the violence of love: the love of violence

I just posted a blog entry on the chotto matte myspace, and realised that so much has happened and that i had not written anything, in this, my spiritual refuge, for so long. At least three weeks, i think. Not that there is anything particularly extraordinary about that - but it struck a chord and i listened and the vibrations seemed to call me back here, to my blog, that i may write somethings about something. And so much to tell! But not all of it... some stories need to be told and others do not. Some stories need other stories with which to coexist, to justify their tangled place in memory. I would like to tell of the other weekend when Chotto Matte played (but not that bit) and the Rainbow Serpent that followed.

The night of the Chotto Matte gig was what it was. We played. I was thrilled with the performance because i felt more powerful than the first time. Alex and David were not so chuffed because their instruments gave them grief. So 'tis with these things. That week i averaged about 3 hours sleep per night - anxiety and angst in my workplace - fear and frustration in my personal life - whatever combination of irritants gave rise to my difficult restlessness, i cannot say for sure. Then it was the show and i dreaded a sluggish performance - and was delighted to discover that my rage became a tool and a vehicle for self transformation when i took the stage. Dionysus had found his mountain and the maenads writhed in ecstasy as milk and wine oozed from their pores.

That night i could hardly close my eyes - my skin quivering with electric pulses. By the following noon i was bleary eyed and my body felt like a bad day in Baghdad. Making coffee was difficult - my muscles ached and screamed with each twist and turn. Needless to say, i was not so excited about going to a great big sweating hippy festival (uttered with affection - i have been going for ten years now and love it more each time), camping and getting jiggy on the dance floor. I recall some sleep deprivation related hallucinations during the drive to Beaufort - flashes of light in my periphery. It was a bit of a shit sandwich finding a camping spot - but we eventually decided to set up on the top of a hill at the perimeter of the property - a bit of a hike, but an extraordinary view of the festival and nearby country. This turned out to be a stroke of genius when the sun was emerging over the mist filled valley on the Monday morning.

That first night i had a few drinks but decided to make my way to bed early (2am). I slept soundly, without a sleeping mat, on a slight grade, until after 8. Strangely enough i rose refreshed and feeling fit. My frustrations and anxiety were quelled - who would believe i went to a party to get some much needed rest. The next two nights i averaged more than 8 hours - extraordinary, if you ask me.

But my intention is not to give you a blow by blow of my movements and experiences at the festival - nor is it to provide a review of the acts, the workshops or the quality of the delicious food. I would not bore you, or myself, with such trivialities. Rather, i am concerned with the something that happens at that particular festival that is life affirming, cathartic, expressive and energising. It is apparent immediately; as we arrive we are met with joyful enthusiasm, and the market seems to sigh lovingly as new eyes roam, peeling apart the carnivalesque atmosphere - meeting others who have come in search of an other worldly experience. The general feeling is one of a return to something - a strange sort of home coming. This feeling only intensifies as the party goes on.

After being at the event for more than two days, one knows their way around - one has established connections with people in a variety of locations, discovered interesting video art, immersive environments and become familiar with the sights, sounds and smells of the party. One begins to forget about the world outside - memories of that person you were before you came to this weird and wonderful place. Periods of intoxication mingle with relative clear headedness - the management of necessities and the maenadic loss of self on the dance floor. It all seems to fanttastic and unreal

Mondays are notorious as the highlight at the Rainbow Serpent Festival - everyone has been around for a few days - everyone is filthy, hung over, coming down, sleep deprived and edgy about the party coming to a close. And so the gloves come off and the music is minimal and dark and dirty and we all just let go of whatever we were holding onto and soon you're just losing it along with everyone else. Occasions of people watching - what might otherwise inspire fear or terror in a stranger, or perplexed amusement in the newly arrived, gently forces itself upon you and you cant help but just dance dance dance. I forgot about time and place and everything and my body became a sacred site for expression and worship. I know this all sounds a bit new age and wank laden - but there is an ecstatic, religious experience realised in the maddening frenzy of the dionysiac, and that is what i rediscovered only ten days ago.

I ask myself the next question: why did all the angst and fear of my daily life evaporate within hours of my arrival at this festival? Why did i feel so at home in this strange and alien world of fantasy and make believe? Why did i sob quietly when i realised it had come to an end? It can be distressing when it dawns upon us that we are more at home in the hills, surrounded by people in weird costumes, shaken with the dizzying pulse of music, than we are in the mundane world's we call our lives.

Nietzsche argued that all of life should be a determined and relentless search for experiences of intense pleasure, the attainment of which is the only reward and justification for its own pursuit. Pleasure is discovered in different ways by different people - for some it lies in the attainment of money - for others, the expenditure of money. For me... this is going to be one of those questions i can never answer wholly or satisfactorily... i guess it is partly earthed in the experience of dance and movement... but there is much more to it than that... intoxication? yeah, that is fun too... but not on its own... i never drink alone... this will go on and on, and i am really asking myself what is important to me, and maybe you are thinking about the same thing and maybe neither of us will ever be able to pin it down for sure in a way that endures... for it must keep changing, morphing and distorting, just as we must. In a world dominated by the endless and grueling pursuit of status (your job, car, designer clothes and big holiday to exotic locations, while functional, remain markers of "success"), the philosopher and wanderer within will always be unsatisfied. A part of us will always be some how taunted by a self reflexive understanding that meaning is absent in our pathetic little lives. And yet, there is something mysterious and exciting, lurking in the fog of Dionysian desire and expression - a socially sanctioned moment of communal release? or a profound opportunity for personal and collective insight into the primal substance and rhythms of who we are? Perhaps both.

There are moments when reason slips and the body is pushed to its limits - there are those who collapse with heat exhaustion, dehydration, overdose. We all know, and yet we keep on dancing. Is this perverse? We accept the violence of love. We accept the love of violence. Catharsis or catalyst, we go on chasing that distant thud of music, for what it promises and what it delivers - what it permits and what it prevents - deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth. I embrace the darkness and the joy - and feel myself ALIVE.