Travellin’ Light Through Tinted Windows

“Music is probably the only real magic I have encountered in my life. There’s not some trick involved with it. It’s pure and it’s real. It moves, it heals, it communicates and does all these incredible things. It’s an obligation, it’s bigger than you. It’s the only true magic I know…it’s your soul floating out to theirs.” – Tom Petty

Captain of a dilapidated school bus built in 1949. Driving it from North Carolina, where I bought it from a dead man, heading into the heartland of Wisconsin. Painted above the rear door, the one word that best described my state of being; nomadness. Cargo includes my real home, a 20′ Sioux tipi with it’s lodge poles on the roof, and an army duffle bag bursting with all my worldly possessions. My first mate is truly the best dog ever in all of recorded human history, america (full name Mr. America Man, Doggy Dude, Defender Of The Universe). Named after Amerigo Best Poochie. Rest assured, he did his name proud too. To the port side of my command seat is a small raised platform on which supported my entertainment center – a huge JVC cassette player boom box that ran on 126 “D” cell batteries. That number is just a hazy recollection, and an educated guess. I do know, however, that when I was able to plug it in, the lights would dim in four counties.

The misty morning found us meandering through the Great Smoky Mountains. Phantasmagoric fog, moist mist, and swanky sunshine. Every wet, winding, twisty turn revealing a vibrant vista. Eye candy for the heart and soul.

The soundtrack on this journey was the extensive cassette collection I travelled with, adding another dimension to my experience. The collected works of Rush, Elton John, Melanie, Jefferson Airplane and many, many more, far too many to name, all of them held my view, at one time or another, as the best musician(s) ever. Often, several different musicians would hold this title concurrently. Life just isn’t long enough to hear all the awesome music that exists. But I’m gonna try.

Nightfall. Dark-thirtyish, or so. Somewhere in Georgia, maybe Alabama. Kinda hard to tell, as it’s been raining hard for hours. My total focus is on the road and what lies ahead. That too, is also hard to tell, as the school bus is equipped the vacuum operated windshield wipers. State of the art back in ’49, forty years later, they’re somewhat archaic. They work fairly well going downhill and almost not at all on an incline. I think I’m travelling a road that is pretty level now, as the wipers are working sporadically, which is how I can tell. If the split windows are awash with heavy spray I simply take my foot off the gas. Doing so increases the vacuum and lessens wind resistance making the wiper arms almost adequate.

Blaring on the boom box is Tom Petty. While I have not reached the age yet where I need to turn down music to see better, my attentiveness precludes me changing the cassette. I’ve probably heard Refugee at least half dozen times, as the album looped unremittingly as the summer squall. What I probably should do is pull over, take a break and de-stress, and put on a mix tape with at least an hour and a half of mismatched music. Or, better yet, maybe call it a day, and find someplace to camp. Then it happened. Louisiana Rain played again. But this time it touched my soul and decided my fate. “Louisiana rain is falling at my feet/I’m noticing the change as I move down the street” Everything is glowing now in the darkening twilight, within an iridescent and effervescent ambience. Perceptual shift inside my school bus submarine, and the weight is lifted. Anchors aweigh. Can’t stop now. The stress is gone. Gotta keep moving. Gotta keep going. Where I am heading I have no way of knowing. Or, to quote another ship’s captain, and the title of the album: Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead. That is ok too, even if that top speed is a mere 45 miles per hour. america grins in agreement.

As a long time fan of Petty’s enticing voice and superior songwriting abilities, I would travel to see Tom whenever I could. My first taste was the summer of ’81 at Alpine Valley in East Troy, Wisconsin. A majestic outdoor arena that permitted camping. I’ve seen more shows there than any other venue, mostly because it was in my backyard, and I would often be there for a week on end. I was not opposed to road trips either, including interstate excursions to see several shows in 1986 when Tom performed with Bob Dylan and the Grateful Dead. I’ve attended numerous shows later as well, with the most memorable being Albuquerque, NM on April 24, 2012. This concert changed my life, in ways that are still indiscernible and unknown.

T-shirts are my religious relics from these ecclesial experiences. I good portion of my budget is spent on these screen printed talismans. When Tom was coming to town, I noticed via his website that VIP packages were available. The $250 price was way more than I ever paid before just to enter a concert. I didn’t debate too long. I have no problem supporting artists I like, and as it also included a limited edition sweatshirt and commerative poster, it really wasn’t much of a conundrum. The shirt is worn regularly, including this morning, so I feel I got my money’s worth. I also received a Tom Petty tote bag filled with all sorts of seductive swag. To top it off was an incredible third row seat, just slightly left of center. As the concert approached, my anticipation grew. This is going to be an awesome show! That’s not unique though, as that is my default position for all my planned adventures. This time, I had no idea to the extent that it would surpass all my imaginings.

I changed my work schedule that day so I could get an early start, even though the venue was 10 minutes down the road. I spent the morning hopping, humming and dancing at work. My air-guitar was in impeccable form. While shuffling down the aisles I told a coworker that I wished I had some mushrooms for the show, and then wowed them by playing “Learning To Fly” note for note on a broom. Finally, a few minutes before the end of my shift, and I’m looking like an R. Crumb character heading to the door. “Here you go”. Another coworker tossed me a small plastic condiment container in passing. “Enjoy” Apparently, they had overheard my earlier conversation, and were moved by my virtual virtuosity. Maybe, they just thought it was the right thing to do. The translucent Tupperware revealed some sweet psilocybin swimming in a glowing golden liquid. Magic mushrooms hugged by honey. The fungus is among us.

I am somewhat of a seasoned psychenaut, and have journeyed to many a wonderous land and dimension. Often with the accompanying aural navigation of a live band. Like the Dead. Psychedelic saturation. I prefer the term psychedelic to hallucinogenic, as I think it best describes the situation. From the Greek psyche (soul, spirit, mind) + del(os) (visible, manifest, evident). Soul revealing. Maybe using hallucinations as a means, but not as the end. There are deeper forces at work. Think of it like a radio or television, with psychedelics allowing you to experience more channels. Those frequencies are always present, but we’re not usually able to tune in to them. For example, dogs can discern tones beyond human hearing. Those frequencies exist inspite of our inability to access them. My experiences have shown that psychedelics foster extra sensory perceptions. Of all sorts. Allowing us to increase awareness of what is, and with experience, the utilization of that incorporated information. “I’m learning to fly, but I ain’t got wings. Coming down is the hardest thing.”

Dressed in black leather and a well worn Heartbreaker’s shirt from another Albuquerque show a decade earlier, I rode my motorcycle to a friend’s house a short block away from the concert grounds. My friend helped me prepare for the show. We followed Tom’s instructions explicitly : “let me get to the point, let’s roll another joint, and turn the radio loud.” Around the time the doors were to open, I departed and walked to the arena. A pocket full of cannabis, and a pulsating vessel containing a sacramental key to the universe in my hand. I popped the lid and consumed the contents. Gently chewing the earthly treasure and rolling it with my tongue before swallowing. Using my finger as a spatula I cleaned the cup of all it’s offerings.

With VIP access I entered the arena early, collected my transient treasures and bought another tour t-shirt. Checked out my seat, but then moved to the front row. Watched closely as a blind man was led on to the stage and then tuned the piano of Regina Spektor, the opening act. Then, I got up, and stood even closer to the stage as she performed her sound check. Suave and sensuous, silly and sincere. The first time I ever heard (of) her, and was blown away. When she left the stage, I took my assigned seat as the crowd started filing in.

Regina returned, and played an impressive set. I became a fan immediately. My nervous system was activated, and increasing in intensity. I am unsure if it was the music, or if the mushrooms were starting to have an effect. Probably both. I smoked another joint and shared it with communally with those around me as we awaited Mr. Petty’s magic.

As the band hit the stage, they were encircled by bright lights flashing hypnotically. Shining swaths of alternating amber and magenta rotating clockwise, projected out into the audience. Ok, you have my attention. Slowly at first, then spinning faster and faster; red, yellow, red, yellow and back to red. Shining shafts creating a luminous vortex through the hazy cannabinoid clouds. They opened with “Listen To Her Heart”. “I Won’t Back Down” and “Handle With Care” followed. One incredible pop song after another, with the audience partaking in the backing vocals. Shortly the songs took a heavier and darker tone. Tom switched guitars and opted for a worn acoustic as he began several songs played in slow, ominous, bluesy fashion. I seem to recall he sat on a stool as the broke into Bo Diddley’s “I’m A Man”, focusing all his energy into vibrating his silver strings, and his harmonious tonal incantations. I felt his soulful invocations transported me back in both time and space, but my exact location was uncertain, perhaps a 1930’s Chicago bar, or even the Crossroads at an earlier time. Elements of both seemed tangible. Someone once claimed Tom Petty had tinted windows on his soul. In my altered state of consciousness I was able to pierce this covering and see what was hidden from most. One of my favorites, “Free Fallin'” was played as the mushrooms really kicked in. “I’m gonna free fall out into nothin’, gonna leave this world for awhile”

I was ‘peaking’ on the mushrooms during an unfamiliar tune which featured long intricate instrumental passages. The in-sync jamming of the musicians was captivating and powerful. A dynamo of melody and rhythm. Later, I learned it was a rendition of J.J.Cale’s “Travellin’ Light”, and this was only the second time the Heartbreakers had performed this song in public, the first being three days earlier in Colorado. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E18-qCgA1ow “way on down/follow me/ travellin’ light/we can go beyond” I’m not sure of the original intent or impetus of the song, but for me I travelled that light to peer past that tinted glass.

I became transfixed and my soul entrained to the sounds. While the chords moved me and resonated deeply with my being, I noticed something slightly odd; Tom Petty was slowly shapeshifting into a reptile. A great big, bearded, larger than life lizard. Wearing a vest and playing guitar. Maybe fifteen feet away from me. Holy fuck! What’s this? Ok, I know I’m on mushrooms. I’ve seen some crazy stuff in my time, but nothing like this. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Wow. Yup, he’s still a reptile, maybe more so. At least this hallucination is consistent. His face had elongated, and his neck appeared scaly. I scanned the rest of the band and they all seemed as ‘normal’ as any rock star could be. Tom was the only one this ‘hallucination’ applied to. A quick glance at those in the audience confirmed their human forms as well, and gave the impression that this perception of Tom was mine alone. I fixed my gaze upon Tom again and the reptilian being was unmistakable. We then made eye contact. An auric bridge of awareness. Our eyes locked. Instantaneously, I knew that he knew that I knew. He was aware of my perceptions. He’s a lizard, and he knows I know. So what? There was no sense of fear or anxiety. Just a calm sense of accepted awareness, with maybe a slight tinge of “ok, now what?” It is what it is. I am unsure of the expanse and depth of the energy we shared, but it was deep. Perhaps planting dream seeds for future revelation? I don’t know. Whatever it was, it remains vibrant today. I was truly grateful for the privilege to experience this, but what does it mean? I am also unsure about how long we stared at each other, but it must have been for a while. It may have been for mere infinity that we connected, or, perhaps only a long moment or so. Maybe there is no difference. Neither could turn away as our eyes probed into each other’s soul. After a while, our connection was noticed by Mike Campbell, the lead guitarist of the Heartbreakers. In response, Mike continued playing, but walked between us with his back to the audience. When he passed, Tom was now looking in a different direction and had completely regained his groovin’ soul soothin’ human form. The only viperal vestiges were the reptilian remnants carousing through my consciousness. My mushroom memories. It’s all good.

Tom was in top form as he played “Learning To Fly”, “Refugee” and “Running Down A Dream”. After a rousing encore of “American Girl”, Tom autographed an album for a teenaged fan, and the band all bowed to ovations. When they left the stage, I sat a while as the audience cleared and contemplated it all. Whoever/whatever Tom is, my regard for his talent and music remains unchecked. Like all great artists, they are mainly conduits or mediums channeling otherworldly manifestations. Often moved and motivated by forces beyond comprehension.

The fresh air and the motorcycle ride home helped dissipate some of the edginess of it all, but by no means trivialized it. Upon arriving home I wanted to see if any one else had noted a similar experience. I did a web search for ‘Tom Petty reptile’. One hit, a blog where the author stated “Tom Petty is a reptilian overlord that uses light and sound to manipulate the chakras of his followers.” Makes total sense. I thought again of the flashing lights moving in a circle at the start of the show, and how ‘hypnotic’ was what came to mind while it was happening. I also firmly believe music has the ability to alter our state of being. Still, this is just a blog that confirms my suspicions, but not really proof of anything.

I took the next day off of work to get my bearings, and try to figure out what had just happened. That morning another representative of the reptiles came to visit. While climbing on my sun-soaked house wall, he stopped to say hello. While we also made steady eye contact, he didn’t change into Tom Petty, nor anything else exotic. He stayed long enough to be photographed, and I believe he was some Saurian ambassador that came just to check in on me, and make sure I was ok.

My experience and questions still remain without any meaningful resolution. But then again, a lot of my life is like that. “You believe what you want to believe”. A wild adventurous rollercoaster ride with any meaning being solely what we attribute to it, in order to impose some sort of sense to our adventures in this wonderland . “You take it on faith. You take it to the heart. The waiting is the hardest part.”

I didn’t have to wait too long. A few days after the show, I realized that the commerative poster I purchased had become wrinkled and slightly torn during the show and/or the motorcycle ride home. I went online to see if any were available, and what it might cost to replace. None were available, or even pictured. However, as fate would have it, I discovered a poster from the band Mudcrutch, which had much more significance in regard to my experience. Mudcrutch was the name of Tom Petty’s band previous to forming the Heartbreakers. While attending the concert, I perceived that I, alone, saw Tom in that form. However, this poster attests that I was not the first to see past the tinted windows.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then that image is worthy of a blog on it’s own. Tom as a reptile, the swirling red and yellow energy, and to top it off a powerful magic mushroom capping his staff. The poster contains images I didn’t see, so I’m wondering if missed something…though maybe I was shown all that I needed. Maybe even that was too much. Sometimes it’s better if things are shared on a need to know basis only. While the poster did confirm for me the reality of what I saw, the implications of the experience are still obscured. What I am supposed to do with my garnered information? I still don’t know. Even talking about it raises eyebrows. The situation was so profound yet utterly useless. But I do know it’s not over, there is more to be revealed. “Running down a dream. Working on a mystery. Going wherever it leads…” Thanks Tom.