Blog: Had to Break the Window?

No hippies were harmed in the making or telling of this story.

A random guy jumped through the window.

We were having a party that looked more like an acid test and blast off was imminent.  It was winter 2007.  I lived in a house in the Arcata Bottoms with the Blar Brothers, Teri-Doodle, and Paco, the actual bird.

All the usual Monkeys were there: Dr. Bonkers, Freelove, Raggedy, Na, Foothill, Grandma, Bloop, Bop, the Sexretary, and plenty of other people with more traditional names.  We were college students in a circus club who created shows and performed together.  In 2007 we were really out there, but hitting our stride, and honing our craft.  The shows were expressive, fun, and we were pretty good.  The quality of the footage is mediocre but you can see some of the era’s shows in the links of the show description.  

In the backyard there was a small garden, a BBQ, and this particular evening a fire pit and a drum circle.  The noise crafted in the dense, moist winter air could beckon people like meat bees to a summer feast.  All we were graced with the presence of the police who were called for a noise complaint (we’ll pretend to keep it down, sorry), and later, a random guy looking for a party.  

That house was privy to many nights like this, fracturing preconceptions and barriers all the while growing together and as individuals.  We had momentum.

Some dude jumped through the window and shattered it.

Our energy was palpable.  Light, sound, and subconscious frequencies emanated from the house and each of our lit-up monkeys.  

There were three big windows facing the street, each about 3’ x 5’.  A covered walkway on the outside, and an upcycled couch on the inside.  The Grateful Dead was probably playing on the stereo when people weren’t jamming on acoustic guitars and hand drumming on anything.  Intuitive, inspired movement was everywhere.  We danced, juggled, hugged, laughed, talked, and engaged each other.  The moment spoke and we interpreted.  

If you’re making a lot of noise in a small college town people will find you wanted or not.  We were generally an inclusive bunch.  Everyone was invited to shows, practices, and workshops.  Those were open experiences.  This was a private party.  We couldn’t trust that a random anyone could handle the vibes, let alone contribute.  Everyone in the house and yard were vetted.

Some dude found us and wanted to join the festivities.  He probably assumed we had and keg, some chicks, and that he could get fucked up and/or lucky.  He just came right in.

I remember Foothill in full ecstatic dance mode, moving fluidly, smile beaming, part jellyfish, part water, lovely curving with the tides of the night.  She saw the dude enter, and like a wave or tremor of evil came over her, her face contorted to the opposite of bliss and peace.  The night’s energetic hightide pushed her away from the house’s entrance and away from the dude to protect the purity of her experience.  She would not be the chick he tried to anything with.  

Seeing someone completely given up to the party and the moment in one instant, shift to terror and self-preservation the next, is more than enough to make those of us who felt, and were, responsible for the evening’s cohesiveness act swiftly.  

The Blar Brothers and I greeted the dude before he made it too far into the living room, and cordially informed him that this was a private event.  For the safety and absurdity or our entheogenic group trip, our space ship was at max capacity.  Someone not on the same wavelength as us during blast off, peak experience, and space travel was gravity.  We were headed to realms beyond the confines of physics.  Sorry dude.  There’s the door.  Here's a parachute.  Take care.  

A person with a damaged ego pulled a hood over his head, got a running start, and defenestrated himself through a giant window and miniblinds, into our house landing on the couch amidst thousands of shards of shattered glass and the guffaws of our troupe of intrepid travelers.  Who does that?!

The moment it happened.  How can you remember an instant?  I swear I saw it happen in real time, but knowing the aftermath my brain may have constructed a visual just trying to make sense of it.  

Shock.  Awe.  WTF.  Is this real?  And he was gone.  Back though the formerly intact window’s space, through the entryway, and into the night.  

The monkeys scattered away from the scene.  The Blar Brothers, I, and a few others ran into the street, adrenaline and testosterone peaking.  We weren’t going anywhere.  We didn’t want the guy at the house at all and we surely didn’t want a fight.  The night was young and there were horizons to explore, moments to create, and relationships to build.  

The police came a second time that evening and a report was made.  Imagine us, calling the police after they were called on us hours earlier.  Oh, the irony!  The gap where the window was, was patched with cardboard and duct tape.  Substantial clean up was done by two very beautiful and sober ladies.  

As the party goers scattered the house to continue tripping, I don’t remember what I did for hours.  Probably a lot of pacing to see if everyone was ok, smoked more than a couple cigarettes, and tried to find my place while at home.  

What to do with oneself while in such an intentionally sensitive state, compounded by this sort of attack?  It wasn’t personal.  We were fine and even better than that.  I’m glad no one was hurt beyond this dude’s ego, and hope he got something out of his system.  Gravity can be a bummer if you let it hold you down.