Not much has happened since 1964. The world may have changed, but I have stayed much the same. I’m just a bit older, but not much worse off for the rambunctious wear and tear of 40 years ‘on the road’. 1964 was the year of my emancipation, the time I grabbed the brass ring of freedom and ran screaming for the hills, proverbially speaking.
If I was to do the same thing today I would be running ahead of labels that would have seemed entirely alien to me in the context of what the world looked like in the fall of 1964. At that time, personal freedom and independence was something to be gained and cherished, a higher calling and a bid to live a lifestyle of wicked delirium, to join in on the beggars banquet that defined the Age of Aquarius. Today’s world would have disowned someone like me as an incorrigible homeless tramp.
In 1964 I was one of a vanguard of people who like the Chrysalis yearned to break free and seek the sunshine of a new age. The concept of being homeless had not been invented yet. There hadn’t been any hobo’s in the streets since the 1930’s passed decades earlier. There was a profound differance between the poverty of the 1930’s and the wanton rejection of wealth and materialism in the 1960’s. Poverty in the 1960’s…was cool.
A new tribe had formed out of a disaffected generation, traveling from one crash pad to another commune became a calling. New destinations were as interconnected as the strings of a dream-catcher. The people who had answered the call of the road became like princes and princesses of old, wandering easily from one pleasure palace to another, bearing gifts, news and stories of what lie ahead.
As I lay here on a bed of blossoming clover amidst the honey bee’s and bumble flies I am swept back to those simple times when wealth and materialism meant nothing to me. I have reverted to living day to day, as I would have all those years ago, and it appeals to me that I am much the same person as was, remaining true to my core values, unchanged, unfettered and free to wander the world.