Rhythms on the Rio

August 12, 2023

We took our time getting there. One last stop at the Great Sand Dunes before getting groceries in Del Norte and heading in. The sand dunes were bright reflecting early August sunshine with clouds moving across the sky. Rocky Mountain high. Walking barefoot and feeling the heat. Breathing the air. Grounding. Feeling joy upon arriving. That feeling that comes when you meet your destination at any length of time or space. That feeling that reminds you that you are here. Now in the San Luis Valley. A place where a few lifetimes ago I almost accepted a job and moved to Colorado.

Along the riverbank of the Rio Grande we set up our camp. Beneath the cottonwood trees. Next to Joy, Tawny, and Emmy. Zane on the other side. Elijah through the trees. Children already playing. Setting up tents, laughing, and listening to the music beginning. A short walk to main stage. Next to the river always.

We walked through the field full of gratitude to be there. Saying hello. Hearing the first saxophone. A man in a leopard print suit. Another playing the flute. Our first glimpse of the trees with the sunlight setting. Clouds in the sky. Pinks, blues, and yellows. Mountains on the horizon line. The purple twilight. Feeling the rhythm of the river as the same heartbeat within. The Motet begin. One of the angels starts singing. The air filling with vibrations.

The Secret Circus Society performing. Late night music. The moon rising and stars shining. Getting a few hours of sleep. Resting. Listening to the sounds of the festival— a lullaby that continues deep into the night until the sky begins to glow with morning light.

Awakening. Some going for walks. Murmurs of small talk, deep thoughts, and the occasional groaning. Early hours of the day. Children again already at play. Almost time for yoga. We carried our mats to the main stage, the dance floor, and the edge of the shade. The first day moving into sun salutations. The second day it was the sandhill crane. Softening our muscles. Lengthening the spine. Feeling strength in our shoulders while raising our hands to the sky. Coming together into harmony with a voice guiding us through. Postures and poses. Yoga is dancing too.

We filled our days with the river and the wind. Breathing in the dust from the silt of this year’s spring flooding. Ice cold water to take your breath away. Getting into the current and riding the wave. The headwaters of the Rio Grande were just upstream from where we were swimming. Getting baptized. Healing.

We settled into the new flow of time which was a little bit slower from the one we had left behind. Wisdom passing through the eyes. Stories told. Stories created. Big blue sky. Warm sunshine. Letting the minutes pass away in abundance before hearing the music again and heading back to the stage. Excitement rising. Anticipation. Lindsey Lou leading us to the rabbit hole of wonderland. Larry Keel strumming. Waiting for the Kitchen Dwellers to start their set. Standing so close there is barely elbow room. Blue lights shining on the disco ball. The theme was under the sea. An octopus on stilts. A mermaid. Fish glowing. The night sky signaling the time to let go. Drowning… Again. Freight Train. The Crown. Down by the River. Seven Devils. And bringing out Lindsey again to sing the Mississippi Half-Step. A nod to the Grateful Dead— all of us grateful too. Raising our thumbs to the sky and hitching a ride. Milky Way galaxy spinning. Pure shine.

Next comes the late night music tent. A saxophone and bathrobe. Colors dancing. Light beaming on the trees in purples, blues, and greens with even more movement found in the leaves. Standing together under the stars. Hearing a distance guitar. The river flowing. The cold hours of the early morning. Another few hours of sleep. Another festival lullaby— almost the same, but completely different every time.

Sundays always come with new feeling. Awareness of the day ahead and tomorrow the day to be leaving. Taking off for the next river bend. On our mats, we stretched our feet and stretched our backs. Rising once again and shifting into the Goddess. A moment to honor the feminine— the energy—the land. The cottonwood trees. Children running. Feeling peace. Time slowing down once again. Barefeet. Turning inward to bring outward what is inside shining out towards.

Walking back to the river. Cold water plunging. Cooling off our bodies. Soothing the muscles, the bones, and the souls all gathered together in this present moment. Laying in hammocks. Swinging. Feeling the cooling breeze on our skin. Easy happiness. Going back to camp. Listening for the next sound check— Arkansauce— for some Arkansas dancing. Singing the songs about the Ozark Mountains. Hollerin’ and swallerin’ in the early afternoon light. Paralyzed.

Eating pizza. Fried eggplant bánh mì. Lemonade freshly squeezed. Children growing. All of it music surrounding. Even in the goodbyes as people start leaving. Driving into their lives with hearts full. For the rest of us, still more. The Hip Abduction taking us down the Pacific Coast. The Infamous Stringdusters bringing us home. Walking on the moon. Seeking truth and finding love. When will the planets align? Looking up high and aiming above.

More packing up. Others layering up. The last late night set and fireside plucking. Another angel singing old Irish tunes. The Galloway shawl. Peace on the mountaintop. Uncloudy skies. Wiping the tears from our eyes. Gratitude for music being a source of understanding. The moon rising. This time so orange and bright. Past lives. Present lives. Into the future. What will we find?

One more morning to be in harmony beneath the cottonwood trees. Leaves still blowing. A trailer backs up. A car doesn’t start. Shaking the dust off of everything. More full hearts. Giving each other final moments of full attention. Honest love. Genuine appreciation. A feeling that comes when you meet “strangers” who become family. Instantly. The Great River. Flowing.