Showing posts with label ecstasy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ecstasy. Show all posts

Saturday, March 28, 2015

Three Energies to Manifest a Festival Threesome

Whether you are single in search of multiple partners or a couple looking for a playmate or two, there are vital energies to channel to actualize this fantasy into your tent or Subaru or riverbank or tree. Obviously, you do not want to scan the throbbing dancers at the stage like an iFestyBot tallying yays and nays while everyone's culminating to expand consciousness and jam-thrive a moment, yo. Enjoy the experience simply and enjoy it fully. Give into the music, celebrate and project these energies, and the sex will manifest itself.

Bangor, ME Phish Tour Opener 2013

  1. Openness.

Naturally, right? If you're seeking to maximize your sexual horizons at a festival, I'm guessing you're not very close-minded. When we're open, we bring and even suck others in, inviting their beings to dance as hard as our revved-up bodies are sparkle-splurging . So if you are rolling ready raring to jump on some laps, simply put it out there; dance your out your desires and pull others in like snakes being charmed. Basically, whether it's solo you or you and your girlfriend etc. seeking steamy tentmates, don't hide it. Be overt and the overt will find you. You're at a festival, a natural haven for human wildness. Open up, let it in, and the lovers will be as free and flowing as you expand your own self to be.

  1. Sexuality.

Really, sexuality is not an energy that has to be distastefully presented. We can totally project this in an inspiring and tickling way that isn't offensive or compromising; sexuality should celebrated and uninhibited, especially at events like music festivals where people want to jam without feeling judged. Nervousness and second-guessing has no place in portraying our sexuality. Though my sexuality does not present itself the same way, what could be more fulfilling than watching the topless pixies fluttering around with painted chests and daisy headdresses and palm-leaf skirts? I mean have you ever seen anyone more free?

The point is not that I necessarily want to sleep with these earth-wild spirits, but that I can appreciate their blithe freedom to beam their carefree sensuality. We definitely have to be comfortable with the unbridled sexuality of everyone (even/especially those we don't want to sleep with) to be fully comfortable with our own, which projects an accepting, warm intimacy simply in our demeanor and brings all colors of lovers into our path. Accepting all shades of personal sexuality brings us to the nonjudgmental, unhindered plane of having multiple partners and truly enjoying the multi-vibrational experience. Three- and four- and five-somes are much more likely and lovely to occur when we aren't trying to “get” something out of the partners or experience. It's not about how many orgasms we can get in a night. It's about amplifying individual sexuality through one another's, raising the collective experience into the most ecstatic it can be, bringing us to our last critical energy to exhibit in the search of multiple lovers at a music festival.

  1. Ecstasy.

This is the most attractive and powerful energy we can project. When every breath is ecstatic, our whole core glows. Our entire body sweats in smiles and exalts with the bliss of uninhibited love. When we laugh, skip, hum, drum, dance, narrate a story, look into others with our real eyes, people get high on the energy at an ecstatic vibration. Like a vast majority of jammers, dancing is my plunge into ecstasy, so this energy always bursts open at festivals, inviting others into my auric field and tempting them there. In the presence of ecstasy, people cannot stay away. No one can resist the sublime contagion of inner and outer joy. When we act from our true sexual nature, not a place of possessiveness but a divine will to interconnect, we pump the environment with orgasmic glee, digging the perfect rabbit hole for others of the vibe tribe you manifest for a night, or many.


In no way am I advertising music festivals as a Craigslist-hub for orgies here. But since many jammers either encounter threesome opportunities with uncertainty, I wrote the previous post about avoiding potentially uncomfortable and compromising situations. And since many jammers are also seeking how to channel multidirectionally enthusiastic sexuality, I present you with this list of energies in the hope that we can approach omniorgasms with the most uplifting, mutually beautiful intentions that will feed the most fruitful experiences. After all, drugs are superfluous compared to the highs we can reach together.

Friday, March 13, 2015

That's Not Blood, Man; it's Glo-Stick Goo: Nonviolence and the EcstaticDance Party

The only fight people seek out of a Sound Tribe show is a glow-stick war. And while I've known some to trip out from being on the “wrong” side of a color exchange, electronic enthusiasts pulse with the innocence of neon for the simple sake of bright and shiny. Initially, I struggled with that ease of satisfaction. When I first came onto the scene as an overeager Earth pleaser, I spent countless hours talking to the most tripped out chemists on lot to try to devise a way to recycle the thousands upon thousands of damn glow-sticks that always end up painting the grass in clear plastic by the end of the night. And really, not one of these new wave ravers wanted to hear or think about their toxic footprints. In fact, many say, “I never thought of that before!” with complete wide-eyed honesty and just as sincere a smile as they plunk right back into their dance or bra or pocket for some molly to share.



Admittedly, I've always seen the sparkle-faced Bratz Dollz generation with glow-sticks and dubstep as “them.” Evil. I saw plastic and computer glitch-beats as a robot-zombie plague upon the purity and synergy of jam. But when ecstatic Dave at his first Bassnectar concert squealed, “It's expendable energy!” and began collecting and throwing glow-sticks like flowers bursting from the pit of his highlighter-yellow soul, the electronic scene finally clicked into mine. Ah! These self-proclaimed “bass-heads” don't want to suck away souls, not out of the earth, music, nor each other...they just want to have a good time.

And that time that my friends and I left Charleston's Music Farm extremely perplexed as to how Nate acquired a spatter of blood on his T-shirt after the STS9 show/danciest energy-a-thon ever, it took us to be in the dark crashing five people on a bed and a couch to recognize the neon nature of the stain. And yes, it tickled and cheered me to know it was the reckless innocence of glow-stick goo.

Yes I will always be a jam band purist, and in the electronic realm, I will always pick a band like Sound Tribe or Lotus over a Macbook party like EOTO or Pretty Lights. Still, I must pay tribute to the nonstop party wizzam-wow that the dubsteppers celebrate and chase, as the ecstatic dance party is now a routine therapy for my daily kitchen sanity. My gay best friend in college explained the hypnotic rhythm of dubstep as such: “Sometimes you don't need the fucking intricacies of everything. You just need to wobble.” Me, still no—I'm not a wobbler, I'm a prancing jamming pirate with skippy, stampy gazelle legs and a punk-rock head-bang, and music like Phish and Toubab Krewe will always foremost satisfy my multilayer thirst for kick-offs and crescendos. But electronic music and the ecstatic dance parties have become a parallel friend instead of an opposing force of evil: I love the dance for the sake of feeling good, the wobble for a speedway into the collective zen flow, and the oblivious love of everything for the oblivious love of everything.


After the pounding headache that consumed my body after vending Electric Forest summer 2011 next to a K-holed kid pressing WAH-WAH-WAH-WAH on his warble machine and slapping “DIRTY GIRLS LIKE DIRTY BEATS” stickers on every shoulder passing by, I was convinced these electronic dubsters truly were part robot, digitized beyond salvation of the human soul, a foreign species—the enemy. But at the end of that weekend, when a shirtless boy in a pink bandanna, cargo shorts, and cowboy boots spray-painted the clop of cop-horse shit razzle-sparkle pink, giggled and ran away with kicked up heels like a naughty elfin farmhand, I had to smile, and even giggle too. What, really, is evil about bright and shiny? After all, calculating the damge of glow-sticks to the soil is not celebrating a festival to its highest potential, and it is human nature to want to have a good time,

Photo Credits: Meggy Schaeffer
Instagram @Nut_Meggy