Yall who read these regularly know what’s coming; an apology. These Wakarusa posts have woefully underrepresented the magic experienced there. I’m not fretting though, writing them and witnessing my friends enjoy them has been a sacred experience I’m thankful for. These writings are just creative flags I plant for my memory. A useful lesson to learn early is that the past is never revivable, relivable, or frankly, reliable. At best these posts will serve as little buoys for myself and my friends, which will guide us back to our subjective, magical experiences. I love yall. Thanks for reading.
The one sober morning
The last morning of Wakarusa was weird. I was ready to leave. Wakarusa felt like it was something we endured. The sun was relentless, sleep hid from us, and the porta-potties assaulted us. The drugs were assertive in their teachings, and our stenches were evolving. Our stenches had stenches. I hadn’t felt a shower or an air conditioner in 4 days.
My imagination is pleading with me to exaggerate and compare the festival to ancient mystery religions; where neophytes were guided through psychological ordeal after psychological ordeal, each challenge symbolic and harboring a lesson. Nature as our wise guide, the psychedelics as our sacraments. Waka felt like that to me. I felt like I was dealt ordeals. I felt like I learned lessons.
Given the state we were all in, as we started packing, I began trying to put our trip in perspective. The first fact that started resonating was our lack of bickering. It took some attention to realize the absences. We had been around each other, in close and uncomfortable proximity, for almost a week and there hadn’t been a single argument. I took a few moments that morning to bask in the connection we cultivated here. I’ve got at least a dozen consciousnesses I’ve found through the seven billion headed crowd who I’ve genuinely connected with. Thank you.
By early noon we were ready to leave. We left the mountain and headed toward the nearest gas station. Using an actual toilet, feeling the AC caress my sunburnt neck, and drinking that blue Gatorade sugar water was a near religious experiences. I fucking knew hedonic adaption was already at work and that I’d get use to this glory, but for a good 15 minutes, that gas station was better than sex.
We all agreed to postpone our farewell and go to a local sushi place for lunch. The place was a hidden gem. Six dollar Unagi roll? Sex. I miss that place.
After we ate and relaxed, we reluctantly met in the parking lot. Sheepishly, we gathered in a group hug, said some words, shared some love, and said goodbye. The group hug was my idea to avoid a long, drawn-out farewell. Well, after the group hug, my plan failed. Everyone splintered off to give their personal good-bye to everyone. And that’s exactly as it should have been. We all know we’ll see each other again so it wasn’t too sad.
Wakarusa was memorable. Being with you all was more meaningful. I look forward to growing and dying with yall. Namasteezy.