Two days ago, I wrote about childhood memories on the Fourth of July in my home town. I never gave my age at the time because all those holidays blend together in a happy haze of feasting, greased watermelon wrestling in the pool and fireworks. For this USA's birthday, a catering gig followed my morning giving massages. As I polished silverware in the garage, circulated crostini in the living room and poured beer, wine and lemonade at the makeshift bar, I considered the gap between this fourth and others from early adulthood.
One of my most memorable Independence days was spent at a national Rainbow Gathering in Oregon in 1997. I rode the first leg of the journey in a school bus covered in murals from Columbus, Ohio to Wisconsin to see a two month old white bison. The birth of the rare bison was auspicious, since in Lakota tradition the white bison is said to usher in an era and tribe like the Rainbow community, uniting people of all colors and stripes, checks and polka dots, too.
I had no intention of going to the Rainbow Gathering until a few days before the bus left, but at twenty I cooked in a greasy spoon and could leave with no notice or consequence - the benefit of the wage slave in a college town with a lack of "reliable" workers - so I thought, why not? My general life rule is try it, try everything. So I left the Greenhouse with a backpack, some cash and a vague notion of where I was headed.
I already believed in communal living: the Greenhouse had been an intentional household several years before I moved in, started by Ohio State college students to share household responsibilities and eat organic, vegetarian food together. Before that, I lived with my parents, four younger siblings and various pets in a two bedroom house. I thought the idea of a tribe of all kinds of folk coming together around the Fourth of July to celebrate cooperation and peace in the outdoors a fantastic idea.
The old bus broke down in Wisconsin and the people who owned it asked the newcomers from Columbus to contribute to the cause, but that would have meant goodbye to most of the money I had stuffed in locations other than my wallet, plus a week later arrival. I wanted to experience the gathering in its entirety, and I've always bristled when I think I'm being told what to do, so I headed out on my own instead. I know, not great community spirit, but I did get to enjoy the close quarters camaraderie of Greyhound buses from the midwest to Portland, Oregon.
I met Squirrel and his friend on the bus that took us to central Oregon, and they had a tent and I still had a little money so we agreed to pool our resources. They were a few years younger than me and had this gutter punk attitude and look that has always attracted my interest. We exited the bus in the town closest to where the Gathering was held and after we filled up a cardboard box with vegetables and candy bars, we hitched a ride in a truck up the winding, dusty forest service road to the site.
The focus of the Gathering is July 4, where the energy of "bombs bursting in air" transforms into prayers for peace and a party to follow. On this day, silence is held until noon, and it is a wonder to behold: twenty thousand people meditating on an end to war, to the poverty of spirit the USA cultivates when people live out their lives dominated by tv, consumerism, the industrial military complex and other consequences of "every man for himself." Energy rises with the hush. Near noon the people nearly shout through their body language, the cries and giggles of children punctuate the sound of the forest, people's movements, and their breath.
At noon, a procession led by elders and children begins to wind its way through camp. From inside tipis, the shelter of tents, and away from banked cook stoves and pizza ovens come women, men, children and people of all shades. They form a parade through the trees, one after another, holding hands, moved by song, bursting with laughter. The strand of people spirals into a wheel, and different voices share the story of the Rainbow people and the intention of the gathering.
I do not remember all the words of wisdom that were offered then, but the essence of the gathering remains clear years later. We came together to nurture community, as we dug pits, gathered firewood, diced carrots and peppers in a kitchen camp. Connection began and deepened when we talked over the chopping board, and drank tea late into the night. DIY for the greater good meant shared fires, meals, creating art and offering one's talent - in the healing tent or at a freeschool session - for free or a small trade. Commerce meant an exchange of equal value, and that value rested entirely in the hands of the barterers, as had once been true the world over, and now is decided in banks, markets, the fluctuation of code in a computer, etc., instead.
Though there were general rules that governed the Gathering, meant to maintain safety and a common ground - such as no alcohol in the main camp, or firearms or money at all - the Gathering otherwise abided by social anarchist principles/ the golden rule/ the witch's philosophy: live and let live and do no harm.
Was it idyllic, utopian, or perfect? Of course not, but it was - and is still, I'm sure - a whole hearted attempt to live by a standard that has largely been set aside as our culture has shifted to something . . . else. I believe their perspective is one that would transform America for the better if it became mainstream. Perhaps then the 4th of July might be spent looking inward towards peace, and we'd find the balance between the fulfillment of self and an altruism that could ultimately cultivate a different sort of United States. Adios then to "the rocket's red glare," it'd be drums, dancing and dirt. And you could peel potatoes, set up a water filtration station or perform a one-act play for your daily bread.
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