I wasn't sure what to expect exactly. "Open Mike Night." At a house. Where a bunch of people lived. The same people who ran the local chapter of Food Not Bombs. All very mysterious. But I had to know. So I went.

The location was a spot I have driven past on many occassions. So have many of my readers. It's been right under our noses all along. Somewhere in that nether zone, where suburban sprawl meets small farms, meets ever-shrinking patches of land that remain undeveloped. Right there. Yeah.

Uncertain what to expect, I drove most of the way, but parked a few blocks away, and biked the rest of the way in. I wanted maximum mobility and minimal attention drawn to myself upon entry.

I spotted what I guessed to be the place long before I got close enough to read the well-marked address sign near the road. It was a large building -- no, two of them -- what appeared to be a lot of random stuff laying around outside.

Well, here goes...

As I rode Serenity up the driveway, a dog barked and ran toward me. It was kind of large slightly aggressive looking; had I not already had a clear mission, I might have gotten scared. But my intuition, combined with knowledge, told me that no harm would come to me here. Time For Faith.

I stopped, held my hand out to the dog, and it licked me! I petted it, parked my bike, and another dog came to greet me. Both dogs, very friendly, jumped up on their hind legs and started pawing playfully. After some more petting, the dogs wagged their tails and wandered away. This, as best I as I could tell, indicated that they considered me a welcome guest.

I left my bike and backpack in the grass unlocked. Usually I lock it, but now, I felt no need to do so. Stupid? Maybe, but I was not afraid of thievery here.

A row of cars, in varying degrees of disassembly, were parked in the driveway. There would have easily been room for Tobias here, and I doubt anyone would care if I parked alongside the rest of the vehicles. Mental note for next time.

I looked around, and made more mental notes. There was a large building across the driveway, with several doors. Near the center, two open garage sized doors revealed at all sorts of stuff lying around, both inside and out. In one spot, there was a sign that said "Donations (please leave under tarp)". Indeed, a tarp-covered stack of stuff sat beneath it.

Another area was marked "bicycle repair". Lots of bikes and bike parts sat in front of it. Some were old and beat up, but others actually looked pretty decent. None of them were locked or tethered in any way.

I wandered on, and saw a couple of people packing things into a car. As I walked by, they continued in their activities without comment. Apparently, a stranger walking through the driveway is common enough that nobody takes notice. Interesting.

Behind some more trees, I saw the house itself. A large, 2 story thing, it had a cozy yet majestic presence. In the yard, a large black flag hung from one of the trees. In the center, a red A was painted with a circle around it. Unmistakable. I was in the right place.

I was beginning to wonder whether I should just walk up and knock on the door, but as I circled the fence, the answer was revealed. I heard music, and walked toward it. Past the house, a makeshift outdoor amphitheater had been dug; a pit large enough to hold a crowd. Wooden benches were strewn about, and there was a stage at the front. A man sat playing an amplified guitar and singing, while another listened to him. Other instruments were laying around too, including an electronic keyboard, several hand drums, and other percussion instruments.

I circled the amphitheater slowly. The thing that most amused me was at the back. Though the inclination of the pit varied all around -- one could easily enter from almost any direction -- in one spot, there was a door on hinges sticking out of the ground, with little steps carved in the dirt beneath it. A door, but no wall or frame. Just open area on all sides. Somebody had a sense of humor.

I walked around to the door, opened it, and entered. Now I was "in".

In the center of the amphitheater, there was a giant fire pit. Unlit wood and kindling sat inside it, ready to be set aflame. In the center of the pit, a metal rod suspended the shape of a circle, with the capital letter A affixed within it. Again, the message was clear. An internationally recognized symbol, signaling the rejection of authority, hierarchy, and the rule of law in all its forms. The shape that bonds us together.

I took a seat on one of the benches and listened. After the man who had been playing the guitar finished his song, he stood up, walked over, and introduced himself to me. The Cat in the Hat. A whimsical character. With lots of heart.

More people started showing up. A woman with a tie-died t-shirt and a small boy, perhaps 4 years old. She brought a drum of her own, and began to play it while her little boy wandered around, played with the dogs, and made some sounds of his own.

A cigarette was passed around, containing a plant known to have hallucinogenic properties, holistic medicinal uses, and for some reason, the mere possession of which is considered by some to be grounds for imprisonment, confiscation of property, and totalitarian abuse. (Listen for more info.) When it came around to me, I took a puff, but not enough to have any noticable effect.

There was a man who would sell more to anyone who wanted for a modest price, but I had not brought any money along. Otherwise, I might have gone for a larger dose. Less addictive than alcohol (which I occassionally consume in moderation), nicotine (I stay the hell away from that crap), or even caffeine, and virtually no health risks (unless one does something stupid like try to operate heavy machinery), why not give it a try? Free your mind.

Several people started playing instruments, and the Cat in the Hat invited me to join on one of the hand drums. Guitars, keyboard, drums. We jammed for a while, making sounds that were sweet to our ears.

With twilight in the sky, it reminded me of a tribal scene. Instruments playing, drums beating, people of all ages gathered to do nothing more than celebrate life in its very essence. A child running free without worry. Though he never strayed too far from his mother's sight, everyone around could help watch him just a little. Dogs lay contentedly amidst it all. They liked the music too.

Someone from the house came out and announced that dinner was ready. Dinner?

I followed the others in. The interior of the house was even more interesting than the exterion. Rooms were divided by hanging blankets which functioned as curtains. Little handwritten signs were everywhere; notes to anyone passing through. "Please close this door after you go through so bugs don't get in." "Book Returns Here." A basket beneath. Book returns?!? Maybe that guy had been telling the literal truth when he talkind about being a librarian. There were certainly lots of full bookshelves around. Somehow, I wasn't a bit surprised when I saw a copy of Days of War, Nights of Love prominently displayed atop one of the shelves. Later, I would notice a lot of other revolutionary literature draped around.

(Suddenly, the depiction from page 204 seemed less like a fanciful dream, and more like... What I saw right in front of me! Is seeing believing? I still can't fully believe it. But reading the description again, it seems even more uncannily accurate. BTW, if anyone reading this wants a free copy of the book, email me. I still have a couple left to give away. Only while supplies last.)

After serving ourselves some of the almost-all-vegan food that had been prepared, everyone sat on benches around the large dining table, and ate. Young and old, strange and familiar, dirty and clean. Eating and talking like a family. It was requested that each person wash their own plate when finished. This was made easy by the fact that the sink was already filled with warm, soapy water.

In the kitchen, more signs. Some cupboards and one of the fridges were labeled "Free Food". Others said, "Not Free Food -- Ask before taking." It all reminded me a little too much of Debian.

On my way out after dinner, I noticed another interesting bit. A computer in the corner; next to it, yet another sign. "Free High Speed Internet! Check your email here." Next to it was a donation jar, politely suggesting that the access point can only be kept up if enough money to pay for it appears. Wild. (I was in such a dazed awe that I didn't even bother to try using it. I just looked, and kept walking. Maybe next time I'm there.)

Outside, the man who had been playing the keyboard earlier began soliciting people to see who wanted to play music or recite poetry during the evening. He was writing down a list to make sure everyone who wanted to would get their turn on the stage. Dark skinned, he wore a colorfol cap. (Jamaican style? Not sure how to describe it.) He had also been setting up some of the equipment earlier. I wondered if perhaps he was one of the ringleaders around here. Perhaps even a founder? He certainly seemed to know what he was doing, and played some smooth stuff on the electronic piano. I thought about asking him more about the house and ranch and how it all runs, but decided to hold off, remembering some of the awkward conversation I had made days earlier with others from this mysterious haven.

The fire was lit, more music was played, poems were read, and darkness settled on the scene. Often, between performances, people did improv jams on the instruments. Often, improv happened during the performances too. People sat around the fire, some talked, some just listened, some danced, others lay down. I took a stick, and drew my own rendition of the encircled A in the dirt. This was beauty.

My mind was filled with questions. How did this place come about? Even if there are no official leaders, who pays for all of it? Who might I talk to about... well... joining for an extended stay? Or would that be an improper question to ask? Premature, for sure. But this was all just so fucking cool. I could not fathom it.

It's one thing to read about making revolution happen in obscure books and manuals. It's another to see it put into practice first hand, in a way that goes beyond anything I had really imagined being practically do-able in our current world. But here I was. I needed time to let it all soak in.

Rest Neo. The answers are coming.

[Heavily edited, enhanced, and improved during transcription. To Be Continued.]