I’d been living in San Diego for over a year when I found myself, one day in 1971, seated cross-legged on the floor before a photo of an Indian guru, in the bedroom of a woman I’d never met before, in a house on Coronado Island.
“A mind blown is a mind shown,” Robbie said again in his mellow California way as we headed toward Montreal. We were on the road north in a chocolate brown ‘64 Volkswagen microbus with no reverse gear. It seems Robbie had dropped reverse on a dirt-road side trip somewhere in Kansas and couldn’t afford to fix it! What, I wondered, had I gotten myself into? It was July 29, 1969.