The Free Spirit

The Psychedelic Age, 1969 (Part One)

"Let us then, free from hate, live happily among men filled with hatred. Let us dwell in love..."

Cars and people rushing by, watch them laugh, hear them sigh. Satin sounds, lots of million-coloured lights, some vermillion. Flowers move or fluoresce, disappearing iridescent, rolling clouds, shades of night, faces black, faces white... The Psychedelic Age was in full swing and colours swirled and blended amongst one another as 1969 blew onto the scene. We celebrated life by celebrating the joy and unity that psychedelia gave us. Psychedelia was born from music, from fashion, from art, from films and television and more. Psychedelia, a few years back, was protested by what was mainstream at the time, claiming that 'these kids don't know what fashion is' and that 'psychedelic anything will never catch on'. Come 1969, psychedelia was invading a little bit of everyone's lives, including the war birds. Psychedelic music played on pop music stations on the radio and made it onto the pop music charts, psychedelic movies were breaking the box office - 2001: A Space Odyssey was a psychedelic trip from start to finish, Wonderwall was a surreal trip in itself, the Beatles even starred in their own film, Yellow Submarine, and what a trip that was. Psychedelic bands emerged who centred their entire career on the psychedelic sound - Elephant's Memory, Strawberry Alarm Clock and Kaleidoscope, to name a few. It wasn't just about turning to drugs - many psychedelic works of art centred around nature and humanity. We ran to meadows green, beyond the city scene, and invested hours searching for ivory towers and talking to the flowers.

Psychedelia invaded my home, too. Gone were the mod-style couches and geometric patterns on the curtains. No longer did we have traces of 'normality' in our home, according to Phil, and eastern influence filled every corner of our California home. We had tapestries, eastern carpets, Buddhist symbols and so much more throughout our home. It looked like a bohemian hideaway, and Don and I loved every inch of it. We wore loose-fitting bohemian clothing, often bought from Biba in London and other stores like it in Los Angeles, and we listened to psychedelic rock and psychedelic folk music. Don even wrote several songs that he wanted to arrange with a psychedelic sound influenced with country, but Phil mostly wasn't interested. "We ain't hippies, Don. We're normal people," Phil told his very-much-hippie brother, who looked at him through aviator sunglasses through his long fringed hair.

"All right, war bird, whatever you say goes, don't it?" Don said in response, and Phil rolled his eyes.

"I ain't in the mood to argue with ya, Donald. I've got enough shit to worry about right now, with Jackie filin' for divorce," Phil replied.

"Are you still going to fight for custody of Jason?" I asked him.

"Of course I am. It ain't fair that she gets to walk away with him because she's a woman," Phil told me.

"Babies do tend to bond with the mother, and have a stronger bond with her than the father," I told him, and he looked somewhat offended. "I'm a midwife, Phil. This is medical fact, not speculation."

"You ain't delivered a baby in two years at least," Don said to me. "I think Jason was the last baby ya delivered, actually."

"I helped out Nonnatus House a little bit in early '67, actually, but yes, I haven't delivered a baby in two years. Once a midwife, though, always a midwife. I did deliver well over a hundred babies in my career," I said to my husband, running a hand through his fringed hair. "I love this new look on you. I like being able to run my hand through your hair freely and not get nasty greasy shit all over it."

"I'm as free as livin', baby," he said to me, smiling at me and giving me a kiss. Phil rolled his eyes.

"The both of you, with your damn hippie styles," said Phil, who kept his hair at a more conservative length. "Mom and Dad think y'all are bein' stupid with your dumb beatnik politics."