TIME FOLLOWS ME

CHAPTER TWENTY QUALUDES, THE DEAD & THE ELEPHANT BUS

CHAPTER TWENTY

QUALUDES, THE DEAD & THE ELEPHANT BUS

There are layers, and then there are more layers.  I remembered what Brenda has said, and thought about her quite a bit. She said, “You will see a lot in California.”  After just a few days, I had already done some quite powerful L.S.D. mind numbing Qualudes, and was sinking into the sketchy life in this trampled down Hotel, with it’s colourful cast of characters.  Each had a story, a line, and sometimes a hook.

“Better watch out for myself, ‘cause I sensed no one is watching over my shoulder accept the omnipresent Creator.”

I thought about the letter I received from Bishop Reed when I was still a Server in the Anglican Church.  He talked to a group of us during a server’s retreat and he brought some young servers with him, some guys and a couple of girls, “If you ever want to run away from home, I would be upset if you didn’t come knocking on my door, the first one you would call.”  This was truly a radical statement for me to hear three years earlier.  Of course I had wanted to run away from home, but had never formulated the words.

When the Bishop said these words, just outside of the church sanctuary, in a small two hundred year old stone church called All Saints, I felt like the walls had been blasted down.  I could see the streets, the trees and further as if my mind traveled across the country to all the cities and beyond.  Everything seemed freed and opened up for me.  I could see the sky an endless blue azure.  I could be in the sky, but I was still sitting on the old wooden pew where the choir sits, with the smell of linseed oil and brass cleaner, listening to this learned man speak.  We ended up corresponding sporadically for a few years and he sent me some books to read.  He mentioned to me, “Write back with any questions you have, or just comments.”  I felt no pressure to write him, but I did anyway with my questions.

Now here I am, on the other side of the continent and I was still searching.  “Who am I really,” was the question I continually asked myself?  “What am I doing?  And, “Where am I going?”

All I knew was that I must keep going. Heard that a band was playing down by the Coliseum and they were the best band in San Francisco.  They were called The Grateful Dead.  Never heard of them before, but thought they might be good so went down to check them out.  Went down to the boulevard and folks were lining up.  It was a huge crowd.  I was temped to put down some money on a ticket, but it was more than I spent in a whole day.  I was curious to find out what west coast music sounded like.

Decided to pass as I had rarely spent more than four dollars a day and I thought it wouldn’t be wise to plug down six or eight bucks on a group I had never heard of.  Wandered on, and came into the square where people were gathering.  On the side curb was parked a bus, with a few people hanging out talking.  They had some pictures of a farm as a guy approached me and asked, “Where you going?”  I said, “I don’t know, I’m just traveling.”

He said, “Come in I want to show you what we are doing.”

I went inside the bus and found they were running some sort of commune.  It looked neat and cool and everyone was smiling.  This was different from the people I had been hanging out with lately.  He told me they had a farm up near Booneville and that I should come to dinner that night.  They were having a lecture and cooking a vegetarian meal and it was free.  This I thought was what I wanted to hear.  This commune was what I was looking for.  I honestly thought that if I wanted to be like Jesus, I would have to go to the temple like he did, sit down and talk to the elders and ask a lot of questions.  This might be a place to find out about some truths.

I went to dinner that night and it seemed like there were some serious people there, and hippies.  The bus with the flowers painted on the sides, the elephant painted on the front, was leaving that night for the farm after dinner.  I decided before I that I would visit this place and find out what was going on.

We left at around ten at night and I talked with Bob, the friend I had just met.  We sang songs all the way up north to the farm.  I kept looking out into the darkness with my eyes on the road ahead as we sang.  I noticed the black road turn into gravel, as we got further into the countryside.  The bus lights illuminated the road and I could make out farmland on each side, mostly bits of yellow dried out grass.  I wanted to keep an eye on my direction in case I ever wanted to leave I would know which way was up.

We finally arrived at the gates to the farm and as we pulled up, I noticed that there was barbwire and a large lock on the metal swinging gate.  I asked Bob, “Why do you have all this barb wire on the gate? 

He said, “It’s just for protection, not all of our neighbours like us,” tossed off like this was common sense.  I accepted this and I figured, “If you’re going to be part of a commune, not everyone is going to dig your lifestyle.”

The bus entered the long lane lumbering along like a big sleepy elephant flanked on either side by “the protective barbwire”.  We disembarked in a parking lot with a few cars in the pitch black.  The guys were led to one sleeping area and the girls to another area called the chicken coup.  I thought that was kind of funny sleeping in a chicken coup.  Too tired to think anymore, I unwrapped my sleeping bag and put my head down on my rolled up jean jacket for a pillow.  Tomorrow was a new day and some excitement was sure to follow.  I went out like a light.