Home When the earth is ravaged and the animals are dying, a new tribe of people shall come unto the earth from many colors, classes, creeds, and who by their actions and deeds shall make the earth green again. They will be known as the warriors of the Rainbow -- Old Native American Prophecy a ditched order of buses vans and volkswagen sedans day-glo green cherry azure blue and tan line each side of the paved road with name-tags from every state. they open into a plate of techni-color to red carpet my arrival at the gates of a new dimension. Welcome home brother, but i am too drum-founded to reply. tag the main trail, worn by barefeet, skin contacting earth from the energetic nomads who approach peace, leads me to my new home out of that land, flatland. We love you, wafts from kitchens strung up at seed camp, stationed, filtered water, boil to feed camp, all who attend this national gathering. known as the warriors of the rain-bow. those who peacefully assemble on the works of creation, to passively pray for the destruction of babylon. thousands of dirty wooks, tye-dyed puddles, dread-locked to skin, unshowered in the woods for days, weeks or months, however much time they can. take out what you bring in because the clean up crew stays until there is no evidence that this gathering happened. with a spoon and bowl the hippies eat for free, no greed in necessity. anarchaic at the center, for no leader signs a permit to enjoy the fair weather. no exchanging money, a barter system works better at bringing peace loving family together. anyone with a belly-button is welcome to stay. so many heads here, not dead but grateful for this annual lifeline away from income and consumption to become one with the land. swirling drums trade circular rhythms around me until i am submersed into a pool of open talent making sculptures out of mud to the buzz of didgeridoos. the coming home feeling sets in as a sight of Emily stones me. my best friend’s moment in mine, the corners of our lips attached themselves to the corners of our eyes. I love you, we choke, creating tears so beautiful that they prism a rainbow from the sun, under the arc we hug two experiences into one.
"When the beans are burning, and the High Holies are sniveling, there will come a tribe of people who care....sometimes....." How's the rest of that ol' Ovens thing go? Hoka Hoka Hey Ho Hum?
Some of us weren't old enough to see the rainbows that have been around forever but that doesn't mean we can't be pushed and pulled and inspired by the ones we see today. The pot of gold has always been in the trees.
