Rescue Rainbows

Totality lasted four minutes and fifteen seconds.

International peace warriors, hippies, crust-punks, road dogs, hobos, Natives, locals and hillbillies would converge in the Ouachita National Forest in southeastern Oklahoma to pray for peace during this well-advertised total solar eclipse event.

The collaborators from several counter-culture communities built the Heartfire on top of a clear-cut hill for a maximum viewing experience situated far from the primitive camps along dirt logging roads.

Super-Happy Funtime Camp was nearly a mile beyond the final “parking lot” of buses and vans among the last sites on an access road in a river valley where cell service couldn’t reach. Precisely the escape from Babylon this particular crowd seeks. Sunshine and her husband, Mosco. Little Legs and her dad, Axle. Wylie, Sweetpea, Tommy and Dragon, too! Only three solo campers occupied the end of the road beyond. This camp of nine couldn’t be much farther from the festivities.

My name’s Sunshine. In Babylon I’m a grandma, and an active volunteer in Search and Rescue. Rainbows come in all colors and types with all kinds of motivations and lifestyles. I dabbled in psychedelics long before my first Gathering – mushrooms, acid and even did DMT once. Most Rainbows avoid white powders, rocks, pills and the like. Alcohol is frowned upon.  Please, be in the presence of a responsible guide when undergoing such a personal journey for the first time.

Those of us who chose to journey on that day dropped our doses timed to peak during totality. It’s pretty wild when you think about how an itty-bitty amount can have such a strong and lasting effect. Hours.

We loaded up our soft-sided red Radio-Flyer wagon with two homemade PVC didgeridoos, a djembe drum, blankets, and water to pull behind as we walked up to the Heartfire. It’s a familiar route we’ve taken several times. Two tire track trails ease upwards through the forest of oak, walnut and pines. A seasonal creek still-flowing in May crosses the road. Some walk through the water and others jump over.

The road becomes steeper just before a landing turned parking lot for schoolies, old RVs, and vans. One of several trails leading to the Heartfire begins here. Naked people wearing eclipse glasses on their heads, Hindus, tribal elders, a fire dancer with her staff and children all headed towards a central destination atop a hill with a heart-shaped fire waiting in welcome.

A variety of cliques lounged about the scene. A sound bowl and middle-eastern sitar established a quiet, exotic ambience. I watched one group of nomads who shared a schoolie sitting amongst themselves engaged in fits of giggles, trying not to disrespect others’ meditation. One of the more dirty guys with tangled hair and a patchwork vest pulled a tick from his forearm with blackened fingernails.

A large fellow with a larger dark beard in a blue robe with crescent moon and stars lay on a blanket. His head rested on his partner’s lap engaged in Reiki breathing exercises.

Nearby, a woman laid out a blanket and arranged various crystals and stones in a way that made sense to her. Then, she set out a few jars of water to “charge” in the rebirth symbolized by the eclipse.

“Hey! What time does the eclipse start?” Somebody yelled “Anybody got a phone?!”

Everybody looked around to one another for an answer. That may have been the largest collection in the United States of people who did not have a phone on them. Present in the moment.

I zoned out watching the movement of bright, happy leaves in the trees surrounding the bald hill on which we waited.

From the other side of the fire a voice rose above the quiet conversations without shouting, “Hey everybody! The eclipse is going to start in like 5 minutes. Can we circle up? We’re going to Om for peace during totality.”

Obediently, people stood up, awakened napping friends and reached out for hands to hold. As more people arrived the circle widened, hands held with thumbs pointed left. The first “OOOooooommMMmmmm” began. Other voices add theirs to the harmony. Energy flowed cleanly through the meditation and setting intention for a rebirth of peace on earth. We can feel it happening within us.

Eyes peek open to look for changes in the sun. The steady hum of “OOooommmm” continued. Minutes pass without a change in the sky. Nothing was happening. The om-ing stopped. A circle of confused hippies remained standing, hands clasped, silently waiting.

“Hey guys. I hate to do this to everyone, but my phone didn’t change the timezone. The eclipse isn’t for another hour.” the same voice who called everyone to circle said.

Laughter busts out at the mistake. Somebody picked up a drum and all efforts at meditation immediately shifted. Our didgeridoos added a deep bass-note drone. A young man came over, “if I laid down would you play over my body for me?”

I shrugged, unable to think of a good reason why I shouldn't blow my plastic horn onto the body of a stranger. My lips vibrate into the tube creating the distinct sound of Australia. I pass the noise making end over the core of his body and his head. The vibrations in our cells have healing properties, much like crystals and charged water.

My mind was confused and my arms were rubbery and uncoordinated.  Forming words was challenging. Sensation intensified. I observed details I normally would not, like individual pores on a face.

Word loosely spread that now it’s time for the eclipse and folks to once again circle up. Some held hands, others lost their composure in a fit of laughter. Revelers were unable to get it together to form the Om circle. The effort collapsed.

We wasted the good Om.

The crowd stood transfixed following the moon’s trek between the earth and sun.

Totality.

The sun became a black hole. A solar flare at 10 o’clock was clearly visible reaching a cosmic arm out. Grasping.

The enormity of the spectacle had tears flowing down my cheeks. Spellbound. Confused coyotes disturbed from slumber in that uncommon hue of darkness inquired if it was night time. Time to eat. I experienced a 4-minute eternity of spiritual rebirth.

As the moon began to reveal more light, drumming began with a fresh intensity. Fire dancers lit their tools. Dragon’s poi on fire swirled and staffs swooshed as their handlers danced their most special fire dance. A once in a lifetime opportunity in the unlight of a total eclipse.

The sun reemerged in all her life-giving glory. We hung around and watched the celebrations for some time, collected our belongings into the wagon and headed back down the hill toward camp.

Mosco needed to visit the “shidder.” He turned right off the main trail going more uphill and well away from any water source. It’s a trench dug in the ground several feet long and just wide enough to safely straddle a portable medical-type commode. Toilet paper is kept dry in a Folgers coffee can. A shovel stabbed into the pile of dirt was within arms reach and a container of lyme was nearby to safely cover the biohazard.

I continue a few more yards to the trailhead on the left leading to Super-Happy Funtime Camp pulling the wagon behind me.

“Somebody said there’s a girl having a seizure down there and Dragon went to see,” Axle said in a calm, non urgent manner with Little Legs resting on his hip.

I have experience with seizures. If somebody is actively seizing, people are going to freak out about it, so I assumed this was a recovery situation. The subject would need water, a snack and a place to rest. Accordingly, I casually leave the wagon and begin a regular-paced walk down the road.

A hippie-woman I had seen around but didn’t know her name met me at a trailhead. There’s a berm of dirt and gravel piled up to prevent vehicle access.

“Somebody said there’s a medical situation down here?” I asked.

She reports that a woman had a seizure and was unconscious. I picked up my pace, crossed the berm, fast-walked down a trail. Three freaked out paralyzed hippies stood over, looking at an unconscious woman in a floral print dress laying in the decaying leaves.

I kneel down to her and ask the onlookers for the story of what happened. She’s breathing, but irregularly and her color was wrong.

“What’s her name?”

“Maggie.”

During totality Maggie and Z had disappeared to the far reaches of the site for alone time when she said, “I’m going to have a seizure.” The two made to get to her camp where her meds were when she collapsed and began seizing.

The others who stood there responded to the first calls for help. We renewed those calls. There was nobody nearby to hear. They were all a mile away on top of a hill playing drums and dancing. My brain started working again for a moment.

I know Dragon. I trust her. She’s 5ft, petite and strong, competent and fiery with 20-something energy and reliable follow-through. I looked directly at her face and pointed at her – “Get to a phone, call 911 and get an ambulance out here.”

Without hesitation she bound into action on a desperate mission.

I got down on the ground and talked to Maggie. I asked her to keep breathing for us. Help is coming.

She heaved and gasped, went entirely limp and her color turned from blue to gray. She stopped breathing. I could engage in CPR not knowing if help was even on the way, nor how in the world they would find us down here without cell service. I made the decision to move her out where we could meet incoming help. We had no phones, no gear, not even IDs – absolutely nothing on our persons

Minutes matter, and she still had time.

I got Z and the other guy to help pick her up to carry her out with one on each side. I tended her head and neck. We make slow progress through the uneven terrain towards the trail. My arms still weren’t working right and the guys’ steps weren’t in sync.

“Guys, slow down so we don’t tri–...” we all went down with Maggie.

I positioned her head so she could breathe. She took a big raspy gasp. I cheered her on, trying to think of what to do now. All the training I ever received had escaped my memory.

“Shanti Sena!” I began to yell into the forested void. It’s the hippie safe word for an emergency. Everyone knows “help” or “fire” are not effective attention-getters. This emergency call was created decades ago.

The other helpers also began to call out, “Shanti Sena!!!” in unison.

Mosco came running up following Axle’s similar statement, but with more urgency than I. My hero! Finally, done with his leisurely visit to the shidder. He’s a 6ft tall, Iraq combat veteran with his namesake Mosquito tattooed behind his ear representing the annoying tinnitus of his military service.

The three of us remaining with Maggie helped lift her unconscious floppy form into a cradle and he began carrying her out. One determined step after another Mosco made his way to the berm where he lost strength and set her down just before the climb.

Wylie, another Super-Happy Funtime Camp occupant, came bounding up to assist Mosco. Maggie had stopped breathing again.

I crossed over the berm thinking of what next. My eyes lock on a silver Toyota Sequoia parked at the end of the road. A green canoe strapped to the roof. I hope the keys are in it.

“Please, let the keys be in it!” I desperately thought as I swung open the door. Yes! The keys were sitting in the driver’s seat. She started right up, but there were no dash lights.

With the column shifter in hand I went through gears in my mind, “Park, Reverse, Neutral, Drive.” I went forward in a wide circle, barely able to stop next to the berm. This thing had no brakes.

I assessed the vehicle. It’s packed full of somebody’s stuff. The only space for anyone is in the passenger seat. I rolled down the window as Mosco and Wylie carried Maggie toward the SUV. “Put her in the passenger seat.”

They ignored my directions and proceeded to the back door. They opened it to a wall of stuff blocking the entrance, closed it and made for a rear passenger door. They opened that one and found the same obstacle.

Wylie is the skinniest, so he got in the passenger seat first. Mosco helped situate Maggie onto his lap with her airway open. He tucked in her limp legs to close the door. Z and Mosco hopped onto the running boards of either side. I laid on the horn, gave it some gas and began yelling “shanti sena” out the window. Mosco and Z took up the call like something of a siren.

Coming from the back of the woods with no brakes, we headed up the trail. The red wagon was still on the road. I made up my mind; I’ll just have to cream it. Axle darted out just in time and pulled it out of the way. We continued on, unable to stop, horn tooting. Our calls of “shanti sena” stirred the hippies. We crossed the stream where people pulled their unleashed dogs out of the path.

We made it to the landing.

Mosco and Z climbed in on top of the debris, some spilling out. Mosco took Maggie’s pulse. It’s gone. Wylie gave rescue breaths as Mosco held her head in position. She’s not in the correct position for chest compressions.

Attendees came running in our direction from every trail; emerging out of shrubs, camps and vans to see if they could lend a hand to the Shanti Sena.

Maggie heaved. We cheered her on as green bile smeared her face and Wylie kept trying to help her breathe. Her breaths were rattled, oddly deep and eerie. Wylie begged her to stay with us. Down a steep gravel hill and up another to the “Welcome Home” parking lot where I heard somebody say as we passed, “She’s dead.”

Maggie’s not breathing again. Mosco can’t find a pulse again. We're on the last stretch of dirt road headed for pavement. They decided to try compressions in that position, I knew better, but we have to try everything to save this woman we've never met.

“Staying alive. Ah, ah, ah, ah. We’re staying alive” I sang a public service ad I had heard to help with CPR efforts.

We’re going as fast as I dare barreling down this country road, tripping on acid with a gray/blue and green dead woman propped up in the passenger seat singing the Bee Gees in a car full of stuff that can’t stop with a big green canoe always in the field of vision on the roof. Tarantino himself couldn’t have imagined a more surreal picture.

Pavement! We’re getting close to rescue. “Maggie! Don’t you leave us, girl! Hang in there!” Wylie pleaded.

I turned on the flashers and picked up speed. I could see the heavier cross traffic of the highway ahead. I realized I had no idea where a hospital was.

An ambulance appeared at the intersection, turning onto our road. I pulled over, somehow eventually came to a stop, jumped out of the driver seat, waved my arms and pointed to the Toyota. The ambulance, a fire truck, and several police cars converged on us.

“I don’t know whose car this is. I stole it to save her life.” were the first nonsensical words out of my mouth.

The EMTs instructed us to move her out of the car onto the ground as though we hadn’t just been moving her unconscious body for miles already.

Wylie kept trying to give her rescue breaths and had to be pulled off. She was breathing shallow and raspy at that moment. He was keyed up and hyperfocused on his task. He stood up and suddenly walked off down the road back towards the eclipse gathering without another word leaving Z, Mosco and myself with the police.

A Black officer approached. I stuck out my hand and said, “I’m Sunshine.” He didn’t shake it. I told him the jist of what I knew, and indicated that Z was the person with her when she went down. I didn’t know for sure whose car I stole, but I think his name is Jon. We had ridden in his canoe a few months earlier. 

As Z and the officer talked, the only non white people at the scene, I reflected on what a special moment this was. A Black officer and a young Black man talking about the unconscious white woman he was with. Society was getting better.

Sure enough, the Toyota was registered to a Johnathan. The officer asked if there was a sober person who could drive it back to the owner. Like magic, a short hobo appeared at my left elbow. Texas Roadrunner had somehow caught up to us and promptly presented his drivers license.

I rode on Mosco’s lap while Z sat atop the pile of now-familiar stuff. Roadrunner didn't like the brakes and parked in the first lot he came to. Z went to tell Maggie’s people what had happened.

Back at camp we’re still jacked up with adrenaline. Dragon told the story of her heroic run. We looked up at the sounds of a car and saw the canoe first. I ran up to the driver’s window, “Sorry I shanti sena’d all over your car, man.”

To this day, Jon will tell you that horn doesn’t work.

Maggie was eventually transferred to a Dallas hospital where we were told she made a full recovery.