“I slept though The Who? HOW do you sleep through The Who? Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Because if I was sleeping like that and you woke me, I’d have punched ya.” Leona was sullen in the best of conditions. Wet, hungry, unbearably filthy and crashing from acid, no one slept and yet I’d slept through my favorite band, The Who.
Arguably this was the greatest musical line-up of our time, Cocker, Joplin, The Band. It was the last day of Woodstock so Jimi Hendrix had to play soon, right?. We were so uncomfortable, so like The Dead and bad weather, we lit up a joint and discussed our options. I wanted to go swimming in the drinking water again but Leona said that we had only one choice before us… which made sense…at all. We had in our stash several hits of Sunshine, a handful of reds and a half a lid of pot. We reasoned that if we took the acid we would both hear the bands and it would curb our hunger. You were never hungry tripping on acid. You wouldn’t even think of eating while tripping on acid.
Joe Cocker and we were peaking, which was excellent. Half the freaks around us imitated him with trails of light following their every move. Good plan, Leona. Then the heavens cracked open and it poured.
Somewhere around five inches of rain fell in the next few hours and pockets of chants for, “No rain, no rain, no rain”. It seemed better to walk. I picked up the water jug and attempted to find the path. We were moving house.
Two days of heavy rain and mud was to our knees in places. The path was two football fields away… and we are hallucinating.
Then the Woodstock Angel teamed up with Mother Earth and they bequeathed their gift of the mud… and we made the mud fun. The people made slides and slides gave us joy and laughter. She deemed we play like children in Her Great Earth, Woodstock. Freaks sluiced, we cheered them. They raised the filthiest among us… in offering.
Recharged by the gift we drummed as one heart. With the comfort of beat I lazed on the well soaked ground. I saw great Mayan mazes with stairways of rainbow. They spiraled on to infinity.
Music had been suspended for hours for safety. When they continued we sat where we could, soaked to the bone and wrapped in my dirty-wet quilt, Ten Years After, The Band, Johnny Winter, Blood, Sweat and Tears and Janis, Oh Lord, Janis. The clouds turned into feather gifts that honored the heartbreak of her Janis. I understood the color of her sound.
My brain looked like two eggs in a fry pan and I was done for the night. With a little help from my reds I faded in and out to Paul Butterfield then slept soaked to the bone until…
“What the Hell was that?”
To be cont…