deep appreciation for marine biology and originally considered a career teaching the subject.  However, combining his passion for the environment with his knack for business, he found himself creating a new concept for his livelihood.

Products are designed in-house.  Most of the manufacturing is done in India and Nepal, out of small companies that have undergone rigorous examination for fair treatment of their employees and quality assurance of the organic cotton they use.  "We are also releasing some new items soon that are made here in Philadelphia," Linton smiled.  "This is only the soft opening.  Our grand opening will be September 25th."

Clothing items from $30 to $80, with new locally manufactured items to arrive shortly.  Canvas bags range from $40 to $180.  Not a bad bargain, considering that this savvy retail shopper knows the same quality canvas bags are being sold in Center City for at least 10-20% more, with no environmental benefit offered.  

Linton explained that many customers purchase products unaware of UBB's greater mission.  "We design and create apparel that appeals to everyone, not just the environmentally conscious," 

So, why a coffee shop?

"Because we want to be part of this community.  We don't want to pressure people to buy anything," Linton clarified, adding,  "We do a monthly clean up, every first Tuesday in Philadelphia- until the weather doesn't allow."

While this customer is not retail shopping today, I am really excited to have found an inspiring new wifi spot, within walking distance, where I can write posts like this one... about how everyday there is a new reason to fall in love with the city of Philadelphia.

Visit the United By Blue shop at 144 N 2nd St, Philadelphia, PA 19106 and online at http://www.unitedbyblue.com/

Hurt.

Because once... You told me to not be afraid that you weren't over her yet.  You told me it would not be a problem.

Because once... You told me that you could wait more than 100 days, but you didn't when you weren't waiting for me.

Because once... I gave you my whole heart, and you broke it.

Because I wanted to hear you loved me... and you said you're sorry now that you said it then.

Because my heart hasn't changed, and yours has.

Because I would never treat you this way.

Because I can't treat myself this way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This pain will subside... I will not let it fester deep inside

I will grow stronger than I was before... I learn again, more and more

These words simply must be said... So that my heart and soul are fed

Someday they won't cut me this way... When tomorrow and tomorrow become yesterday.

Thank you.

It is time.  I have waited thirty years to write this story.  My story.  It isn't glamorous.  I'm not famous.  I'm not important.  I'm not special.  I'm just another human being, being human.  I was born in the middle of nowhere.  I grew up in my head, too quickly.  I lived imaginary lives that never happened.  The life I lived was much less interesting, but it's the one I'm stuck with-  When I am old and gray, waiting for death to find me, what will I remember?  The life I wanted or the life I wasted?  ...When I realized this- everything changed, and I changed with it~

...There is no way to present my story in such a way that can leave the reader in suspense for thirty years, the duration of time that I lived in ignorance, unaware of my condition.  Although I have lived my life in the pursuit of self-awareness, I realize now how blissful those erratic, selfish years were.  What I have lost.  The bad patterns that I can no longer knowingly choose to go on repeating.  What a gift that time was!  How much patience and tolerance others have generously lent me.  It is time for me to start repaying my debts...

Sometimes I rationalize life to myself this way: "We" are born a little cosmic credit.  As infants we are entitled to the care and time and attention required to nurture and raise us into young people who can learn to be self-sufficient.  Some are born with a disproportionate allowance.  Not everyone has their basic needs met.  Others are born with exceptional advantages and privileges.  Whatever the balance, remember everything is relative.  At some point or another; financially, emotionally, karmically-  We hit zero.  When we hit zero, we begin to go into cosmic debt.  The only way to work of cosmic debt is to live a good life.  To earn additional cosmic credit, one must find ways to help others.  This may be as simple as smiling at a stranger on the street or as grandiose as curing a disease.  Again, everything is relative.  One can never know the impact one or the other will have on the world... (something about a butterfly's wings starting a breeze that turns into a hurricane.)

Everyone is trying their best.  Everyone is working to their full potential, even when it seems they are not doing anything at all.  Sometimes, that is all we can manage for the moment.  Sometimes we are in pain to be the person for someone else to comfort.  Sometimes we are cutting someone off in traffic, pissing them off, but keeping them from running over a little boy down the road.  Who knows?  It seems as likely as it is unlikely.

So... part of my purpose right now is to write about my experiences.  I have started a series of entries on each of the 9 criteria for Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD).  I have run away from being labelled for over a decade, and now that it has happened- I feel relieved in a way.  There is therapy.  There are books to read.  There are finally other people like me to relate to... However, a friend gave me a fantastic piece of advice; "Don't let your diagnosis turn into your excuse for maintaining bad behavior."  I will admit, there have been a few moments in the past few months during which I looked at someone dumbfounded, as if to say, "But I have BPD!  How can you judge me?  I can't help it!  ...I mean, I'm working on that!  I'm undergoing a process, and you're not helping me!"

At that point, I was not ready to attack the problem yet.  I was simply striving to cope with the idea that I am different.  Now I am beginning to put things into perspective.  I am realizing that I need a lot of time to pass- so that I can see situations from a distance.  The real challenge is to not actively analyze the situation throughout the downtime, creating wild scenarios and making infuriating assumptions.  I need to let the details simmer in the back of my brain, the way a song does when I am writing without even being aware of it... Then, just like the lovely tunes that I have breathed out seemingly effortlessly, I can hear the answers come to me.

Of course, it is not effortless.  Getting distance from a situation is a huge struggle for me.  I have an impeccable emotional memory.  Recalling an old memory can evoke the original sensations of the moment as vividly as the moment I experienced them;

...The blades of my father's razor slicing into the soft bed of my thumb.  An innocent childhood accident that has left me with a small phobia of sharp objects and saved me from the common BPD habit of cutting.

...My confidence sinking when I received a judgmental email from my best friend in high school about why I would never be a Korean pop-star/singer.  A silly school girl pipe dream that neither of us pursued- or perhaps that I am finally pursuing now, in a way... over ten years later.

..My heart breaking when I found abortion papers in my now ex-boyfriend's apartment after I just moved in with him.  Papers dated during the months that I had assumed we were exclusive... Mr. AOL.

I always feel as though I am exposing more than my talent, my skills -or lack thereof... I put my heart and soul on display, my story.  And now, as part of my processing and healing, my learning and growing, I will begin to share these stories.  I have long avoided committing them to written words -because there are many characters who may prefer to remain anonymous.  I remind the reader to remember that my accounts of events are completely skewed from my perspective, an admittedly flawed and warped reflection of reality.  I will refrain from using real names.  I will omit identifying details whenever possible, but I will not alter the truth according to me.

On the other hand, there will be some fictionalized portions, marked as such.  Stories that tie all the loose ends together for me.  I will do my best to show respect to the people who have been so significant to me.  I would never intend harm or shame.  So, as you read, if you choose to read... Let your mind be like a Teflon pan.  Let the words hit the surface and slide out again, leaving only some faint feeling that a breeze has swept across your skin for a moment.

Reading the written word, unlike listening to music, is a much more volitional experience.  Like my music, sharing is part of my creative process.  I so appreciate those giving me your time and attention.  Whoever you are, you are a beautiful audience.

Thank you.

Crickets

Crickets.  I love the sound.  The music of nature.  The nature of music.  A symphony of insects wooing one another.

This is where I find myself.  In an argument.  Already.

No good can come of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I typed this on Victor's computer.  After our wonderful camp-cocoon, I was still falling from the acid trip, afraid to be alone.  I asked him if he had time to home record some music for my website.  He said he had a couple hours.

We got food from our favorite cheap Indian spot.  I could barely eat, anxious to sing well- and I never sing well on a full stomach.  "I think there's a reason they're called starving artists."

"Yeah, I play better hungry too,"  Victor concurred.  "So, what do you want to start with?"

"...I was thinking I should work in chronological order, since that is the way the blog is," I hesitated, "I should start with Take Care."

He said nothing.  I knew he never liked hearing the songs I wrote for Mr. Mister.  Many times he would say, "Not that one.  Too sad."

I tried to explain to him that I did not think about Mr. Mister that way anymore when I played them.  In fact, as time had passed, I had learned to apply each song to my new current situation.  I found comfort in the fact that "Take Care" was more cheery when applied to the situation between Victor and I... at least once upon a time, it had.

"I would also really like a recording of Yesterday/Tomorrow.  I can't perform it at all without you... and it is one of my favorites.  I've thought of it a lot since I went... to the hospital."

He squeezed my hand to reassure me.  "Okay, let's do that."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Yesterday/Tomorrow"

None of my friends- know me like you do

and I'd like to believe- that I know you

WHO do you think you are...

Who do you THINK you are...

Who do YOU... think you are?

Yesterday I knew- everything about you

Today everything about you- feels so new

and tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow- I can't see... Who you will be.

No other man- sees me like you

and I'd like to believe- that I see you

WHO do you think you are...

Who do you THINK you are...

Yesterday I knew- everything about you

Today everything about you- feels so new

and tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow

Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow- I can't see... Who you will be.

Our faces keep changing, our hair rearranging with time

Though some features we keep, they are only skin deep, I find

The more that I reap, the more there is to sow

and the more that I learn, the more there is to know

I can't hold on anymore... I wanna just- let go, go, go-

Yesterday I knew- everything about you

and tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow... I can't see... Who you will be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was nervous.  My throat refusing to open for the microphone.  After listening to the takes, I compromised to listen to them in preparation for a future recording session.

He held me.  I held him.  "Victor... if somehow, I am able to write something worth publishing... Will you be okay with my sharing our intimate details?"

He did not hesitate, "Yeah, I think so."

"I hope so... There's just something so magical about cocooning with you.  I don't think I can keep it to myself."

I knew it was almost time for him to leave, and he was preparing me to leave as well... "It was just so nice to wake up with you."

"It was a good big step," He paused, "I'm not sure what it means yet.  I still feel conflicted."

"Victor, I'm afraid to ask you for anything."

"You can ask.  You know it is hard for me to say no to you, to not be able to give you what you want, but I have to sometimes."

"I was nervous to ask you go to camping with me, to record with me..."

"...and here we are."

I paused, "Can I stay here while you're out?  I'll work on my blog... I don't have the internet at my apartment again yet.  I will stay and type, and I will leave when you come home... I won't make up any excuses to stay."

"You already are..." He got up, "I'm going to take a shower.  I have to leave soon."

I went to his computer and started logging into my blog.

"You didn't bring your own computer?"

"That would have been awfully presumptuous... I only just now thought to ask-"

He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment.  The sound of water against the tub, then he reemerged, "Echo, I really don't feel good about this."

"I have been doing everything your way.  What about what I want... Does everything have to be your way?"

He went into the shower.

Despite my impulse to be stubborn I closed the internet browser and knocked on the bathroom door.  "Can I pee?  I'm leaving."

"Don't flush."

"I know."  I peed.  I felt like pacing nervously but restrained myself.  "Should I let myself out?"

"You can... Or you can wait and leave with me," he called from the shower.

...Against my better judgement I set into the conversation I did not want to have.  I had given him every permission to do anything and everything, and still- I was the one calling, texting, and planning dates.  He was not participating.  

"You're just keeping me around, hoping you can turn me into your friend.  I can't be your friend, Victor."

I held back my tears... at the thought of his being with another woman, where I had slept, of using the condoms that I had purchased.  I restrained myself from saying these things.. these thoughts that were cutting me from the inside-out.

I tried to explain to him that he had to set an intention to try to be with me- or give me up... But this limbo was Hell for me.

"I'm conflicted.  I don't know what I want yet... I'm trying to figure that out."

I refrained from telling him that the little blonde at the camp would have gladly cocooned him in her tent had I not been there... from telling him that of course the younger girl wanted to jump into bed with him after she saw me confront him in Time.  I told myself there was no point... Just try, just try to forget this pain.

"Maybe I shouldn't see you in September... Last September I thought Nic was so important.  I thought during that time he would realize whether I was important.  He didn't... and by then-"

"By then, we were hanging out... Has it already been a year?"

"We didn't think it was going to turn into anything... and some other girl will pull you into something else while I'm gone..."  I watched his eyes.  They were red, like he could cry.  "I don't want to run away from you.  I love you.  You are the one I want to spend my life with... and I know it seems impossible right now, but life is long... and when we are in our 40's and 50's this will all be so long ago.  We will be so different by then... I want us to grow together, not apart."

He hugged and kissed me goodbye.

As I drove away, I called to him out my window, "I want my key back.. next time."

Cocoon... My Last Trip

Ecstasy, mushrooms, a tiny bit of cocaine (that I did not care for in the least!), ayahuasa... marijuana... I had only one thing left on my to-do list: LSD.

I don't know why... because I read too many books, watched too many movies.  I wanted to know what it was like.  Even worse, I interrupted my night camping with Victor to do it... I asked him permission.  I knew he would decline to partake, but I wanted to know he would not mind babysitting me through it.  He obliged.

I simply had never run into the opportunity before- especially not when I was with someone I trusted to watch over me.  In retrospect, I would have rather skipped it.  Especially after the ayahuasca, I was not particularly impressed the experience.  It was another playground, one less exciting and insightful.

Victor and I danced to some fantastic music.  He has a difficult time relaxing his muscles enough to really dance- unless he is playing guitar.  But gradually, together, our bodies swayed and flowed together.  His fingers tickling my sides.  My hands tapping his legs to the beat.

............On our way to the festival, we had been somewhat cordial.  He said he was not convinced he would stay overnight.  As we entered, the grounds, I assured him that if we walked around the campsites, someone would find us... to no avail.  It was another hour before friends began to appear out of the woodwork.  Then suddenly I was surrounded by familiar faces, introducing him to many.

"Festival folk are a family.  You begin to know everyone," I told him. "And they will know you."

Victor had come on a fact finding mission- to book his band for future events.  It had never occurred to me that I knew more of these people than he did.  I had only been attending such events for a few years, when he had lived in the area for most of his life... I smiled, "I can help you!  I did not understand before... But now I do.  I'm better at this part..."

"I'm better at organizing a band internally, making it work," he added.

"You are!"  I was elated to find more complimentary features between us as a couple.

When we found Uncle Phil, I was grateful I had shed my fear of him.  He was not a bad omen.  He welcomed us to join his campsite, and Victor agreed to set up the tent before the sun set.

On the shuttle back to the car for the tent, we ran into the girl who had lured him to this festival with the promise of introducing him to a booker.  I could not tell whether she was sincere or seductive- or both... But she never brought up the booking while he was talking to her.

He made an attempt to introduce us, "This is my friend, Echo."

I felt a rush surge through me.  I started pushing out heavy deep breaths.  Walking to the car, I moved away, ahead of Victor.  As I rummaged through the things in the car, to only bring essentials, I tossed aside the cute leggings and legwarmers and grabbed my comfy jeans instead, "Nevermind, won't need those."

As we walked back, I found the courage to make a joke, "Am I your friend, Victor?"

"I didn't mean that.  It didn't sound right.  The moment I heard myself say it... I knew you were thinking about it," he responded sincerely.  He put his arm around me in the shuttle back, "Are you okay?"

I was noticeably shaken, "Yeah, I just... get overwhelmed.  I feel a rush of emotion, and I know it doesn't make sense.  I have to let it pass... I have to let it dissipate."  I put my head on his shoulder, "Thank you."

Back at the campsite, I was impressed with us, how we erected the tent without argument or contempt, working together, neither one of us taking controlling the other.  It was not until the tent was complete, and we were inside alone that Victor took me into his arms and kissed me.  "You know I can't resist you."

I smiled, "Hi."  This is all I know how to say when I am afraid of ruining a moment.

"I don't know what's going on either, you know."

"Really?  Because sometimes it feels like you have already decided, and you're just afraid to let me go."

"No."

"Sometimes there are two of you."

"Yeah, sometimes it feels that way for me too... I am a Gemini."

"I know... How do you think I feel?  A Capricorn... a goat with a fish tail!  I can't stop climbing, no matter how I try... and I would rather be in water."

"Sometimes there is more than one of you, too."

"I know... But I think altogether we are a complete set.  Nobody's perfect, but we certainly do fill out one another."

We smoked and danced.  As the night rolled on, we saw the blonde girl again.  I could not be jealous... I had already given Victor the green light to continue seeing other women- as long as he came home, as long as I was still his...

But that was not what was happening.  We did not talk more than once a week.  I was initiating the conversations, not him.  I reminded myself- nothing happening at this fest was going to change that.  I resolved to have a good time and not worry about the future- Be in the moment.  Maybe that is why I took a hit of acid...

After dancing, we went back to our tent and cocooned ourselves together in my sleeping bag.  Clothes were shed.  Skin touched skin.  I reminded myself to not have sex with him... How much it would hurt when he remained distant later.  I reminded him as well.

"I love you," it slipped out of my mouth.  "I'm sorry."

"I love you too, Echo."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"I wasn't supposed to say it."

"I know it."

We redressed and went back out for more music.  Victor realized in insisting upon keeping a light on, he had created a pornographic puppet show for anyone watching.  We giggled.  I had avoided making my usual noisiness only to be exposed visually.  "We just can't keep it to ourselves, I guess."

We wandered around the woods, through strangely decorated campsites.  We helped one another avoid mud pits and obstacles.  Eventually he was tired and wanted to sleep... We stripped down and cuddled back into our cocoon.

The acid turned and twisted in my system.  I dreamed of the inside of a clock, tiny ticking and clicking gears.  Then my perspective would zoom out, the clock and myself and everything else around me fell into some other greater system of time and space and movement.

I awoke many times.  Each time elated to find myself wrapped around Victor's body.  I breathed him in.  I felt his skin against my lips.  I wanted to capture every moment, every sensation.

Taking a friend's advice, I rose early and did some yoga, stretched my muscles and fascia.  I caught Victor sneak a few peeks during my naked poses.  Then I nuzzled back into our cocoon.  I caressed his hair and face, "You know how I don't experience time in a linear fashion?  -Well, I did not know why I felt this way about you... until now.  This is moment is why."

It would take a long time for me to completely come down from the LSD.  Been there, done that.  Now I know... I could go the rest of my life without another hit... But Victor- he is a desire I never want to overcome.

The Price of Admission

I am frugal.  If there is a way to find the same quality for a lower price, I will usually take it.  The first time I went to FFest, I paid for a day pass with no intention of extending my stay overnight.  I could say I was simply enjoying myself too much to leave, that I was curious about the camp nightlife that turned out to be so amazing.  But the truth is- I stayed because I liked a boy.  Mr. Mister was the real reason I decided to go.

We hung out a few hours, here and there, mostly at his campsite.  We smoked weed, drank cheap whiskey and started to get to know one another.  I was embarrassed and perplexed to meet his mother there.  Being stoned and drunk is never the way one imagines meeting the woman she would like to have for her potential mother-in-law.  But those thoughts had not yet occurred to me then… or had they?  I remember, more than my intoxication, I was ashamed to let her see the Saturday day-pass wristband on my arm, on a Sunday afternoon.

I had dragged my friend Nick along to FF with me.  He had also snuck into the campsite, but just as Mr. Mister was attempting to convince me to stay another night, Nick got caught with the wrong wristband, and I had to leave.  I was his ride.

By the following year, my relationship with Mr. Mister had blossomed and exploded and fell apart several times.  I was going back to FFest as a volunteer, not to see him but to see whether that place had been magical in and of itself… or because of him.

I was assigned clerk duties at the camping headquarters.  There I shared a simple workload with three to four other people; manage the lost and found, keep the coffee and water pouring, and make sure the volunteers’ meals were delivered.  Three six-hour shifts over the course of five days; for this my admission and meals were free.  It was quite a bargain!

My first dawn that fest, Mr. Mister and I were eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches around my campfire when a boy approached us.  He was coming down from some sort of intoxication.  He looked weary, seeking refuge, with no tent in which to sleep.

Mr. Mister was cordial initially, until the boy made a move to sit by our fire.  Then he told him to leave, “You see this?”  Mr. Mister pointed at the shiny wristband on his arm, “You don’t have one.  You’re not supposed to be here.  So you’re going to have to find somewhere else to pass out.”

The boy made one attempt to protest, but Mr. Mister was unsympathetic.  The boy stumbled away.

The second year I volunteered, I began to question whether I could find a more creative volunteer position.  The position I wanted, painting on the decorating committee was one that required social networking.  I knew a woman on the crew who gave me a name and sent me wandering through the back lots where only volunteers and musicians are permitted to roam.  There I heard my name quite unexpectedly.  I looked over and saw him, waving from his car window.  Victor.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m playing the main stage with Jeff.”

“Awesome!  What time?”

“Two, I think.”

“Cool.  I’ll try to catch that.  See you around.”

Jeff’s genre was not anything I went out of my way to see, but for whatever reason, I did go to their performance.  Shortly afterwards, Harry and Mr. Mister’s bands played.  It was during Mr. Mister’s performance that I ran into Victor again, as I danced in the crowd.  I tried to ignore his presence.  I was in an emotional fog.  Despite my earnest attempts to relinquish Mr. Mister from my heart, watching his dream of playing the main stage come true was moving.  It is during these moments of emotional stretching that I find myself most vulnerable and likely to act impulsively.

So, I walked away and went to find food.

At the volunteer food tent, I found a seat with some other musician friends.  I was inhaling falafel on a spongy pita bread when Victor joined our table.  A rush stirred in my chest.  Three times was the charm, and I knew I was supposed to act.

“Victor.  You wanna go get high and walk around in the woods?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, but first we have to get you a wristband.  If they catch you without one, you will be in trouble.”

Given his “performer” name badge, I was certain that he would be given a wristband.  On the contrary, no one could give a definitive answer and opted to refuse our request.  Frustrated and determined, I told him, “Fuck it.  Just walk into the campsite.  You said you’re not staying overnight anyway.”

Our walk in the woods was glorious.  I was less interested in flirting with Victor and more interested in learning from him.  He told me that he had a degree in music composition, that he made a living as a music instructor and member of many bands.  He was not playing his music yet because he wanted to compose each part, and to get musicians to play written music, one had to have money to pay them.  He sounded confident, hopeful.  He was extremely intelligent and eager to go above and beyond to answer my questions about the guitar.  I might have been more smitten had I not been carrying a little blue rock in my pocket. (http://echovictory.blogspot.com/2013_08_18_archive.html)

As I retrieved my bowl and lighter from my tent, the little voice inside my head said, leave the rock here.  I ignored it.  As we walked through the woods, the voice urged me to throw it into the creek.  I refused.

Rain inevitably threatened and we turned back to return him to his car.  At the gate, he was caught without a wristband.  I wanted to stay and help plead his case, but he gave me a chivalrous look and said, “You go on ahead now.  I will talk to you later.”

Hours later, I checked my cell phone to find he had immediately sent me a Facebook message.  He was detained and escorted off of Fest grounds, but he was happy to have had the walk with me.  I recall being surprised by how elated his words made me feel- when a blue rock was becoming a heavy burden.  I put it out of my mind- all of it.

I was so anxious by the end of five days… Mr. Mister was there with his girlfriend.  Charlie was there, much to my chagrin.  And it was only another week before September, the month I had vowed to not drink, smoke, or date.  In the middle of the night, Sunday, I packed up my tent and went home.

My third year, I received an invitation to join the decorating committee.  However, I was unable to make the time commitments they required.  So I settled to clerk the office again.  This year in particular it was essential that I volunteered.  My credit cards were nearly maxed out.  My bank accounts were nearly empty.  I had just enough money to get me to September… Maybe.

I could not afford to buy and bring booze or weed.  I had one little airplane bottle of tequila that a guest had left at my apartment.  I tucked it into my bag in case I got desperate for a drink.  Food was the one offering that I brought and shared with my campsite; trail mix, fruit cups, pretzels, marshmallows.  I assume they were appreciated because they were gone by the end of fest.

It turned out that I was able to forage quite successfully.  I only drank a few times, when a bottle was offered.  I smoked often, whenever a circle was welcoming.  I made new friends who were appreciative of my company and music.  They shared generously.

The one low point came one early dawn, when a few of us were seated around our campfire, and a wrist-bandless boy approached us.  Before we knew it, security came along in a golf cart and took him.

One of our camping mates pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists until they had left.  Then he bragged about how they had not noticed his pathetic fake wrist-band made out of colored duct tape and magic marker.  He proceeded to go on talking about teenage girls flirting with him.  I ignored him, annoyed.

He should have stopped talking then... But he kept ranting even as one our senior camp members, Christian warned him, "Look man, just shut up.  There are volunteers from security in camps all over.  You don't think they can hear you?"

He was undeterred.  Christian gave up being nice, "I've tried to be nice.  I gave you a place to stay, but you're going to have to grab your stuff and go park yourself at another campsite now."

"What are you talking about man?"

"Get your stuff and go.  Now.  We can be friends tomorrow, but tonight- goodbye."

He was moving but not shutting up.

Finally I boiled over, "Look, if you don't get out- I will walk up to headquarters and tell them about the wrist-band.  Some of us work to be here."

He left...

A week later, I ran into him at another festival, with another fake bracelet.  I joked, "So, let me see your latest handy work."

He began to rant in the middle of a crowded dance floor.

I walked away.  Victor looked at me, trying to comfort me.  "It's fine... It's just... I can't pay my rent next week, and I paid to be here."
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The thing is, I learned to like volunteering.  I thought these festivals were about getting fucked up... and I have taken full advantage of trying everything I could want to cross off my bucket list.  I guess I am finally okay with admitting I have taken some serious drugs now because I am not curious anymore.  Now I appreciate that there were many volunteers watching my back when I was experimenting... Now I am content to return the favor.

People who treat such places purely as playgrounds imagine that they are self-sustaining, that they do not require responsible people to plan and make them possible.  Time is money; either volunteer your time or pay the money.  Appreciate admission is worth something amazing.

Ceremony

I suppose I am not supposed to talk about it... But I recently attended a gathering where I participated in a Peruvian ayahuasca ceremony.

Several events preceded this decision.  After trying to resume a semi-normal life, acquiring a new part time job and making contact with Victor, I was hopeful... Then smited- again.  

One Monday morning I awoke from a good dream... I recalled in it I was wearing a particular pink t-shirt.  So, I put it on.  I went to work, home, then biked into Center City to attend group therapy.  Afterwards, I began biking home to find myself trapped in the rain... So, I took a hint from fate and parked myself at Fergies Open Mic.  There I chatted with friends and performed... Then Uncle Phil walked in.

"Hey.  I saw your ex- down the street at Time."

"Really?" I was hurt that Uncle Phil presumed to know anything about my relationship status and excited to coincidentally bump into him.  I gathered my things and ran down to Time.

On the street, Matt slowed me down for a moment, "Hey Echo, you sounded great tonight!"

"You too, Matt!"

Upon entering, I tried to slow my heartrate.  He wasn't on stage... Then there he was... at a four top table, with two other men, sitting next to a young girl with bobbed blonde hair and boobs bursting from her tank top.

There was shock in his eyes.  I can not imagine how I looked to him.  I was shaking.

"We're just hanging out."

"We were just hanging out... until we weren't."

I don't know how I managed to get myself home and asleep without suicidal thoughts, but I did... 

I told myself Uncle Phil must be some harbinger of pain.  He was there when I met Mr. Mister... and now this.  

In the morning, I dragged myself out of bed and into work.  As I entered the building, all the employees commented on my appearance, "You look terrible.  You don't have to be here."

I finished one of the two classes I was supposed to teach.  "You're right.  I can't do this today.  I'm going home."

They thanked me for my attempt and wished me well.  That was the last time I saw them.  Spending a better part of the day in bed, I read The Four Agreements.  They were exactly what I needed to hear at that moment:

1. Be impeccable with your word.

2. Don't take anything personally.

3. Don't make assumptions.

4. Always do your best.

The rest of the book gave advice about how to slowly implement these strategies in one's life.  It said the fastest and most difficult way was to accept the angel of death; to truly live every day as though it was one's last.  This was not a difficult proposition for me, as I was already battling my suicidal tendencies.  I told myself- Five days.  If you still want to die in five days, you can figure out a way.  Until then, don't waste any time pondering the method.  Just do whatever you want.

The next day, when I woke up still despondent, I called my boss, "Remember I mentioned things were rough with my boyfriend?  Well, they got worse... and I am not able to go to work.  I can't say when I will be able to return... You should probably go ahead and replace me."

Then I packed up my laptop, parked myself at the coffee shop down the street and began writing... I looked at my budget and realized I had just enough money to survive until September.  In September I could worry about my rent and my credit cards, but for August I would just listen to my intuition... and finally let myself go broke, let myself fall, let myself finally find the ground.  -If I didn't kill myself after five days.

I spent an entire three days doing nothing but typing.  When I ran out of steam, I would read and play guitar.  I started cooking for myself again.  My apartment slowly got more tidy.  I did laundry... By the end of the first five days, I told myself- Okay, five more days.

My intuition spoke to me... It said, you don't need these pills anymore.  If you feel suicidal again, you can start taking them again.  Be honest with yourself.

I discussed my decision with my doctors and family.  I did not discuss it initially with Victor, when I asked him to go hiking with me... A wonderful first date.  He taught me to skip rocks across the creek.  I took an impromptu underwear dip in a deep pool.  I got down on my knees and told him, "I know you don't see a way forward for us... because I painted a very ugly picture of the future, and it's the only one you think there is... But it isn't going to happen that way.  I am not that person anymore.  Please get to know me as who I am now."  Then he held me.  When we said goodbye, we kissed, unexpectedly.  I told him it was his turn to call me for our next date.

I also planned dates with girlfriends.  I traded Reiki with other practitioners. One of them told me she was considering attending a ayahuasca ceremony... It struck me- I didn't really know what that was about, but something told me it was what I needed.  

...Money was becoming tight.  I asked my contact if anyone would carpool with me, maybe chip in for gasoline?  Instead, a man offered to give me a ride in his car- for free.  

For the hours long ride, we talked.  It turned out that he was a psychoanalyst.  I laughed to myself, "Thanks, Universe... Is this your way of giving me some free therapy?"

More than anything it normalized the experience for me... It wasn't just something that crazy hippie kids were doing for fun.  It was serious.  Many of the other attendees participated in ceremonies once or twice a year regularly.  

They helped me meditate and set my intention.

I stayed and participated two nights... The first, I asked to know how to trust people, how to trust myself.  I asked for insight.  I asked to know if I was crazy, if I truly was emphatic.

Our shaman gave me a small shot of the elixir... I laid down and waited for it to kick in.  It seemed like a long time... 

Then the show in my head started, dancing colors and geometric figures... a kaleidoscope of images.

Time perception is altered by the plant.  Suddenly I heard many people purging- a normal side affect.  I felt frustrated with my lack of impetus to purge.  I went to one of the sober babysitting observers, "I don't feel right. 

 Why am I not purging?"

"Some people don't.  It's okay.  It is whatever it is supposed to be."

"I feel the opposite of how I think I should feel... hungry and bored."

"You could drink a little more..."

I did.  Then the dreams kicked in... Victor, Mr. Mister, my parents, my friends... The plant took me on a grand tour or my mistakes and misunderstandings.  It showed me many times when I was lost in my own head, others had been trying to show me affection and kindness.  It showed me many times when I had not meant harm, but I had been careless in my communication.  

Then the purging came.  The shaman came and sang to me.  Brown bile spewed forth.  Then more dreams.

A few times, when the shaman was quiet and the purging was paused, someone would sing.  Sometimes I sang along... At one point, I sang "Infinite Patience".  It felt amazing.

Sometimes I begged to not see certain things.  Sometimes I retreated to the lovely images I had seen during the start of the experience... and I would hear the plant chastise me, "Why did you come here?  To play in the playground or to learn?"

At times I was completely alone in my dreamworld.  Other times I felt the energy of the room, distress from my fellow participants.  Then the plant would remind me, "Learn to shut it out.  Learn to focus on yourself."

Other times I would dream that the entire room was focused on me.  I would realize that my intellect would get in the way of my intuition, my self-consciousness would project the illusion that I was the center of attention.  If I thought bad things, I imagined other people thinking bad things about me.  If I thought good things, I became disillusioned by my pride.  Eventually, I would reach a place of centering, where I could remember the Four 

Agreements and accept them.

...The second night, a different bunch of participants arrived, the others left.  My ride opted to stay but not partake again so soon.  "It's a lot to process," he told me.

I set no intention this time... I received what I had asked for, and now I was ready to listen and learn, to stop questioning.  

Again I received a somewhat mild amount, but this time I did argue with the gentle nature of the experience.  I did not request more.  This time I sat up and kept my eyes open as I waited to feel it kick in... When I began to see the colors moving, I heard a voice, "Go outside."

I obeyed.  The stars were beautiful!  They danced in geometric shapes that reminded me of Ananda's paintings.

Then the sky collapsed, and I found myself on stage... "All the world is a stage," I thought.  How beautiful!

My ride came out to check on me, sober.  "You know, of all the recreational drugs I have tried, they usually make me talk too much... and I already talk too much.  This is the one that seems to do the opposite."

This time the plant made me face many fears, including my long standing fear of snakes.  I saw them writhing.  I saw them hissing at me.  I felt them slithering against my skin.  "Desensitize," the voice said.  "These images can't hurt you."

I also saw beautiful things.  Things I am fearful to believe may be possible.  I saw mistakes I avoided, like being a bad mother by having children before I was ready.  I let it all wash over me.  I did not fight or ask for anything.  I observed and absorbed.  I purged fear and pain... and as I did, I dreamed of Victor being with another woman.  In this vision he was not in love with her.  He simply was trying to regain some sense of confidence and balance.  My mind told me, "Let him do what he has to do.  You do what you have to do- This is why you are here, to let go of this pain.  Take care of yourself and your body first."

I realized that Uncle Phil had not been a bad omen.  He had given me the opportunity to know the truth- and had I found out later, I may have never forgiven Victor.  Everything was indeed, as it should have been, despite my disapproval.

I heard my sobs and to not become self-conscious.  I heard the sounds of others purging.  The shaman spitting.  I let go... I let everything go.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upon returning to Philadelphia, I greeted my mother, who I had invited over for the two interim days before I left for FFest.  Together we tackled the remaining cleaning around my apartment, and she took my cat to stay with her while I would be away.

Victor sent me a text, "Too busy to see me before FFest?"

"Maybe.  Maybe I'll see you there," I responded.  If he comes, wonderful.  If not, no big deal.  No rush.  I focused myself on my goals.  I forgot about counting down days to death and started living the life I wanted...