What happens when you're working for the "bad guy" and then go to a rave where your heart is blasted open in spiritual ecstasy? Well, for Jivana (who will turn into Raver J), it might involve a bit of a psychological crisis, the taking to an ancient...
And so life that week would be like the continuation of a trip.
The first two days, it was almost frightening how much easier it was to relinquish myself to the river of music-induced memories, to allow my mind, which had turned into a glittery inner tube, to journey down that river of positivity. The river cleansed the negativity I had been harboring over a promotional loss and broke down boulders of current, self-imposed responsibilities and polished them to pebbles of melodic boredom. Under the influence of this flow state, I indulged it. I listened to the mind-altering electronic music more than I should have in terms of work productivity and previously set goals. Every morning, I listened in the car, and like a fresh flood of rain, it would keep my river moving strongly throughout the day. So... picking up the phone to execute a queue space sale or planning the new campaign for Amazon Burger seemed somehow washed away in this new flow.
Worry found its way to the banks of my river, but would drown in its attempt to tackle my inner tubal fantasy. Eventually, worry did get smart and had other worries join at the shore to form a choir of harassment. They won in that their unwelcome despondent incantations were louder if I closed my eyes. I only had so much time before my productivity would be measurably affected, but somehow worry and care did not necessarily coexist as they once had for me. Something else had awakened and moved in me, the desire to revisit the rave experience, and it would not wane. It dwelled within me, a powerful force transferring from my body through my hands into the hardware like a phantasmal image burning through the screen of my computer, commanding presence. As I stared into the screen, attempting typing of any sort, it stared back at me confronting me. What am I doing at work?
That previously unthinkable question made me shift in my office chair. But, I should be dancing! And so I moved. Behaving like a free-spirited child I would rise from my desk prancing on my toes until I could place my fingertips upon the glass of the window to watch the clouds, real ones. Not the grand-faux Avonnetype clouds I could conjure from my office of Oz.
What if someone walks in on me? I would claim market research for billboard inspiration and continue to look out the window. Inside, my deepest desire was a return to the rave.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Tap, tap, tap, tapping on the window, longing to be that me I once knew, that playful little girl I rediscovered at the rave. That girl filled with joy, love, and zesty lust for life, effervescently alive under my skin. Can I swap my business suit for my raver racer suit I donned that night? That suit, outfitted with checkers of a new game, that catapulted me into a new dimension, a dream-world stitched together by sound-induced popping, coral-reef-like technicolor wonder.
At that rave, it was as if one cell from each and every one of those tens of thousands of people had jumped into my body, infusing my being and reforming me on the dance floor. Gone from that new-bodied experience, I began to feel like a desiccated, molted skin of the full being-ness I had achieved, wanting to abdicate myself completely from my staff.
