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Goa 1970 - long before the first raves started

Goa 1970 - long before the first raves started

There was no hurry in joining the circle. The drumming, the smoking, the chanting would go on all night. What mattered was that someone should be drumming at all times. If we were to move the moon along its orbit and bring the sun up, it was necessary that someone be drumming at all times. But it needn't be me at any particular time. I didn't have a particular time I needed to be there. I just knew I had to be there.

The night began with some acid, as it often did. Tonight was somewhat special, though. It was the full moon, the last full moon of 1970. And we would fulfill our obligation, as we understood it, of seeing the moon cross the sky to sink into the Arabian Sea and the sun rise behind us over the palm trees. No one talked about it in those terms, though. Everyone just knew that it was the full moon and that's what you do and if you fail to do it — if you're the one who fucks up after all this time, well — well you don't really want to think about that, do you? You don't really want to contemplate the enormity of the fuck up if you fail to bring the sun up, do you?

So I dropped the acid and sat cross-legged on the floor, and waited. I knew I didn't need to make any plans. The acid would take care of that. I just needed to get to the circle at some point and do my drumming. My tabla was in an embroidered Indian bag with a shoulder strap and I carried it with me everywhere. There was little chance that I would lose or forget it, but it was possible. I gave it to a friend who wasn't tripping and asked her to keep it for me at the fire. It was probably a good thing to do. When I arrived at the circle hours later, still wet from my immersion in the sea, the drum was waiting for me. I sat down, accepted a pipeful of hashish, bowed to the god within me, and started to drum.

From that moment on, my fingers never left the drum, except to accept one of the pipes that was circling the fire, touch it to my forehead, shout out a quick invocation to the god Siva, suck the smoke deep into my being, and pass it along. I drummed my beat, the beat that came into my fingers when I first bought the drum and which came back into my fingers no matter what else I wanted to do. At some point I came to understand that this was my beat on this drum and just went with it. I drummed my beat for the rest of that night. I drummed as the moon moved along its arc. I drummed as it disappeared behind me at the very moment the sun rose.

And then, with nothing said, not a word exchanged, everyone rose from the sand, brushed themselves off, and, with a nod or two, here and there, headed off to get some sleep.

© Guest blog post by Marc Zeitschik

Marc Zeitschik

Deutsche Übersetzung:

There was no rush to join the circle. The drumming, smoking, and singing went on all night. It was important that someone always drummed. If we wanted to make the moon move in its orbit and bring out the sun, someone always had to drum. But I don't have to be there at a specific time. I didn't have a specific time to be there. I just knew I had to be there.

As so often, the night began with a little LSD. Tonight, however, was special. It was a full moon, the last full moon in 1970. And we would do our duty as we knew how to move the moon across the sky as it set in the Arabian Sea and the sun behind us as it rose over the palm trees. But nobody talked about it in that sense. Everyone just knew it was the full moon, and that's what you do, and if you don't - if you're the one who messes up after all this time, then you don't really want to think about it, do you? You don't really want to think about the enormity of failure when you fail to make the sun come up, do you?

So I threw some LSD, sat cross-legged on the floor and waited. I knew I didn't have to make plans. The LSD would do the rest. I just had to get to the circle at some point and start drumming. My tabla was in an embroidered Indian bag with shoulder straps that I had with me everywhere. There was little chance that I would lose it or forget it, but it was possible. I gave it to a friend who wasn't tripping and asked her to keep it for me by the fire. That was probably a good decision. When I arrived at the circle hours later, still wet from my immersion in the sea, the drum was already waiting for me. I sat down, took a pipe full of hashish, bowed to the god in me, and began to drum.

From that moment on, my fingers never left the drum except to smoke one of the pipes that circled the fire, hold it to my forehead, utter a quick incantation of the god Shiva, inhale the smoke deep inside me and to pass on. I drummed my beat, the beat that I felt in my finger the first time I bought the drum and that moved my fingers, no matter what else I wanted to do. At some point I understood that this was my tact and just went with him. I drummed my beat for the rest of the night. I drummed as the moon circled. I drummed and the moon disappeared behind me as the sun rose.

Suddenly everyone rose from the sand without saying anything, without saying a word. Everyone shook off and went off to get some sleep.

© Guest blog post by Marc Zeitschik

 

Goa & Psytrance outfits

 

OM Goa Crop Top in black

OM Goa Crop Top in black

 

OM t-shirt in white

OM t-shirt in white

 

Psy Trance T-Shirt in black

Psy Trance T-Shirt in black

 

Psy Trance Crop Top in white

Psy Trance Crop Top in white

 

Goa t-shirt in black

Goa t-shirt in black

 

Goa crop top in black

Goa crop top in black

 

Hitech t-shirt in white

Hitech t-shirt in white

 

Hitech crop top in black

Hitech crop top in black

 

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