Just Do, and Feel, and Be.
As my life continued to spiral out of control, Bonnie and I reconnected.
First, I went to visit her at the University of Akron, where she lived in a student apartment. We hung out with her new friends; I felt completely out of place. We got drunk for two days, then I went back to my dive bar.
Then in April, the Grateful Dead came to Pittsburgh – and I got tickets. Bonnie reappeared in Pittsburgh for the concert. We did not invite anyone else.
Since the Grateful Dead was known as much for its drug-addled followers as it was for its music, we knew we’d find acid in the parking lot. And we did – immediately. We put those little LSD tabs on our tongues and wandered around, doing beer bongs here, dancing there, eventually feeling daylight fade as we melded into the Dead scene.
Finally, our tickets somehow intact, we went into the Civic Arena.
Whereas it had been beautiful and freeing outside, inside we felt a bit claustrophobic. The sounds echoed off the interior walls, the music a crackling drone in the background behind stomps and clunks. When the Dead started playing, we wandered right up near the stage to gawk at the band from only yards away.
On any other day, this would have been glee-inducing. But Bonnie and I hurtled ourselves away after only one song. We virtually flew to our actual seats, which were somewhere near the rafters.
Too. Many. People.
We sat down and tried to breathe, but couldn’t. My heart was beating too fast, my eyes wildly searching. My limbs felt like lead; the hard chair was like quicksand. I felt invisibly, painfully caged.
“Is everything bad?” I asked, confused.
Bonnie said, “I think we got some bad LSD. I’m fuckin’ freaking out!”
Then I noticed a guy wearing a floppy hat and sunglasses, casually leaning against a wall. Inadvertently, I smiled.
“Nope,” I said, recognizing our conundrum. “It’s just us. Look at that guy with the hat! Everybody else is okay.”
Bonnie couldn’t focus, didn’t understand, saw no guy. She continued to panic. “This is not okay!” she shrieked, her eyes the size of golf balls.
I closed my eyes. Breathed. It helped me concentrate on the music, instantly calming my heart. “Everybody is okay, and we are, too,” I said. “Close your eyes!”
I opened my eyes and Bonnie closed hers. “What’s this supposed to do?” she asked.
“Just be here,” I said. “Just be here, listen to the music, feel the air.”
“Oh right!” she said, starting to relax. “But I need something to do!” Her eyes popped open again. “What can I do? I think my heart’s going to explode!”
“Just do whatever … and feel the music … and be where you are,” I said. “We are here right now, and we’re okay. Just do and feel,” I smiled. “And be!” Arms calmly outstretched, I suddenly became a buddha.
“So just do … and feel … and be,” Bonnie said, nodding, relaxing, finally enlightened.
“Just do, and feel, and be,” I agreed.
We went from being completely whacked out to being perfectly fine in a matter of minutes.
Do. Feel. Be. We repeated it like a mantra.
We experienced the rest of the show as it was meant to be experienced.
For the first time, though, I’d been close to having a “bad trip” and totally losing my mind. I decided to stop doing acid for awhile.
I never did hallucinogens again.
But that do-feel-be mantra? It still works to quell my anxiety.
It’s the only thing I ever learned while on acid.