The Zodiac Chronicles

Ken Kesey and the Merry Prankster's Bus by Sandy Brown Jensen is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. Based on a work at https://www.flickr.com/photos/sandybrownjensen/20504644186.

Introduction

The Age of Aquarius was once a buzzword of the 1960s counter-culture. Popularized by the group the 5th Dimension and the Broadway musical "Hair." It was a new dawning of awareness. But then what happened? Where did it go? Has another pop culture trend come and gone?

That era changed my life. It's not over for me or you.

What is the Age of Aquarius?

The Age of Aquarius is not New Age hocus pocus. Conspiracy theory. Or a Baby Boomer algorithm.

According to Astrologists the Age of Aquarius begins now (2021). Not back in the 60s before many of you were born. You people didn't miss it. The good news for today's and future generations is there are 2,160 years left!

The Age of Aquarius is mystical science.

It is characterized by the passage of the vernal equinox. From there it goes through the air sign Aquarius. Opinions differ about the exact timing of this passage. Astrologers declare that we are now in a transition phase from Pisces to Aquarius.

Sound simple enough? Unless you're an Astrologer I get lost in the cosmic weeds.

The signs? Don't let a few stars block the galaxy.

The easier interpretation is the Age of Aquarius symbolizes the start of a new era. This move into the Age of Aquarius stands to impact the ways we make and connect with art to the ways we buy and sell it.

The Age of Aquarius also points to a newfound sense of hope. A strong desire for collective change. Some of which we have already experienced in the Covid-19 pandemic. Including the protests against racial violence in the United State. And, when combined with cosmic energy encourages us to expand our thoughts.

This energy shift serves the cutting-edge too.

Outside-the-box mediums like digital and video. Performance, conceptual art, and experimental forms. Which will act as a catalyst for inventive change. But we must remember that change takes time.

The cosmos has a lot of time but does the Earth?

Lacking a better explanation for my earlier Age of Aquarius experiences. The shortlist. Like my trip with Ken Kesey's Merry Pranksters. The Woodstock Music and Arts Festival. The Rainbow Tribe gathering. And 50 years later celebrating the end of South African Apartheid.

All are examples of Aquarian Age social change. It doesn't stop there. The Age is young and warming up.

Why I was at these pivotal moments in social and Arts change? There has to be more than Forrest Gump-like coincidence.

Something happened the moment I stepped on the Furthur bus and the wheels are still spinning.

A symbol of radical self-expression and cultural revolution. Ken Kesey and his Merry Pranksters with his bus the Furthur. Traveled throughout the 1960s - all across the country. The mission of those first few idealists has influenced a new generation.

Sun fried from days of hitchhiking through rural nowhere Midwest America. I - and my hair - got a ride on an old Day-Glo painted school bus. It had a large megaphone and observation deck on top of the roof, and a small American flag stuck in the grill.

The bus stopped next to me and a voice amplified from the megaphone said, "Ahoy space cowboy. This is the USS Furthur from San Francisco."

I stood there speechless.

"Wherein lies your port?" continued the driver. Smiling at me with a welcoming twinkle in his eyes, as he leaned into the lever he pushed to open the doors with a thunk.

He sat there observing me. Lowering his shades with humorous dancing eyes that looked wide open from the road. He wore flowers in his hair and a smile on his face that seemed pasted there for days.

I unfolded my Woodstock poster. Held it up at the double-folded doors, and shouted, "Woodstock!"

"Come on board," he immediately responded. "Our destination - Woodstock, we'll make it there by tomorrow sundown."

I climbed aboard carrying my suitcase and my guitar. He patted me on my shoulder, reassuring me, "You'll find our home on wheels a real fine ride. Rocket will show you around."

Inside the bus, the ceiling and walls were painted in psychedelic art. A heavy scent of patchouli oil filled the air, even though the windows were open. The bus seats were removed. There were hippies sprawled upon the cushions that took their place. Musical instruments were on board, too. I saw banjos, guitars, dulcimers, bongos, and kazoos.

I waved at everyone and sat down.

"Hi! My name is Rocket's Red Glare," said the young woman. "Would you like something to eat and drink?"

"Yes, that would be cool," I replied, with a nod.

Rocket had baby-blue cat eyes and wore a headband around her long, dark hair. She had a flower painted on her right cheek and a green balloon painted in her cleavage. A simple white tank top exposed her bra-less chest. She handed me a bowl of rice, bread, and water.

"Who are you?" she asked. "Where are you from?"

"My nickname is Arlo and I'm from Minnesota. I've been stuck out here for a couple of days. I would kill for a bath right about now."

"Yeah, we all would. If we find a remote river or lake we'll pull over," she comforted.

"How long have you been traveling?" I asked.

"Part of the group has been on the road since 1964," she said full of history. "Neal Cassidy was the driver back then when Ken published his first book, One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest." She smiled and continued, "That was before my time. I jumped on board at the Haight."

I counted about a dozen people on the bus. Staring at the ceiling or stretched out with their eyes fixated on nothing.

"Would you care to join us?" she asked, handing me a plate with several blue squares on it. "It's from Owsley's stash," she said, caressing my face and looking into my eyes. "Are you ready for the test?"

I wasn't exactly sure what she meant by a "test" but - if it had anything to do with LSD - I was experienced.

Sometimes I scored the real thing, the cube - pure LSD 25. I tripped so many times that I grew weary of the predictable "flight plan." How many times could I witness my soul leaving my body until I admitted, okay, I get it? I had answered my question. I had already been up for days, and so what I needed most right then, was for my 15-year old body to rest.

"Thank you," I told her, "I'll save it for later." Smiling back at her, I stuck the cube in my pocket.

"Attention Pranksters, this is the Captain speaking." The driver announced over the megaphone. "We crossed the state line into Pennsylvania, home of the Liberty Bell! At present speed and altitude, we should be landing in Bethel, New York within the next 24 hours."

"I dig your vibes, my handsome little guitar man." Rocket said to me in a sexy way. Before I knew what was happening, her mouth was on mine, sending her hot tongue through my turtle shell. I gathered that she was tripping and concluded that this was free love?

"What is this around your neck?" she inquired, holding onto a zodiac symbol I wore on a silver chain around my neck - my sacred charm from my old girlfriend. "It's beautiful," she went on holding it.

"My girlfriend gave me this necklace as a good luck charm. It is the sign of Sagittarius. I'm a Sag - the most philosophical of the signs." I told her. Rocket was tempting but I had to know one thing. "I have a question for you. How old are you?"

"I am 14," Rocket answered with confidence that she was wiser than her age might suggest.

"Are you a runaway?" I probed.

"I'm not running from anything but they are chasing me," she admitted.

"What is this bus all about?" I asked.

"Think of a school bus that picks you up and takes you on a trip to learn something and it brings you back. It's all written in this book," she replied, with a shrug.

She handed me the 1968 copy of The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, by Tom Wolfe. The book was an urban legend. It was the road bible to travel in search of the American soul. I nodded, hiding my shock that I stumbled upon the most famous bus in the world.

"Do you mind if I crash out?" I asked, biting my lip.

She gathered a few pillows around me and I put my head back on them. It felt good to stretch out on something besides the hard ground. Rocket curled up and laid her head on my chest. I stroked her beautiful hair.

The bus interior grew dark with the setting sun, and the night air came in and cooled us off. I laid my head back and looked up at a painting of the Jefferson Airplane. The third eye of Vishnu at the speed of light.

I felt more relaxed now. I had a ride. I had food. I had an enchanting young woman next to me. I was on the Magic Bus. I was on the same bus as Ken Kesey. The Grateful Dead, Timothy Leary, Allen Ginsberg, and many other groundbreakers rode. A dream come true.

I listened to the hum of the road through the chassis of the bus. The old springs came alive over every bump. The metal shuddered. The walls vibrated with the cross-country trips that occurred inside the rib cage. This rainbow-on-wheels experiment.

I didn't know when the Captain slept. He seemed transfixed on that white line. The ghost-like apparitions on the highway. I closed my eyes and imagined myself dancing with my guitar on the stage at Woodstock.

When we pulled up outside of the festival grounds, there was no place to park. Some of us got out and we walked in. I found myself following a line of people that went on for miles. I thought the scene resembled the Israelites fleeing Egypt. (Arlo Guthrie elaborated on a similar vision during his performance).

People carried tents, backpacks, coolers, blankets, children, and pets. They pulled wagons. And anything else that could be handy for camping or creating a new civilization.

Little did I know that it was the original Furthur bus' last journey.

Did the influence of the Merry Pranksters change my life? I never let go of radical self-expression and cultural revolution. The ideology stuck to me like a Grateful Dead tattoo.

The trip was beginning not ending.