This is a true story - yes, I was one of the Indiana hippies noodling for the guests. The psychiatrist did cry. I left out the part about being dosed with both peyote and psilocybin which beget an out-of-body experience that sent me flying over the trees past small towns, down the NY State Thruway all the way to Grants at 42nd St and 7th Ave where I discovered couldn't eat a hot dog without a body. Instantly I was back in my body, playing pool, then back to music. "Sweetie, there's never too much light."
lyrics
New Year’s Eve 1972 into 1973, in Catskill Mountains near Fleischmanns, NY, there was a party at the home of a family who lived in a geodesic dome.
The party started in the afternoon, with snowball fights, and sledding — 3 kids piled on top of each other, falling off into the snow as the sled swerved down the hill. A snowman meant to be Richard Nixon was sent head over heels down the driveway, lasting but a few yards before breaking up. The children drank hot chocolate while the grown-ups smoked pot and passed a flask of cognac.
At sunset, the hosts’ cookout featured lamb burgers and deli specialties from Barney Greengrass and Zabar’s. The kids were tired from playing in the snow and went to bed early. The elevation chef du jour brewed up a tea from mushrooms, ceremoniously given to guests as they arrived.
The party went on into the night. Music was supplied by visiting Indiana hippies playing the Sarod and tabla for tunes sung in Hindi and English, and later, songs from Mali with North African clay drums leading the groove. Guests danced, and others played pool. Players shot, watching the cue ball sizzle along the tabletop, a universe of kissing, cracking, and rolling. Under the star of the mushroom tea, the revelers were happy, thoughtful, and affectionate. Grudges let themselves go. Hugs given. A lovely time on earth, with the unity of all living things apparent.
After a few hours, people began on the champagne and the new year came.
Songs were sung, toasts were made and the good vibrations were moving in the air, visible.
On a couch near the staircase, a man sat alone, sobbing quietly. A psychiatrist. Many of the partygoers were his clients.
Perhaps it was the mushrooms that caused him, that night, to grieve the loss of his wife, who had run off with a local carpenter the psychiatrist had hired to build a country dream house for his wife and himself to live in. Just down the road, this house was still unfinished.
There would be no kids, no dinner parties with other transplanted city folk. The psychiatrist was giving the house to his soon-to-be former wife, after which he would return to live in the city. There was no way to save the marriage even after the carpenter broke it off and went back to his wife and family in Kingston.
The psychiatrist thought about being back in NYC, back to his practice, back to hearing his clients beat the bed with the tennis rackets he supplied them. He longed to hear them screaming their parent's names at full volume while he sipped tea in the next room waiting for the next person to need his help.
The musicians, having noticed the crying psychiatrist, decided to play some songs to cheer him, but the man’s grief was so strong the musicians could think of nothing but sad songs to play. “Tears On My Pillow” by Little Anthony and the Imperials, “Girl” by the Beatles, “She Cried” by Jay and Americans, and even “The Warmth Of The Sun” by the Beach Boys. The musicians grew confused and eventually went back to the multicultural noodling the guests seemed to enjoy.
There were bedrooms upstairs, an open staircase, and a balcony around the dome. Around 2 am I noticed a young girl in a white nightgown looking down from the balcony. She looked around, located her mother, and called out “Mom, there’s too much light.” The mom was dancing and waved to her. The young girl said, “Mom, it’s too bright I can’t sleep, there’s too much light.”
As people noticed the young girl, the activity slowed down and a wave of self-consciousness washed over the room. The music stopped. The young girl had everyone’s attention now, and she yelled out again. “Mom, there’s too much light.”
The mother looked up at her daughter, turned her palms to the sky, and said, “Sweetie, there’s never too much light.”
credits
from Mushroom Crowd,
released January 25, 2023
Michael Cerveris- voice
Mark Bingham, drums, birds, insects
Tim Green - tenor sax
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