The day they pointed the shotguns at the pregnant girl. © 2011 Dakini Verona

The day they pointed the shotguns at the pregnant girl © 2011 Dakini Verona

 “Hi, I'm Rebecca. Call me Rebecca, Becca, but never Becky." Funny how those little things stick out in my mind. When I was introduced to my “old man’s” friends that is what I remember. Her name was Rebecca. She had long shiny vibrant red hair, which fell just below her shoulders. She had soft full lips that when stretched into a bright radiant smile revealed teeth that were impeccable. She seemed more like a loving older sister than a hard assed drug dealer.  

I guess that was because she was always kind to me. 

Rebecca’s “old man”, Daniel, was a drug dealer. The typical kind. Not the happy go lucky pot smoking, acid dropping dealer. Oh, no. He was the hard edged, gun toting, tough son-of-a-bitch cocaine dealer.  His clothes were dirty and his long stringy hair was flat and greasy. You know the type, the ones you see in the movies.  I am sure that not many of you have come face to face with this type of a scenario, so I will try to give you as many details as I can, or want to remember.

Jail bait © Dakini 2010

Jail bait © Dakini 2010

Cindy was my best friend growing up. She lived about a mile away in Blue Mountain, New York. We lived in the middle of nowhere, but then again, we lived about 9 miles from the quaint little village of Woodstock. Woodstock was the place for artists and musicians to come and hang out. It was bohemian before it was hip. You can just imagine how much trouble we could get into there. 


Cindy and I were joined at the hips from the time we were 13 or so. We were constantly on the phone talking to each other, in those rare moments when we were not face to face.

She came from good German stock. She lived with her mom and four siblings (from what I remember) in humble home on Blue Mountain Road. At the back of her property you could find a small babbling brook. There were many evenings spent playing on the hill which led to that stream. On warm summer nights we could look up at the sky and watch the bats dart about, catching small flying insects like mosquitoes and no-see-ums (gnats). 

I remember when I lost my virginity (by date rape) and was afraid to tell Cindy about it. I thought she would think I was a whore. My sense of self worth was non-existent back then. 

She and I experimented with various drugs together. I was the adventurous one and always got us in trouble. Her mom used to hunt us down when we were out where we were not supposed to be. Cindy thought it was because her mom knew everyone, I think she was psychic on some level. 

Like the night we pulled, or I should say, tried to pull, that classic trick: "you tell your mom you are staying at my house and I will tell my parents that I am staying at yours." It worked fine with my parents; they were in their own world of denial when it came to me. Cindy's mom, on the other hand was very protective about her children. She checked up on Cindy and discovered we were not where we said we were going to be. Of course not, we were off to meet boys in the Village of Woodstock.

One of those life changing defining moments.

Defining moments.. when something occurs that is so significant it forces you to make a choice as to which path to follow. 


I was reminded today by someone from my past, about a day long, long ago when I was pregnant and in the middle of a drug deal gone wrong... the sawed off shotguns were pointed at no other than me.. yep.. the pregnant girl!... 


stayed tuned


Dakini


update... someone on Facebook made a comment: "What that's crazy!"


my response:

yes..all true. I would sometimes doubt my memory of that day, but then yesterday someone, that I knew back on the streets sent me a random email in response to a post I had on Amazon (about the book Telegraph 3 am). Seems he was also photographed, but they did not publish his image.

Anyway.. turns out he was in that room.. his email trigged my memory and I am trying to muster up the courage to go back to that day and pull it all together.

You see, my boyfriend at the time was a coke dealer.

FOLK LEGENDS PART I © 2010 Dakini Verona

[ROUGH DRAFT]

FOLK LEGENDS PART I © 2010 Dakini Verona

It’s a tossup right now, do I write about the most boring folk legend I have had the pleasure of meeting or about the most humble one that I have met?

I can tell you they both left an impression on me. Funny, now that I think back on those encounters, they both occurred in either a hotel or motel room (NO.. none of it involved sex.) Drugs.. well, yes. In fact, hell yes! And of course, there was rock and roll. Or more truthfully, folk rock.

The two artist I am referring to are Arlo Guthrie and Art Garfunkle. 

Autobiographical Statement - C 1994 Dakini Verona

My Autobiographical Statement

The year was 1994. I had just graduated from California State University, Long Beach, with a degree in psychology. My plan was to continue on to graduate school and earn a master’s degree in family counseling. Well, as they say “best laid plans”. I never did get that advanced degree in psychology, I ended up getting it in business and it was not until 2009 that I was able to reach that goal.

However, as a part of my original plan, I applied to Antioch University in Marian Del Rey, California. As a part of the admission package I had to prepare an autobiographical statement. What follows is the “watered-down-unemotional and politically correct” account of my life. Like I said, although I was accepted at Antioch, I did not attend. Life got in the way. 

Woodstock Sound-Outs, Van Morrison and No Beans © Dakini Verona

Woodstock Sound-Outs, Van Morrison and No Beans. © Dakini Verona

1969. The year was an infamous one in the history of the era… and it was a very important year in my life.

I had just turned 15 years old and lived in a very rural area of upstate New York. Actually it was only about 100 miles north of New York City (The City) but anything even 10 miles outside of The City was considered Upstate. I didn't seem to fit in with the other kids at school, always an outsider. I could not relate to their violent ways, the small town mentality never appealed to me. I could not wait to grow up and get out of there. I had no social life with the other kids in school. I only had one friend, Carol Sommers. We had a connection which to this day, I do not understand. Maybe it was that we were outsiders to the rest of the kids our age, maybe it was just destiny that we came to be friends. Best friends. Only friends. The other kids were cruel. So cruel in fact, that I have blocked out most of what was going on in my life, just to survive.  When I was not with my only friend, Carol, I would lose myself in my music. I can not believe I am confessing to this, but the Monkees were one of my favorite groups.

Ramblings of May 29,1974 © 2010 Dakini Verona

Ramblings of May 29, 1974  © 2010 Dakini Verona

TO THE CHILDREN OF BERKELEY

Poor lost children of the jungle
who will corrupt you next?
Your mother? Or brother?
May we not have any rest?

Sinking beyond the gutters
Reality’s lost its touch
All your innocent minds
But no one cares for a lush

TO MY SON

Learn as I did, my son
That is, if you think you must
Remember the scars I carry
and my unfulfilled lust.

ALICE
Running wild and free
How I long to be
As a mustang 
Or a goat
Strip off my mask
along with my coat

Yearn for the hills
Away from the pills
Like a baby 
Or a dog
sleep where I please
Away from the smog

Let’s dance around nude
I’m sure it’s not rude
under the sun
or the stars 
Out to the country 
Away from the bars

Alice, I will be
I’ll be as she’s free
Like the rabbit 
Or a mole
but I'll LEAP down
down, down, down that hole!

The Day I Died - Part II © 2010 Dakini Verona

The Day I Died  - Part II © 2010 Dakini Verona

I have no idea how long this went on – my fall from reality. It could have been a few nano seconds or a few days. Peaking on acid was sometimes like that. I finally saw a glimpse of reality: a cock roach skittered across the ceiling above where I was lying flat on my back. I found myself suddenly jerked back to reality. I looked around and tried to assess where I was. It was a bedroom, littered with street people. Some of them were sleeping, some talking, and some sitting in their own little worlds, like I had been- just a few moments earlier. This was a “crash pad”. 

Crash pads were places where street people could “crash” for a night or two. No rent was collected and most of the time favors were not even asked. Most crash pads were safe, as long as there were enough people to watch out for each other. At least it got us off the streets and out of the snow. This particular crash pad was like most of the others that existed. It was down in the depths of the bowery, in the dirtiest part of New York’s Lower East Side. It was a five story walk up, meaning you had to climb five flights of stairs to get to the place. Each floor had two apartments and on the landing there was one toilet to be shared. You can imagine that that was like. Filth and grime on every inch and stench to match. Cockroaches shared all living spaces in those dumps. Inside the apartment was a small kitchen, a bedroom and a front room. The floors were wall to wall people, except for the kitchen. The kitchen was bare. The sink had a long white porcelain slab that served as a counter, but actually covered the bathtub. I had never experienced anything like that in my life… but now I was in an honest to God tenement.

I could feel another wave of the acid about to hit. I was going to peak again. The thoughts were again turning into colors. I tried to concentrate on the here and now and begin counting out loud. The words became visuals in front of my eyes. Each letter was a different wild color, floating up to the ceiling like helium balloons. But instead of popping, they all melted together. Was I speaking another language? Were the words understood by those around me? I looked into the faces of the other refugees and did not see anyone I recognized. I was alone in a crowded room. Paranoia, which was not a foreign feeling, began to take over. The thoughts were building and I knew I had to act quickly before I once again lost control over my reality, before I was again thrust down that rabbit hole.

To be continued…

The Day I Died - Part I © 2010 Dakini Verona

The Day I Died  - Part I © 2010 Dakini Verona

December 15, 1969. That date is stuck in my mind forever. Branded in my soul, so to speak. Yes – that is the day I died, or at least I thought I was dead. LSD is a very strange drug, a strong hallucinogenic, the strongest, I believe.  A drug which was developed, or actually stumbled upon,  by the Swiss scientist, Albert Hofmann in the 1930’s. He thought it would be used as an aid in psychoanalysis, but it never quite worked out that way.

Hoffman never mentioned that the US government used LSD in secret experiments on unwilling human participants in an attempt to learn how to dominate the world through mind control. Project MKULTRA  didn’t quite work the way they hoped, either. The mind cannot be controlled while under the influence of LSD. Now, don’t get me wrong, you can influence thoughts and you can alter a thought process somewhat, but is not now how they thought it would work. They were not prepared for the results. I  could have told them that.

Hofmann claimed that his wonder drug, LSD, was “hijacked” by the 60’s counter culture. He had a lot of hopes for the drug, but was not pleased with the abuse of it. One of the most famous of these hijackers was Timothy Leary.

Timothy Leary used LSD as a pathway to spiritual enlightenment. His famous mantra of “turn on, tune in, drop out” was used to promote the benefits of LSD. LSD was more of a religion than a pastime, to Leary and his followers.  To me, it was mostly a way to get high. A way to escape. I thank Dr. Leary for bringing LSD, (or acid, as we called it) to the mainstream. At a dollar a hit, it was easy even for me to get as much as I wanted, even if I had to pay for it myself, which was rare. Regardless of the fact that I did have some bad trips (some really bad trips) I still believe I benefitted overall. You see, through the use of LSD I discovered spiritual enlightenment and the afterlife, but wasn’t until many trips later.