Initiation
Psychedelics, music festivals, and a journey into the spirit world.
This story was first published in Elegant Literature, volume 24.
“So what? You’re saying doofing is some sort of mystical ritual or something?”
Artemis lifted her head from where it had been nestled against my chest and looked at me with her deep, moss-green eyes. From beyond the sanctuary of our cramped campervan, the distant, rhythmic thumping of psytrance rattled through us.
“Yeah, think about it, Mikey,” she said. “Every ancient shamanic culture had these rites of passage where they’d go on some sort of journey into the spirit world. They’d commune directly with their gods, undergo a symbolic death and rebirth, and finally return with a sort of revelation about who they are, what their purpose is, and how they fit into their tribe and the cosmos.”
“Okay. So what does that have to do with us?”
“Well, we don’t really have anything like that in modern society, ya know? The closest thing most people get to a spiritual experience is when they buy the latest Iphone. But the doof is different. It’s us building our own tribe with its own initiatory rites and its own values, free from the rule of the capitalist kleptocrats.”
“I dunno, Arti. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good doof, but I’m pretty sure it’s just an excuse to set up a massive sound system in the middle of nowhere and get rinsed. I think it’s a bit of a stretch to call it spiritual.”
Artemis shrugged, then nuzzled her face back into my chest. “A bunch of people doing psychedelics and dancing to percussive music for days on end sounds like a shamanic spirit journey to me. Even if most people don’t know that’s what they’re doing. That’s what they’re doing.”
“Yeah okay. I guess that makes sense.” I wasn’t convinced, it all felt a little bit pretentious. I didn’t want to spoil this moment though.
The psytrance cut out, giving way to an eerie, empty silence.
“What happened?” I asked. “Generator run out of gas?”
Then a deep, wubbly bass tone reverberated through the campervan’s metal frame.
Artemis looked up again, face set, listening intently.
Another wub hit the van, vibrating through us, almost felt more than heard. A slow rhythmic drum pattern lurched into motion beneath the bass, and above it all a soaring chorus of yogic chanting completed the flowing soundscape.
Artemis' face lit up. “That must be Dion. Just listen to that sonic alchemy. Should we go down to the dance floor?”
“I might just chill here.” I tightened my arms around Artemis, savoring the soft warmth of her body pressed against mine. “I’m really comfy.”
“Yeah, so am I. But it’s Dion’s set. We can’t just not go. Hey, I know something that’ll get you in the mood.” She leaned over me, reaching into a satchel tucked beside the mattress and retrieved a ziplock bag full of tiny fluorescent cardboard squares.
“What is it? Acid?”
“Nah, babe,” she said with a cheeky grin. “This is 5HC.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s only started showing up in the last few months. River gave it to me. Apparently it was invented by this genius psychonaut from Germany.”
“Oh yeah, cool. Is it good?” Artemis always knew how to get my attention.
“Good is an understatement. It’s like a rocket ship straight to the astral plane. If you don’t think the doof is sacred now, you will after this, trust me. I’ll give you a tab if you come to the dance floor for Dion’s set.”
“Sounds fun. Alright, I’m in.”
Artemis plucked a tab from the bag with a pair of tweezers and dropped it onto my tongue, then did the same for herself.
“Lessgo.” Artemis said, putting the ziplock bag back into her satchel. “We gotta get to the dance floor quickly. Once this stuff hits you, it comes on really strong, really fast. We probably won’t be doing much walking when it peaks.” Artemis slid the van door open and tumbled onto the grass outside.
We emerged into the warm, rosey-gold glow of the midsummer evening. The surrounding paddock was filled with a loose scattering of vans, tents, and lopsided marquees arrayed in a sort of haphazard shanty. People clad in a wild motley of bohemian and pseudo-hippie clothing styles milled about amongst the ill-defined lanes; most displayed some degree of dishevelment, sleep deprivation, or consciousness alteration.
“Come on,” Artemis cried, skipping off toward the stage: two huge speaker stacks rising out of the paddock’s farside like some ancient, megalithic monument.
“Heya, beautiful people!” A tiny woman in a knee length poncho ran over to us, cradling a brown paper bag. Neither of us knew her, but we both gave her wide, genuine smiles. A faint tingling blossomed in my hands and feet.
“Hey, hun, how’re you doing?” Artemis asked as they embraced like old friends.
“So good,” the woman said. “I’m actually having the most amazing time. Hey, do you guys want some lettuce?”
Artemis’ eyes went wide. “Ah. Ya.”
The woman squealed with excitement, holding the bag towards us. Artemis pulled out a reddish-green lettuce leaf and put it in her mouth. It crunched. “Oh my god, so good,” she murmured.
“I’m okay,” I said. The tingling grew stronger, creeping up my arms and legs.
Artemis cocked an eyebrow at me. “When was the last time you ate, Mikey?”
“I dunno.” I shrugged. “This morning maybe? I’m okay though, really.”
“You gotta eat, bro,” the woman said.
“It’s only a bit of lettuce, Mikey. It’s good for you.”
“Okay fine.” I reached into the bag and took a leaf, then hesitated. Its stiff midrib was a pale, whitish green. Its soft, frilly edge, a rich burgundy. In between, an endless gradient of subtly shifting reds and greens flowed across the smooth wilderness of its surface. How would I even go about eating such a thing?
I took a moment to center myself before shoving it through the repelling magnetic field guarding my mouth. Crisp, refreshing deliciousness caressed my tongue and slid down my throat. Pure, sacred sustenance.
“Looks like he enjoyed it,” the woman said to Artemis.
“Yeah,” I said. “You were right. That was just what I needed.”
We all had a group hug. Then she hugged each of us in turn. By the time we said our farewells, the tingling had grown into an almost audible buzz, filling my chest and head. Some laughter from a nearby person hit me from one side, then wrapped around my head to fizzle in my other ear.
“Woah. I think I can feel the 5HC.”
Artemis took a deep breath and nodded slowly. “Yep, me too.”
The shanty of tents and vans around us was somehow different than it had been a moment ago. Now it was twisted and labyrinthine, stretching out forever in every direction. The dance floor was close though. The music thrummed through the air, calling to us. With each rumbling wub the buzzing in my body pulsed and grew stronger.
We moved as steadily as we could manage, one foot in front of the other, ducking under a marquee and sliding down an alley between two tents. A guyrope ambushed me, grabbing my ankle and flinging me to the ground. Artemis helped me up and hand in hand we ran. The guyropes gave chase, rising up around us like coiling, ensnaring snakes.
A man reclining in a fold-out chair shot us a black look as we scampered past. I recoiled under the weight of his gaze. Was he in league with the guyropes? Had he devised this maze in which to imprison us? We turned a corner and then another. Then the man was before us again. He looked up from where he sat and rolled his eyes. We fled.
The tent maze had defeated us. I was certain we’d been condemned to an eternity trapped in this campground limbo. Despair took hold of me and a smothering fog flooded my mind. In a daze, I followed Artemis, for somehow, she seemed to know the way.
Then we were free and the dance floor opened up before us. A rush of ecstatic relief washed over me. Artemis let out a whoop and surged forwards into the writhing throng. I paused on the edge. The ground was coated in a thin, sparkling membrane of luminescent liquid. Waves of pure dance energy rippled across its surface, lapping against my legs, beckoning to me.
I blinked and looked around. How long had I been staring at my feet?
Dion was standing on a raised dais between the two gargantuan speaker stacks, her deft hands dancing over the decks before her: the high priestess of the doof goddess leading her sermon. She looked straight at me, smiling. Our eyes locked and the world stood still. Winking, she flicked a switch on the decks. Rolling thunder exploded from the speakers and the physical world ceased to be…
…All around me people melt and morph, wavering like iridescent smoke. They splinter into a shimmering web of golden strings, woven together in a pattern of infinite intricacy. Upon every intersection sits a pulse of life and love, both glistening with a light of its own and reflecting the light of every other. I see fragments of myself staring back at me, searching for union and connection. A wave of bass radiates outwards through the web, vibrating in harmony with my soul. The kick drum is my heart, the bass my blood. Our heart, our blood. I am. We are. The bass is.
I’m shunted back into my body and the dance floor ripples into existence around me. Something tugs at my sleeve. Artemis? For a split second I see her, then she melts into the thick bass soup inundating the world. I blink and there she is again holding a bottle towards me. I take it but I’m unsure what it means.
Water, a secret voice whispers from the depths of my mind. Sweet nectar of the gods.
I tip the bottle towards my mouth and an endless deluge engulfs me, filling my nose and throat and eyes. Am I drowning? No. I remember I know how to swim and the deluge passes on, flowing over and around me. I try to pass the bottle back, but I’m not holding it anymore and Artemis is gone. Only I remain. Only the bass. Only the dance. The ground opens up beneath my feet and I fall…
…Mikey stands upon the precipice, gazing into nothingness. From the darkness the beast emerges, reptilian and writhing. It wears his face and the face of his father. It reaches for him and he turns to flee. Its claw is long. His feet are slow. He is caught and his doom brought nigh. The beast swallows him and he’s lost to the void.
Reaching up through oblivion, Mikey’s hand brushes against something. He grabs hold and pulls, renting himself free of the earthen chains binding him. The tree’s branches are thin and sparse but upwards he must climb, towards the light, towards the sky. The heavens are above him and the abyss of hades far below. He sits balanced between the two, ready to tip one way or the other…
…I blink. I’m on my knees before the speaker. Where am I? Who am I? I look at my hands. They’re old and wrinkled, then young and supple, then dry as sun bleached bone. Whose hands are these? What am I supposed to do with them?
I’m standing now and the dance has me again. I see Artemis talking to the lettuce woman but I can’t go to them. All I can do is dance, for the dance is all there is. I am the universe manifesting subjective consciousness, so it can experience itself. So it can live and learn and love. So it can dance.
If you have any feedback regarding the story, either positive or negative, don’t hesitate to let me know. I’m always looking to improve.
Thank you for your time and attention, I truly do appreciate it.
Another great read, Max. Really enjoyed the exploration of spirituality vs indulgence here. Something I’ve given a lot of thought, personally!