Meditate It

Watched Shangri-La, the series about music producer Rick Rubin's eclectic career. The later episodes focus on Rubin's spiritual journey, and how he exposed a variety of artists to a different, ideally deeper way of thinking.

Rubin conducted business in his ergonomic home near the ocean, with many meetings outside on the grass. I was initially skeptical, since I don't buy into the guru concept. But Rubin seems lighter and more engaging than that, or I've lost whatever critical edge I possessed.

Meditating under trees once meant something. I did this a lot in the early-80s in NYC, primarily in Central Park. There were respites from Manhattan's grinding reality, but solitary all the same. I'd sit and feel at one with my immediate surroundings. I was still relatively new to NYC, and wanted deeply to connect.

Once I ate psilocybin mushrooms and sat under a Central Park tree. The scenery began to blend, as did people's voices which almost suggested color. I felt the grass grow beneath me. A light breeze inspired the leaves to sing. The tree itself seemed to breathe. I was a little scared; it was like being inside a Max Fleischer cartoon. But I hung on for the ride.

When I began to come down, I remembered I had a drink date with a woman I had a crush on. Somehow, I arrived there, one foot still in mushroom land. She already had her drink. Alcohol was the last thing on my mind, so I ordered a Coke on crushed ice. She asked about my day. I told her what happened, going into mystical detail. She stared at me with her beautiful eyes, then laughed. Not with me (since I wasn't laughing), but decidedly at me.

Despite all that, we nearly slept together. Maybe I should’ve laughed after all.