From the
Tales of Waterlily
Vestal Virgins
Tale of an Acid Queen
Book One: Summer 1966
SPLENDOR IN THE GRASS
Chapter One:
Lily dreamt of the estate for years. The dreams always centered on 1966 and the year before “The Fall” when life was innocent and filled with promise. In these reoccurring dreams, she was always riding with the top down. Her friend Art was behind the wheel of the green ‘63 MG sports car as they past through Avalon’s imposing iron gates for the first time.
Leaving the stone guardhouse behind, they whizzed beneath dark pines opening to ancient hedges of honeysuckle droning with Cicadas. To the left, a group of teens swam in a dark pond in the hot summer sun. Swinging out wide over the inviting waters on a thick rope, a boy let go screaming, “Geronimo!!”
Lily’s flaxen hair flew in the wind despite a long scarf tucked into her silk Chinese jacket. Art had kept her laughing with a barrage of jokes and weird insights since leaving Ananda Ashram twenty miles before. For the last five miles, he'd been into a coincidental-synchronicity thing. Apparently Carl Jung introduced the idea to the west.
Lily was anxious to hear more. At twenty-six, she knew the basics but was thrilled to hear more. “Other worldly” studies were socially taboo so it was hard to find any in-depth information. In contrast, Art knew all about Native American religions and other conduits of magic. She’d been sucking every detail she could out of him since they met the day before. Lily and her generation were determined to unlock the secrets and meaning of life. There had to be more to life than birth, work and death and they were going to experience it.
"I know a jazz musician who swears by it. Says that’s how improvising works."
Art, formally Dr. Arthur Ferguson, professor of anthropology at Brown University, explained how dovetailing events may seem coincidental but are really synchronized. As the car swerved to miss a squirrel, he called out over the roar of the downshift.
"Ever throw the I Ching?" He referred to China's ancient book of oracles.
"This morning. Got my own copy of the Evans-Wentz translation."
"With its forward by Carl Jung." Arthur added. "See! What did I tell yah? Everything's synchronized. What change would this be? Gathering Together? It fits our meeting yesterday. Hey, I was just enjoying a ride when I thought of Ananda Ashram. So I swung by for a look-see. Once I met you, I understood. Talk about coincidental synchronicity! You’re destined to be at Avalon. I was sent to find you."
He squeezed Lily’s sari clad knee then shifted gears again.
"The I Ching isn't the only place to find answers, you know. Anything works… a book, a billboard. I keep a bowl of sayings written on bits of paper in the entryway. They’re like fortune cookies. People grab one whenever they want. They say they work."
"Really? I'll try your bowl then."
Art puffed with pride. "I’m sure these things operate on the same principles that determine both an I Ching throwing and omens. I'm doing a paper on it."
He went on but Lily wasn’t listening. The MG had just rounded a bend. The sight took the young woman’s breath away. Oak trees opened onto an expanse of rolling green hills. Nestled against the forest edge and sitting on her own knoll sat a white, neo-classic, turn-of-the-century mansion. Emerald lawns and colorful gardens lay like a jeweled necklace upon her breast. If houses were alive, then Avalon was the Belle of the Ball, the Camelot of her time.
Lily was overjoyed when Art invited her for the day. Without his invitation, it would have been almost impossible for her to visit the exclusive estate. Avalon was the culmination of all the wisdom she admired and wished to attain. A major force in the New Age movement, the estate nurtured the “beautiful people” as they took LSD with Dr. Theodore Stewart, self-anointed Buddha of Psychedelics and modern day King Arthur. Society pages regularly reported on the great minds that gathered to talk of Robert Graves and the Tibetan Book of the Dead while ingesting a substance that took them places they never imagined.
Art and Ted, as he was better known, were fraternity brothers from their college days. Art frequently stayed at Avalon, the headquarters of Ted’s quasi-religious Foundation for Inner Exploration. Actually, he’d started his psychedelic church first and gained some fame before Ted's charisma blew him out of the competition. It was Carl Perkins getting knocked off the charts by Elvis Presley. Art, ever the anthropologist, was into shamanism, magic mushrooms and peyote. Ted was cutting edge, always seeking the latest chemical wonder.
Lanky Norsemen, they often passed for brothers. Art was fairer with sandy hair and the Be-Bop slouch so popular among his intellectual buddies. In his mid-thirties, he was a darling. A year or two older, Ted radiated power with his crisper coloring, darker hair and Roman features. Again like Carl and Elvis.
"We're here." Art rolled the car past the mansion’s side portico with its white columns and towering turret and parked next to a Land Rover. "The boys latest toy."
As he joked, Art leapt gallantly from the car and raced around it to open the door. Men did that in those days.
"Thanks." Lily smiled beguiling as she pulled her leggy self out of the recess and tried to appear perfectly graceful. Women did that too.
It took one look to realize this was a home, not a museum. To prove the point, the door flew open and out raced a half grown Billy goat followed by four screaming children. After them ran an auburn-haired Earth Mother, broom in hand. She was screaming, "Get that thing outta here!" The kid and kids tumbled on the grass giggling and baaing.
"That goat's getting too big to be in the house." Art insisted.
"Tell me about it," laughed Earth Mother as she reached to shake Lily’s hand. "I'm Artemis." Lily recognized the female poet laureate of the Beat Generation. She’d admired Artemis Bertolli’s writings for years.
"I'm Lily. Art invited me over from Ananda Ashram, …near Monroe."
"It was the neighborly thing to do." Art said, trying to pinch Lily’s butt as she shooed his hand away.
"Is he always like this?" She cried in mock despair. She still hadn’t decided whether to go to bed with him or not.
"Obsessively, but we're working on him." Artemis joked. "I know Ananda. I go to Rama-jai’s yoga classes in Manhattan. Even visited the ashram when it opened this spring.”
Dr. Mishra Rammurti, Rama-jai to his students, was a brain surgeon in his other life and author of a scholarly book on brainwaves and cosmic energy. As guru, he had two types of followers. First came the long-time Hindu devotees. Some went back to Madame Blavatsky's Theosophical Society in the 1930s. Others had studied with the great American gurus, Yogananda and Krishnamurti. A number had made the pilgrimage to India at least once. A couple had even been in Gandhi’s presence or stayed at the Sri Aurobindo Ashram at Pondicherry. Good honest folks, they owned the ashram with equally devoted Indian businessmen.
On the other hand, there were the hoards of Aum chanting, incense burning, acid dropping hippies.
"That’s how I got to the Ashram. I was living in the East Village when my friends dragged me to a class. I was hooked. Signed right up when they asked for volunteers."
“I was there that night.” Artemis answered.
“Yah. That was the rumor on the grape vine.” Lily joked. The gang might be moving towards enlightenment but they liked their path strewn with gossip, especially when it added to their self-esteem. "Ananda must be beautiful in the spring."
"Fantastic. The apple orchard was in full bloom. So what do you do?"
"I'm on the work crew. There’s around twenty of us. We get room, board and yoga classes in exchange for slave labor."
"You get to be around Rama-jai. That's better than money.”
“He’s usually only around on the week-end but you’re right.”
“Some people think he looks like a crow.”
Lily had heard the reference before. The crow was often a messenger of the gods in nature religions and Rama-jai was certainly a holy messenger.
“Oh God! Doesn’t he?”
Dr. Rammurti, short, wiry and with a barrel chest had bronzed skin. It was accented by shiny black hair, slicked-back into a ducktail. A beak of a nose and darting jet-black eyes offset his sculptured face. He often seemed to hop.
“Some think Rammurti’s the incarnation of Rama himself, bringing us the Holy Scripture…” Lily continued.
“Maybe that’s because he incessantly pecks at us to keep us in line.” Artemis nailed him perfectly.
"Those eyes of his don't miss a thing." Lily agreed. They loved those eyes and his constant instruction. He was giving them the skills they needed.
By now the trio had walked through a lead-windowed entry and paneled butler's pantry into a gigantic kitchen. Art and Lily sat at the counter as the children filtered back in. Artemis had sandwiches waiting: home-baked bread, local cheese and tomatoes and lettuce from the farmer up the road. Icy lemonade and clusters of grapes completed things.
The long counter divided work area from traffic. In each of the two far corners sat a restaurant-sized stove, professional refrigerator and farm sink. The perimeter was fitted with prep counters, another sink and an extra refrigerator. In the middle was a huge butcher’s block table. Pans were hung above it or stuffed onto shelves below.
"Hungry? There’s plenty. "
"Love it." Arthur grabbed a beer from a refrigerator while Lily opted for lemonade. Like so many of her age, she believed alcohol interfered with her spirituality. No reaching for the cosmos when their minds were whirling drunkenly out of control. Well, except football games maybe, holidays of course, or at a bar or...
No, getting toxins out of their bodies was a primary goal of her generation. These youth wanted clarity of mind. As a result, they readily adopted the traditional yogic foods, (brown rice, lentils and vegetables), of their Indian teachers. Curry became Haute Cuisine and Japanese Mu tea ranked high on the cool meter. Meat was rare.
Arthur was old school. He drank happily and often, washing his Kansas City steak and Idaho potatoes down with Pilsner Ale. He really wasn’t Lily’s type but he was nice. And he seemed to enjoy showing her around as much as she enjoyed being shown. This place was fabulous and all she’d seen was the kitchen. A cutting board arranged with cheddar cheese, thick slices of bread, butter and horseradish appeared along with a bowl of grapes.
Artemis turned to Lily once again. "What's your job at the ashram?"
"I'm head cook."
"As you see, I am too, with Carole. She does dinner. I do breakfast and we split lunch. Cooking’s an excellent skill in this environment. Do you know the difference between the Macrobiotic and Yogic diets?"
"Macrobiotics balance yin and yang, potassium and sodium. They like Japanese Umeboshi plums to cleanse their blood and abhor sugar. I make sure soy sauce and plums are on all tables along with Gomasio. You’ve eaten the sesame seeds and sea salt seasoning?”
“Daily. Love it.”
“With us, some yogis eat eggs, chicken and fish. Others refuse any or all. They all eat brown rice, lentils and vegetables so that’s what they get. Along with cereal or toast we have either hard-boiled or scrambled eggs in the morning. And fruit at all meals."
"Try omelets instead of scrambled eggs. They ‘re fancier, easier, go further and the pan is less messy to clean." Artemis turned to hush two kids. "No arguing. We don't solve things with anger here."
"I wish I'd brought my son.” Stevie, two and a half, was the love of Lily’s life. “He doesn’t have any kids around during the week. Thankfully, the crew’s adopted him."
"Kiddies heaven here." Artemis was helping another mother corral the kids. "Pat's taking them swimming at the pond. Jason, Ted’s son, and his buddies from town can help watch them."
"They'll be delighted, I’m sure." Pat shouted as she herded the kids out the door.
"Four hours to write, how lovely. The mothers around here share babysitting so we all get down time.” Artemis poured herself some Mu tea. “…I heard you guys combine yoga with LSD. Most of us do the same thing. But we usually trip alone… Better to explore our inner self."
"Me too but the crew usually drops as a group. They meditate and read scripture and stuff. I wonder sometimes though if they're not avoiding the internal.”
"It's probably good to do both." Artemis returned.
"Balances things out, I guess. But I prefer solitude. I don't know if I could handle that much external energy. I even like being alone the day after."
“Almost necessary if you’re going to assimilate what you learned.”
Lily could have talked endlessly with the poetess and the all the others who moved in and out but Art was restless. He wanted to show Lily the parts of the house open to the public. Private rooms were off limits.
“Make sure you visit us soon.” She called back to Artemis.
“I’m thinking the next time Rama-jai comes up.”
“That works. We’ll being waiting.”
Lily followed Art into an oak-paneled dining room. A Bavarian tone prevailed. Like everything else, the room, built by skilled craftsmen, sported eighteen-foot ceilings and wooden wainscoting.
A walk-in, river rock fireplace took up much of the outer wall. Lining the other walls were low tables with colorful cushions and pillows. At regular intervals pottery jars of honey, Gomasio, Umeboshi plums soy sauce and chopsticks sat next to vases of wild flowers and salt and peppershakers. It wasn't difficult to imagine an evening with Ted holding court like some Roman Senator.
The front hall had a sweeping curved staircase. Its red carpet, begging for a grand entrance, led to a wrap around balcony and the upper rooms. On the wall between the stairs and dining room was a massive gold-gilt mirror framed with carved cupids and grapevines. To the left, a massive door led out to an extensive covered front porch and broad steps. To the right, a smaller rear door led back to the windowed rear entry.
Art's bowl of sayings sat on a table beneath the mirror. Lily grabbed a slip.
"Well?" Arthur asked anxiously.
"'Home is where the heart is.' That's so perfect."
Was she really home then? It was impossible but she wanted to believe the tiny piece of paper. This place and these people were so beautiful she’d already fallen in love. Lily had nothing to be ashamed of. Considered good looking and hip, she was a member of the New York art scene and knew members of the hottest rock bands. She’d been doing yoga and meditating for over a year. And she lived in a Hindu ashram. That couldn’t be hipper. But, to reach this modern day pinnacle of intellectual esteem was a dream she dared not dream.
Settle down with a good man? She’d done that. Did she have lovers? Sure, who didn’t, but no one special. She didn’t want to settle down until Stevie went to school. She needed to learn what life was about on a deep and meaningful level. That’s why she’d moved so much. In a way, she was chasing the ‘elusive butterfly of love.’
"It is?” Art chirped. “I was hoping it'd say 'Handsome stranger sweeps you off your feet.'"
Lily had realized by this time that Art was a gentleman despite his constant sexual innuendo. In its own way it made things more fun, pepper with his corn. They moved across the hall to a small library. Someone was curled up reading in an overstuffed chair.
Beyond it was the music room, perhaps the most beautiful room in the house and certainly the largest. It had cross-beamed mahogany ceilings, paneled walls and inlaid wood floors. The front wall was another walk-in stone fireplace. Nearly floor to ceiling curved windows took up most of the outer wall. Comfortable couches competed with oriental rugs, a Duncan Phyfe table and Hindu and Buddhist sculpture.
“Grab that couch. It’s the most comfort.” Art guided her across the parquet floor.
Sunshine poured through the windows. Its beams caught in crystal teardrops turning in the breeze. Rainbows radiated across the room casting light on a statue of a dancing Shiva atop a mahogany sideboard. Before it burned a candle and smoky incense billowing from a Chinese brass ting. The room was empty.
Between two facing couches where they sat a steamer trunk acted as coffee table. A vase of flowers and the latest copies of The Psychedelic Review and the East Village Other sat on top. It was lovely just to sit in the cooling breeze coming through the portico door, a hundred-year-old oak tree providing the shade. In total, Art told her, the place had fifty rooms and ten miles of forest.
Within minutes, the Land Rover, gone for the last half hour, came barreling down the dirt road leading from the woods behind the house.
“That’s Richard and David P. in front. Ted and his wife Maya are in back.” Art explained. Pulling up to the portico, the couple hopped out and the Land Rover took off. Art answered Lily’s unspoken question. "Probably going to see Conrad at the bungalow."
Lily would have asked more but the couple walked in, Ted confident with a happy swagger while Maya, a former model, glided. Lily liked her immediately. A dark-haired beauty, everything about her was delicate and refined. She, nonetheless, radiated an inner peace that made her beauty more than skin deep. Had she been a Persian princess in a past life or maybe Queen Nefertiti to Ted's Pharaoh Akhenaton? She had that kind of beauty. Lily wanted nothing more than to be a member of the royal court.
Ted grinned when he spotted Art. Maya on one arm, he held a magnum of champagne in the other.
"Would you believe it? David bribed me out of my driving time with this.” He held out the bottle. “And he owns the Land Rover! It's even chilled. Time to drink it."
"You sure? Maybe you should save it?" Art was already clearing the table. "But then, of course, I wouldn't want to hurt your feelings by refusing."
"I'll get some glasses." Maya glided out of the room, silky hair rippling down her silvery blue Moroccan robe, her jeweled slippers hidden under navy blue silk trousers.
Sitting across from them, Ted checked Lily out. Needless to say, she did the same. Ted was truly handsome with his Roman profile, intense blue eyes, signature navy-blue sweater, white buttoned-down Brooks Brothers shirt, white duck pants, white tennis shoes and navy socks, neat as a pin and ready for a sail.
Lily wasn't too bad herself or so the guys on the stoops in Manhattan insisted. Five-seven, her green eyes were her main asset and offset with rose lips, rosy cheeks and creamy skin. Scarf removed, her tawny hair tumbled full and rich past tanned shoulders. Low full breasts were hidden under her floral patterned sari. She was thin but not skinny with long shapely legs and narrow feet.
Ted made some remark about Art's good taste in women then mentioned his beautiful Maya. Obviously, while he liked women, he was faithful. Lily liked that even if she didn’t have anything going with Art other than his fantasy and her appreciation.
Maya returned, glasses in hand. The four sipped on the “bubbly” and engaged in small talk. At Art's urging Lily pulled out her hashish and pipe. Ted asked to look at her traveling chunk.
"Temple Ball?"
"Yes," She answered, "Afghan. That's what I was told, anyway."
"Looks like it, black-brown, hard but with a slight give..." He took a whiff. "Ah. This takes me back. No disguising that glorious, musky-earth smell. I miss Afghanistan! Wonderful people! But if we're going to smoke it, we'd better move outside."
Art ran to get a blanket from the MG as Ted grabbed the bottle. They moved to a spot under the oak tree. While they walked, Maya told Lily.
"Ted insists no one smoke in the inside public areas. We could be raided at any time. Especially with the San Diego thing hanging over our heads."
Like any good father, Ted covered for his daughter, Amy, at the Mexican border when the feds found half joint of grass on her. She was off at college these days but Ted was facing charges that could land him in jail for years. His paranoia was not without reason.
The blanket was spread. The smell of freshly mowed grass and Maya’s gardenia perfume impinged on their brains in the heat. Wrens and blue jay, grasshoppers and butterflies darted about them. With the dogs away swimming with the kids, the cats wandered over and, after a scratch, stretched out at their feet. It was a good place to be. Not only could the group see everything, the breeze took way any trace of the smoke that carried them away.
Friends and family flitted in and out, ebbing and flowing. They sat there most of the afternoon. All the time, pipes and joints were passed, champagne refreshed, fruit and cheeses passed. When the children and dogs returned, lemonade and cookies were brought. Discussions centered on philosophy and comparative religion… and some juicy gossip.
"Tell Ted about your experiences with Santeria." Art said during a lull.
