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 enormousity 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

German translation:

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

As so often, the night began with some LSD. However, tonight was something special. It was a full moon, the last full moon in 1970. And we would fulfill our obligation as we knew how to move the moon across the sky setting in the Arabian Sea and the sun behind us rising over the palm trees. But no one 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 do it - if you're the one screwing up after all this time, 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 can't 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 eventually come to the circle and start drumming. My tabla was in a certain Indian bag with a shoulder strap that I carried everywhere. There was little chance that I would lose or forget her, but it was possible. I gave it to a friend who doesn't trip and asked her to keep it by the fire for me. 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 within me and started drumming.

From that moment my fingers never left the drum except to smoke one of the pipes circling the fire, hold it to my forehead, utter a quick incantation to the god Shiva, the smoke low to inhale into my heart and pass it on. I drummed my beat, the beat I felt in my finger when I first bought the drum and it moved my fingers no matter what else I wanted to do. Eventually I understood that this was my beat and just went with it. 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 got up out of the sand without saying anything, without losing a word. Everyone shook off and headed off to get some sleep.

© guest blog post by Marc Zeitschik