“There’s too many people around for a ritual. I ought to find a place where I can be with myself for this.”

With my drum on my back I cross the cultural bridge, past the 1nation camp, towards the solar temple.

Earlier that morning this road was a river of bodies flowing upstream towards the massive fire burning at the top of the hill. Sacred songs were sung as the moon passed in front of the sun. People screamed a fusion of bliss and suffering, the symphony of humanity. The earth shook with their stomps and the air echoed with claps like thunder.

It was night. The moon was withholding light from us. Reminding us that day and night are always due to planetary positioning. Gods, so to speak, that held the fate of the world in their hands.

But now the road was deserted. There were more rock towers than people. The site of ceremony had become a stage for fire spinners of all kinds to dance.

Still too many people.

I walked the outer ring, watching the flames whirl and howl. Past the arches and into the deep prairie where a young oak called to me with a gentle breeze.

Rays of rocks spiraled out from the trees trunk arranged by another humans hands unknowingly building my altar.

I bowed before entering the space. Clearing myself of extra weight and showing my respect. The ground was soft where I bent th knee. My head hung like a flag with no wind to carry it. I brought myself to the surface.

The self who was fuled by others drum beat and not his own.

The self who avoided opportunity and sabatoged intimacy for fear of over exposure.

The self who thought that a destiny was beyond his grasp.

The self who kept quiet though he felt the music moving through him.

They all occupied my body as I tied up my hair and sliced the ends. I felt the weight in my hand as I looked on the hundred of fibers. Each one was me. Each one ready to be buried.

I held the bundle to my chest with gratitude.

“I would not have made it this far without you, thank you, Rest In Peace.”

At the root of this tree was a small hole which held a perfect space for this burial. I placed the strands inside, moved dirt over the entrance, and sealed it with a large stone.

I felt the beating of my heart in my chest as though it were a mallet striking the drum on my back.

With instrument in hand I sealed my ceremony. Every vibration was healing. Even the psytrance down the hill. My voice opened and words that I knew not the meaning of flowed forth. The mixture was weaving structure into the spaces left behind by all the egos now resting beneath the young oak.

When the song was finished I sat for a while, I don’t know how long, listening into the space.

There was no great revelation or teaching. Just a man sitting beneath a tree. Just a man being. His work at his feet and his entire life ahead.

I have done well.

I am well.

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