OM Rising
An event story
Once upon a time I worked on an event in the beautiful woods of Northern California.
A lot of my stories can start like that, but for most of them the location itself doesn’t really matter. For this one, it does.
If you’ve been to northern California, particularly the Bay Area, you may have come across the county of Marin. You may have seen it as a prime example of liberal capitalists flaunting financial power, beautiful nature, MILFs everywhere, fancy strip malls, and the land which does spiritual bypassing best.
Marin is its own island, the first county you hit once you get out of San Franciso heading north, over the Golden Gate Bridge, and it prides itself on not allowing BART (the trans-bay local metro system) access to it because the residents essentially didn’t want to share the space abundance with the “riff raff” (direct quote) from the less economically affluent and POC parts of the bay. Therefore, you always need a vehicle to access it.
It is the land of wineries and roasteries, of cabins in the woods and large single home mansions, of single parents and good schools, of white people and pumpkin spice, spin classes, yoga studios, and spas in every strip mall. It is the land of $20 taco plates with no Mexicans in sight and where rich people have sex parties curated by an undercover team.
I personally love Marin and have always wanted to live there (and not for the sex parties). The nature is truly magical, you’re always close to the water, surfers abound the coast, there is an actual summer, apartment buildings have non-gross pools, so many people I love live there, and it’s fairly easy to stay away from everything I don’t like about Marin. Except maybe the grocery store and if you have to take a commercial yoga class. Also during the occasional ecstatic dance but there is really no space for hard feelings in those rooms. Most of the time, it truly is magical.
The thing I can’t handle most though is the amount of spiritual bypassing gathered in this part of the Bay. Spiritual bypassing is a newer term I’m sure was conceptualized in Marin county because of the sheer amount of it.
What is it? Per Wikipedia it is a “tendency to use spiritual ideas and practices to sidestep or avoid facing unresolved emotional issues, psychological wounds, and unfinished developmental tasks”. The term was introduced in the early 1980s by John Welwood, a Buddhist teacher and psychotherapist. The way it shows up in daily life is through people who are mainly passive aggressive and say things like “only good vibes, sister” and “love and light, brother” freely to people after being total fucking dicks and you call them out on it.
So, here I am, living life away from all that drama, in a place that is truly the woo-est of the woo-woo (Mendocino county) and I find myself working the most Marin event I have ever encountered: a yoga and music festival.
Not just any yoga and music festival.
A yoga and music festival envisioned by one of the community’s most powerful yoga leaders and brought into existence by multiple incredible people, two of which I got to work with closely. It sounds like a great idea. The plan is for people to buy tickets including accommodation and meals, depending on the amount they want to or can spend or set up their own tents and be able to purchase food on site. There are to be visiting teachers and yoga classes galore, DJ sets and ecstatic dance, kirtan for days and vegan food.
At the time, I neglected to consider what kind of crowd this kind of event would draw because a) I trusted the founder of the festival, b) the venue always attracted magic from what I had experienced and, c) the founder was an investor in the venue so obviously he wouldn’t try any shady shit.
I was wrong on all accounts.
The first interaction I have with the production team is the day of the walk through / site visit. The excitement was palpable for what we were creating, we were a few months from the event, everything seemed to be shaping up nicely. There were the two producers, the founder, the AV guy, the sound guy, and a few other people that were not significant to my role in the event. The sound guy was my event crush for that whole event but that’s a different story (see later chapter on dating).
At that point, we didn’t have a signed contract, something that stood out on my checklist, but I was told to not worry about that as my boss was handling it. It made sense due to my boss and the festival planner being business partners, both investors in the property, and their preexisting relationship. During the planning process, the two producers were so on it, I felt this was going to be great. The planning process can be easy and hard and everything in between but it’s rarely easy and fun, so I didn’t look this gift horse in the mouth.
Load in day one is here, everyone is arriving, we still have time so I’m not too worried. As long as everyone does what they’re supposed to, we’re great. Crystal and Daniel (the producers) have changed from when I last saw them. They seem a little on edge, jaded, a little haggard even.
All the signs of working for someone who is a total dick.
I make a mental note to check in with them at some point but there’s a lot going on so we get on with it.
Everything is going the way it’s supposed to as in, the event is getting set up, but we’re all being thrown curved balls by the founder who is seemingly more and more sketchy as the event day approaches. Some examples include bringing a generator (against fire code), bringing a giant tent (in a natural protected area and demanding it gets set up), bringing unmentioned vendors on site (me needing their business licenses and liability insurance) to name a few.
Additionally, the agreement about the meals the campground (my team) is providing is that we are providing meals based on the count the planning team give us and we are to charge them more if they go over during the event. Now, this is something that happens often in catering situations. Clients think they can lie about the amount of guests that show up and the caterer won’t notice. Um, there’s serious math involved in feeding hoards of people and if the food is running out within the first 10 mins, something is off.
We are serving two meals a day for four days.
This is how meal times went on Day 1:
Day 1, lunch: barely able to feed everyone, had to make extra food for the staff and client production team, decide we need a different approach to feeding people because our numbers are off.
Day 1, dinner: feed everyone fine
Right around dinner time, I get an email from my boss who has made it on to the property and is hiding in his cabin (as he does at every event if he’s not drinking with the guests). The email subject reads: “pls print this” and the body reads: “and bring it to Tom to sign” with the email attachment being, you guessed it, the CONTRACT. The agreement that allows them to be on site and discusses all the financial clauses for the planning process between the venue and the organizers.
So, the whole time I’ve been asking this dude, my boss, about the contract and the response was “I’m handling it don’t worry about it,” he sends ME the contract on the day that the guests are on site, after the production team has been here for three days already and sends ME to physically go to the founder and ask for his signature on the spot.
You may be thinking “that’s insane, how can you even start an event without a contract, what is happening, also of course Antigone, you’re not taking the contract because you’re not in sales, you’re in production. That means you take over AFTER the contract is signed,” etc etc.
But no, dear reader. I don’t really have an option. I have to try.
So, armed with a pen and a printed contract, I bitch and moan the whole way to the founder’s cabin, where I interrupt a party with people who are drunk and/or stoned and/or tripping and I ask him to sign the contract, in passing: “Hey Tom, how’s it going? Hey, can you do me a favor? Can you sign this real quick? I’ll be on my way!”
Of course Tom laughs and says “Wow, he sent YOU to get me to sign it? That’s low. But it’s done now. The guests are here. What am I to sign? Come. Have a beer.” So I take the beer and text my boss “He’s not signing. He needs to talk to you.” and leave it at that.
Day 2, lunch: feed everyone fine because the kitchen planned for an extra 100 orders for meals.
Read that again.
An EXTRA ONE HUNDRED than what we were “contracted.”
At this point, after discussing options with the kitchen, I decide to implement an equally shady approach by finding out exactly how many people have registered and how many people have checked in every day.
After that attempt doesn’t put me in the good graces of everyone there, as I am appearing nosy and micromanage-y, I very candidly tell Crystal and Daniel that I think the founder is trying to fuck us over, mentioning the no contract situation discovery from the night before, and they agree to start sharing information.
All this is happening at the sounds of
either an evangelist-level yoga class where we’re hearing “...and find yourself back at downward facing dog”
or kirtan chanting on repeat with different tunes “Om nama shivayah om nama shivayah om nama shivayah shiva nama ha” and the sound of a sitar.
Listen - I love yoga and I love kirtan but even I almost broke under the pressure of 12-hour kirtan sessions. Other than that, I enjoy the serenity in the mornings and running into people from the yoga world who I know and respect.
The highlight though of this event are the guests.
Remember everything you read above about Marin? The worst parts of Marin were here, in the woods, isolated from the rest of the world for three days and boy did the spiritual bypassing break all precedents.
From people being total entitled pricks when ordering at the cafe, then recognizing the barista is not about that rudeness and following up their chai order with “love and light to you, sister” or leaving their trash everywhere in nature and not even budging when the staff is trying to clean up after these giant babies, it is an ongoing battle in my own psyche to maintain a state of zen.
In this point of my life, I’m living in a really connected community in rural California, where people are kind but not fake, and although they may be a little out there and a little too deadhead-y for my liking, there is still mutual respect and appreciation. All my staff is hiding in the office during their breaks, recounting the stories of microaggressions they had to endure up to that point. Then my management staff and I talking them off the ledge offering support in the form of laughter where necessary.
The most noteworthy moment though, is the night of the sacred fire.
Throughout the whole festival, there was a group of people wearing only long flowy white stuff, led by a hetero couple in their 50s, with a heart motif recurring on their all-matching attire. These people showed up all together most of the time, with baked-in Stepford smiles, mingled with everyone else, but sort of flowed through the crowd, moving seemingly slightly above ground, with a perpetually tripped out look on their face.
I’m pretty sure they were on acid the whole time.
Regardless, they had taken up a campsite on the edge of the venue where not a lot of the staff ventures out to, because it’s really too far and we’re understaffed to be able to keep an eye on all of the guest areas. There was always music coming out of that area, and drumming, and chanting, and it just seemed like people were hosting their own mini-festival on the other side of camp, having a jolly good time. So we left them alone.
On the last night of this painful and long festival, when I have a more experienced night auditor on staff, we find out they have been breaking a major fire rule the whole time. The night auditor, whose job is to ensure the safety of the grounds at night, basically goes over there and notices they have a fire going, thankfully in a fire pit, at the campground they took over. Even though we were repeating throughout the entirety of this thing that no fires are to be lit or be supervised by members other than the campground’s. He radios me asking what he should do and I respond by telling him to put it out.
He then realizes everyone is tripping hardcore around the fire while listening to this drony music and wearing all white. So he does what a good event worker does: he sits in the space with them and grounds himself there so they can accept him as part of their group. He then gently suggests they put out the fire because they’re breaking the rules. There was some resistance but not much so he brings a bucket of water to put the fire out.
When he shows up with the water, people become more vocal against the putting out of the fire. This guy improvises on the spot and allows the element of ceremony to come in and suggests they all put the fire out collectively. They pass the bucket around the entire circle. Each person says something if they feel called, then sprinkles a handful on the fire, gives thanks, and the bucket moves on to the next. In the end, he slowly pours the rest of the water in a very slow and respectful manner and to puts out the sacred fire.
The mini cult was thankful and continued with their night safely.
That’s something I can now add to my resume.
On the last day of guests on site and before load out, when all of our patience has run out, Crystal is crying visibly in front of us and Daniel is openly upset about it all and we can finally connect over the insanity of what was supposed to be a festival for love and light but we have found the true connectedness through love and darkness.