How I ended up on a bus in the desert with people from all over the world following their dreams is another story, but there I was, reluctant and unknowing. They just kept coming, And then it was full. Full of stories and determination albiet their canes and grays. It was tagged, The Desert Trip, and I would never have gone were it not for a dear friend who led me along the path. And then, as will happen to plans, her family needed her more than the desert, and she flew away leaving me to experience my own trip.
I cried as one after another boarded the bus. They came from all parts of the world. They came for this experience. Six great artists who gave us our own history converged on the desert for us to remember, believe in the impossible and breath our future. We all felt the energy of decades, the mistakes, the challenges, the pain and joy. And no one left without newly restored faith in the struggle. It was all in a weekend capsule and decorated with dust, warm wind, the whiff of marijuana, a full moon and sound, beautiful, warm God given sound.
I heard some young radio announcers making fun of us after we'd all gone home. They were making fun of us..."Oldchella" they called this experience because the artists were all in their 60's and thus so were many of us. But it wasn't like that. It wasn't a bunch of old people. It was 150,000 young, and old dreamers and believers. Some struggled to get there, but they were there. Some had a bit too much joy prep and shouted a bit too loud or danced a bit wild, but they were there. They've lived lives of pauper or power, but they were there. It wasn't a gathering of old people. It was a gathering of believers. Believers that no matter where your journey has taken you, music can gather your soul in a vessle and give it hope.
I cried as one after another boarded the bus. They came from all parts of the world. They came for this experience. Six great artists who gave us our own history converged on the desert for us to remember, believe in the impossible and breath our future. We all felt the energy of decades, the mistakes, the challenges, the pain and joy. And no one left without newly restored faith in the struggle. It was all in a weekend capsule and decorated with dust, warm wind, the whiff of marijuana, a full moon and sound, beautiful, warm God given sound.
I heard some young radio announcers making fun of us after we'd all gone home. They were making fun of us..."Oldchella" they called this experience because the artists were all in their 60's and thus so were many of us. But it wasn't like that. It wasn't a bunch of old people. It was 150,000 young, and old dreamers and believers. Some struggled to get there, but they were there. Some had a bit too much joy prep and shouted a bit too loud or danced a bit wild, but they were there. They've lived lives of pauper or power, but they were there. It wasn't a gathering of old people. It was a gathering of believers. Believers that no matter where your journey has taken you, music can gather your soul in a vessle and give it hope.
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