Village People in the Twilight Zone

On the night of the Fall Equinox, in the hills of northern California, beneath an ancient oak tree, surrounded by leaves, herbs and Tribe: I slipped into madness.

I unlocked an old familiar riddle and chased the smirking moustached man through the mazes Between. I found countless paths through the madness, countless countless paths that all turned twisted and leapt through the fabric landing inevitably at the feet of the only Answer. I danced with the leaves and trees, invoked shooting stars and returned to the gathering around the hurricane lamp to show my Tribe what planets I had plucked from the whirlpools of light, sound, time and space.

At times, i reached out and grabbed a chair next to me, to bring the swirling time and space and sound back to a single point. I went from being me under the oak tree to playing dice games with figments of my imagination: the Sun, the Moon, my friends, the dice …

I was too weak to conjure up the sun myself, and too scared to extinguish my self to bring back the sun. I am attached to me. In the dark night of my soul, the oak tree became a buxom woman and my man Big Scott and I wrapped ourselves up in each other, convinced that we were lost in the madness Between. We believed that the sun would never rise again.

When it did, I felt like a newborn. I wandered around the woods and saw God in the bone white deadwood, in the crimson leaves, in the damp green moss, in the flock of turkeys that descended down to the valley next to me, in the rays of the sun that warmed my fearful heart.

I was born again under the oak tree, in the hills, surrounded by leaves and Tribe, during the Equinox in Autumn. I have now spiritually returned to the this land where the old American gods, the demanding gods, still live on underneath these new American gods, who came to be just recently, in this last century.