Woodstock Times
©Emerson Dean Brooking, Ph.D.

I heard about a music festival that was being held over the weekend in New York. As I had a couple of days before school began, I decided to go.
I felt a bit like a speeding bullet as I dove along at sixty-five miles per hour on my little 100 cc, twin cylinder, Yamaha. Strapped behind me was an army-navy bag, almost dragging on the pavement. As I got closer to Woodstock, the traffic became heavier and heavier. Eventually cars were just left along the road and people began walking.
Using my motorcycle clutch, I continued on at a walking pace. As the clutch cable stretched, I adjusted it and continued on until eventually there was no adjustment left. I pondered what to do. Amazingly, I spied a motorcycle shop just ahead of me. I bought another cable, installed it, and kept going.
The crowds were enormous and I began to worry that I might not be allowed into the festival, so I stopped and paid seven dollars for a ticket to the Friday, August 15th performance. It turned out, of course, that I did not need the ticket as the crowds quickly overwhelmed any attempts to impose such structure on the festival.
While purchasing my ticket, I asked the clerk if there was a good place to swim. She told me there was a swamp there, but it was muddy and full of snakes and she certainly wouldn’t recommend swimming there. (Later I was told that a hose was placed out in the swamp and the swamp became the Woodstock water source. I know it became a very popular swimming hole.)
The stage at Woodstock was at the lower end of a hill, which formed a natural amphitheater. Looking at the stage, the swamp was to the left. I motorcycled to a point above the swamp, almost within sight of the stage, and camped by a fence line and small tree. Snapping two army ponchos together to form a tent, I attached it the best I could to the tree and fence line. Actually, it wasn’t easy to make a tent out of two army ponchos – I had to really concentrate.
The Woodstock music began around 5:00 p.m. with Ritchie Havens and during his performance I finished setting up camp. Just as I finished, a U-Haul truck drove up beside me. Out came a motorcycle gang and all of their large motorcycles. It dawned on me that I might be robbed, injured, or even killed. Just to be on the safe side, I dug a hole and buried one-half of all the money I had with me – twenty dollars.
Unfortunately, I got so fractured at Woodstock that I left my buried twenty dollar bill. I fantasize that I planted a twenty dollar money tree, which is still bearing fruit to this day.
I wandered on down to the swamp and there saw an amazing sight – hundreds of naked people. I sat down at the edge of the water and just watched this tranquil, peaceful scene.
Two girls my age appeared by the water in front of me. One said, “Let’s go swimming.” They proceeded to take off all their clothes and walk into the water. I’m sure my mouth dropped open. I was born and raised in Chattanooga, Tennessee and we just didn’t do those things where I grew up! Without hesitation, I stripped off all my clothes and followed them.

If I had done any drugs back home my parents would have immediately sought Tennessee addiction recovery solutions to help me out.

I spent several hours in and around the swamp and met some really nice folks, many sharing their drugs with me. I saw things I had never seen before, such as using needles to inject drugs. Sometimes males and females would openly kiss and fondle each other, with an occasional pair engaging in sexual intercourse.
In time I learned that being naked added to our intimacy; without clothes we were more open, less guarded. The walls around our hearts lowered. I discovered that nakedness really wasn’t that sexy; nakedness really didn’t turn me on.
Every once in a while I’d meet a woman wearing a bathing suit. I found it was the bathing suit, the mystery, which was sexy. Naked bodies were just interesting to look at, as they were all so different.
I felt free being nude, so natural, so honest, and so comfortable. This was a life changing moment for me. From that point to this day I have preferred nudity to clothes.
[Admittedly, I don’t have a great looking body to exhibit, as I have always been overweight. This was pointed out to me quite bluntly by a nudist I once met at a nude beach on Ocracoke Island, North Carolina. “Emerson, you’re very comfortable with your body, which surprises me considering how you look.” As I looked around the Ocracoke beach, I understood what he meant. All I saw were beautiful, naked bodies. These nudists really worked on their bodies!
I once went to a nudist camp outside of Cleveland, Georgia but did not return because the sign at the pool said “No Bathing Suits Allowed.” Legislating nudity was not compatible with my Woodstock initiation.]
While in the swamp I met Marsha. She was such a beautiful woman! She had long blonde hair, eyes filled with mystery and wonder, and a nicely shaped body. Her spirit was so gentle, so loving, and for a long time we played together in the muddy water.
Marsha was traveling with a small commune, her “family.” As they prepared to leave the swamp, Marsha asked me to come with her. I wanted to continue being with her and started to put on my clothes. Her commune members stayed naked and insisted I should also. I hesitated. A young man came up to me and said, “Marsha likes you. Come be naked with us and you and Marsha can make love later on.”
Though I was tempted, I let them go and stayed in the swamp. I could not imagine walking naked through five hundred thousand people. I would be too embarrassed and feared I might be too offensive. The last thing I remember of Marsha was her cute little rear end waving back and forth to me as she walked away. During the festival I looked for her but never saw her again. It is easy to lose someone in a half million people….
[To be honest I wasn’t exactly totally naked in the swamp. During the Woodstock experience I wore a navy aeronautical hat/head net. It looked a bit like a Robin Hood cap and I’ve never seen anyone wear anything quite like it. In fact I was recognized twice in the months following Woodstock, when nudity became more common and prevalent.
During a march on Washington to protest the Vietnam War, several of us took our clothes off and went wading in the reflecting pool which sits between the Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial. Hundreds of thousands of clothed people surrounded us, yet I felt quite comfortable being naked. Our presence in Washington and our nudity were political protest! Obviously, I was much more comfortable being naked in Washington than I had been at Woodstock.
While wading and playing in Washington’s reflecting pool, a naked girl approached and asked, “You were at Woodstock, weren’t you?” I secretly hoped it was the size of my penis that made me memorable, but then she explained that she recognized the hat.
Speaking of my penis, I suppose there’s a picture of mine at F.B.I. headquarters in Washington. I imagine J. Edgar Hoover, the Head of the F.B.I., might have been a bit upset with me, and others. Not only did we march on Washington to protest the war, but we also had the gall to get naked and go swimming in the reflecting pool!!!
One other time I was recognized as a Woodstock participant. I was attending the Philadelphia Folk Music Festival in Schwenksville. A stream ran alongside the festival grounds and several of us stripped naked and got wet. While I was sitting in the water, a naked woman came up to me and asked, “Did I see you at Woodstock?” Once again she recognized the hat.]
From the Woodstock swamp we could faintly hear the music. It was muffled but filled the air. The first day was devoted primarily to folk music, of which I am particularly fond. After stopping by my camp for some food, I wandered toward the music. Between acts announcements were made, many about folks separated and lost, some asking that people get down from the speaker/light towers because they might collapse from the weight. Regular announcements were also made about bad acid, especially bad brown.
I wanted to visit the bad trip tent, especially given my own bad trip (described below) earlier in the summer. The tent itself was quite large, with several cots, and full of people. I couldn’t believe what I saw there – people screaming, crying, and vomiting. It was like a trip to hell, and yet only a few minutes walk from the peaceful, joyous swamp. I felt great empathy and sympathy for all those tormented souls in the bad trip tent.
The Woodstock music continued and I decided to work my way towards the stage area. Actually I spent hours moving toward the stage. The mass of people was incredible! Most were sitting and the closer I got to the stage the more closely packed together they became.
I would carefully step my way among the people, find some smoking a joint or pipe, and sit down and join them. I did this repeatedly, joining and smoking with numerous groups. I was always welcomed, always offered a hit of their drugs. I so enjoyed talking with everyone. Periodically the whole crowd would light matches and candles, which was really a beautiful sight.
Eventually, however, I became so wasted, so fractured, that I began to decompensate. The night weather was turning wet. I was surrounded by this huge mass of humanity and, in spite of my efforts to reach the stage, I was still so far away that the performers looked like small dolls.
It was now quite late and rain began to fall in earnest. I began to feel quite overwhelmed by it all. Then, like a heaven sent angel, Melanie came on the stage and sang “Tuning My Guitar.” When, in a beautiful, strong, clear voice she sang her song, her words pulled it all together for me.
I found my way back to my camp, very stoned and very happy!
Throughout Friday night at Woodstock it continued to rain and in the morning I awoke to quite a different world. Mud was everywhere! We had become a city where people were born and people died. To escape the rain one fellow crawled under a truck. In the morning the truck started up and ran over him.
Still people continued to arrive. In desperation the State Police closed the New York freeway and released word that bubonic plague had broken out. Woodstock had become the world’s largest rock festival in the history of that recent social phenomenon!
I was glad I had made the journey to Woodstock but definitely felt wasted. I wanted out! When I spoke with a local farmer and learned of a back road out of Woodstock, I decided to leave and spend the night with Joan.
I escaped from Woodstock, picked up Joan, went to a large waterfall, and settled in on soft grass overlooking the falls. There we made such sweet love, forgiving all the pain we had previously caused each other. We slept the night peacefully in each other’s arms, enjoying the sounds of the large, nearby waterfall.

Written May 8, 1969 - FIRST ACID TRIP – Philadelphia, PA
As the acid slowly came on, I walked down to the Philadelphia Art Museum and Fairmont Park. It was a beautiful, warm day in May and the sun felt wonderful. In time I met a good looking Hispanic girl about my age.
At this point the acid was peaking nicely and I was intrigued because I was having quite an unusual reaction to her. She was no longer someone to fuck. She was no longer a “spic”. She was a being of pure light, a part of Divine Consciousness, just as I, also, was a spark of pure, divine, consciousness.
For the first time in my life, I lost all prejudices! All stereotypes dissolved into the acid. As a true Son of the South I had been thoroughly steeped in prejudices and stereotypes, and suddenly a new, radical level of consciousness emerged. I felt so liberated, so free!!!
Only the present moment dominated my consciousness. As we talked of many things, I experienced pure listening for the first time in my life. There was no judgment as I listened, no thought as to how I should respond – only pure, simple listening. Our time together was such joy!
I am convinced that my first acid trip did allow me to glimpse a higher level of consciousness, and this glimpse proved to be life changing. The next time I saw my hippie drug dealer I gave him one hundred dollars and asked him for as many hits of acid as the money would buy.

Written June 15, 1969 - THIRD ACID TRIP – Miami, FL
My third acid trip almost destroyed me, and left me psychologically quite shattered. It began innocently enough when my friend and I decided to drop acid together. We smoked a lot of dope and hashish, dropped the acid, and waited for what seemed like a long time, but nothing happened.
My friend said he had some mescaline and, if the acid was a bust, why not take the mescaline. I thought that was a great idea, so we did. Now a trip on acid can be a subtle journey, and we were well along the journey when we did the mescaline. We just didn’t know it.
Unfortunately we discovered our misperceptions too late to correct them, and I distinctly remember my friend yelling, “Be my kite man! GOD, OH GOD, BE MY KITE MAN!!!” He was weeping, huddled in a fetal position in a corner of the room.
My vision was completely distorted, and it seemed like I could see only strands of light, wave particles revealing nothing solid – emptiness permeating every thing. As the mescaline hit, everything speeded up. I began to vibrate intensely; wave particles flowed quickly; I began to disintegrate, not only “I” psychologically, but also “I” physically. How could I be my friend’s kite man? There was no ground; there was no “me.” I, too, found myself on the floor, in a fetal position.
I’m not sure how long we tripped like this, each of us in a fetal position on the floor. It felt like lifetimes, though I suspect only a few hours. This was by no means a pleasant experience, rather terrifying in nature and duration.

Written February 12, 1970 - A WEEK OF ACID – Philadelphia, PA
Since my first, consciousness expanding, wonderful acid trip almost a year ago, I have not been able to equal the experience, though I have dropped acid a number of times since. I decided I wasn’t dropping enough acid to break through my resistance to opening up, expanding my consciousness, so I resolved to take acid every day for a week. More frequent, more intense would be better, I hypothesized.
Unfortunately, my week-long acid trip just made me psychotic as hell!!!

In 1969 I followed Timothy Leary’s instructions: “Turn On – Tune In – Drop Out!” Well I didn’t fully drop out, but I certainly enthusiastically adopted the rest. Many years later, on January 31, 1984 in Athens, Georgia, I had an opportunity to ask Leary the following question: “Do you accept responsibility for the thousands of people, both young and old, whose personalities were shattered as a result of following your prescription to drop acid?”
At first he denied that there were casualties. “There is no hard evidence that L.S.D. and similar drugs have harmed anyone. No one was injured by their drug use.” Looking him directly in the eye, I angrily interrupted, “We both know casualties from their drug use!”
Timothy Leary accepted my disagreement, saying, “Those who did have breakdowns could well have had them anyway; and besides, drinking and driving were a lot worse. When you’re taking an evolutionary leap in consciousness, there will be some casualties. Every war has casualties.… Stupid people are going to use drugs stupidly. Intelligent people are going to use them intelligently. We’re just going to have to raise the intelligence level.”
Through the years, my dream of expanded consciousness and spiritual growth through drugs evaporated. I remained hopelessly addicted to marijuana until June 17, 1985, when I was initiated into the Serenity Meditation while visiting northern Thailand. My depth of meditation practice made further drug use superfluous. Millions of people consider the beginning of their meditation practice their “spiritual birthday” – a date critical to their spiritual growth. Certainly that is true for me.
For many years I tried to understand why my seventeen year addiction to marijuana magically evaporated when I began my meditation practice. When I studied the clinical research on addictions, I learned of one approach to treatment which postulates that addicts are not actually addicted to their “drug of choice” but rather to alpha and theta brain waves.
Their “drug of choice” allows them to move from a beta brain (active/anxious) to alpha (relaxed) and theta (creative) brain waves. In meditation brain wave patterns alter and, with practice, these changes become permanent. Drugs are no longer needed or desired.
In addition, the field of consciousness research states that all humans have an innate desire to change their states of consciousness. This fits nicely with yoga’s assumption that all humans have an innate desire to be Self- and God-realized, to awaken to permanent liberation of consciousness.
As I learned more about yoga and began to practice its teachings, I learned to listen to the inner sound, the sound of OM, of God, who is always with me, surrounding me, comforting me. I discovered that, at the deepest level of my being, I am joyously peaceful at all times.
Besides the increased joy and peace meditation brought into my life, I also experienced the other fruits of spiritual growth which are energizing and vitalizing, including a more loving and compassionate heart.
Thus I discovered that my meditation and other spiritual practices not only freed me from marijuana addiction, but also eliminated all desire for alcohol. I loved the state of consciousness I was in, the peace within me, and my first priority became to protect my peace. Drugs and alcohol robbed me of my peace, and therefore had no place in my life.
Meditation facilitates spiritual growth, which was the key to my recovery from addiction. If there has been one theme in my life, it has been a deep and constant desire for a reunion with God, a desire to serve God, and a desire to enter into the Kingdom of God. Through God’s grace I have, at times, fulfilled this desire.