Reviews...

The Purple Skies

Listen to the song here!

Lyrics by Philippe Lewis and Robert Weber
Music by Erica Z Byrd
Performed and produced by Dean Vincent!

So many Birds flying in this Mystic Circus, so much magic full of feathers and
colors. So many intense emotions come to mind when I think back of the
weekend in LA.

I had dreamed of a performance,
but instead,
I was given a ritual...

The Purple Skies
----------------

Here I am a young man,
Here I have a question,
Who has put me on a mission,
I have seen before,
Is it my own mind,
Or is it some higher hand,
Who put me on this road,
Or is it just myself

Who, would you know,
Who, could you tell,
He walks the path of the birds,
He flies the Purple Skies

Sometimes the pain takes flight,
And soars in a flock of anger,
But the Jungle awaits and grounds,
It brings me back to myself,
No winner, no war, no grief, no sadness,
No need for it all,
But an urge to protect and guard,
The Purple Skies

Then the mission comes,
It speaks to me in tongues,
And I know my passion,
Has now found a beat to its wings,
And I rise high in the night,
Soaring after my dreams,
Across the Purple Skies

Who, would you know,
Who, could you tell,
He walks the path of the birds,
He flies the Purple Skies,

Un jour dans le ciel je t'ai vu,
Et aussitot, tu m'as apercu,
Deux reves, deux freres jumeaux,
Notre destin s'amorce a peine,
Volant au gre du vent,

Sous les longs ciels pourpres...
Under the long purple skies...

(Robert Weber and Philippe Lewis)

We all planted seeds, but it will take much care to make them grow in this harsh
land that surrounds us...

A bientot mes bons amis,
Philippe

T h e . T r a v e l l i n g . Ex p l o s i o n ….
(a review of the March 17, 2001 Mystic Family Circus event)

by Cinnamon Twist


I remember coming out of Black Rock city in 98. I had a vision of a travelling dance circus.

I remember thinking, the model of the circus: possibly an ideal interface between what "we" do and the rest of society. Normals are used to the circus, they accept the freaks, the mad spectacle, the sideshows. They even like it. They pay money for it. It affects them on some level. And once in a while, their kids . . . run away with the circus. ..

Well, here we are a few years later and the circus does seem to be taking form. Down here in LA we've got the Dream Theater and Cirquanalia. In San Francisco, the BANTU Mystic Family Circus. A tight knit network of dancers, artists and performers no doubt cooked in the Black Rock City stew, working hard for months on a travelling dance ritual theater
circus-like experience. . . next stop, Israel, supposedly.

Early email missives from the BANTUs gave off a definite vibe. These people seemed pretty serious, pretty organized, with what I'd call the "right" mindset.

So it was with some anticipation I waited to see just how much of their ambitious vision they could pull off down here.
Packing it all together in one night, the yoga, the tai chi, the ritual theater performance, bands, djs, sideshows, food, spoken word, activists, . . .the veritable kit & kaboodle of 21c evolutionary culture.

Well, the night came round at last. My summary tag line: "one of the best parties that almost didn't happen."

The yoga & tai chi sessions were appropriately surreal--a hundred or so party people, many in fantabulously odd get-ups,
stretching, moving and chanting. Nice. Things moved on, the sideshows started outside, people started to stream in. The little girl in the red butterfly outfit gave away all her little red crop circle postcards. The costumes were the highlight.
The BANTUs evidently brought with them a sizable contingent of Bay Area freakazoids. But honestly, aside from the costuming, something was missing, the vibe was still a bit tepid.

Then three or four participants dressed up like firemarshals and cops strolled back and forth through the space, trying to
look as business-like as they could. Coincidentally enough, the party was shut down. They made everyone leave the space. Too many people, no fire permit. Standard party bust story. Good actors.

Then the party REALLY started.

600 or 700 bonafide freaks in full alien-mutant-cosmic-khaotic-tribal-psychedelic regalia-facepaint-tattoo-piercings-feathers (feathers were THE fashion tip of the night, btw) creatively loitering for hours in the street entertaining themselves and the cops, fully lit up by the helicopter circling overhead. Video cameras everywhere, documenting documenting documenting.

People doing somersaults, on stilts, guy with owl wings pursuing the cop car, flags and twirlers, jesters, nonsense
pronouncements on a bullhorn from inside the silver bus, the green little man with the long nose & magic
wand getting people to breathe their best wishes for a new universe into the wand, fits and starts at creating a street parade. Bangin' drum circles. Trumpets trumpeting. Flute and sage wafting. Strumming on the guitar, singing, "taking it to the streets..." Crowd oozing around in rhizomatic amoeboid dynamics, unwilling to disperse. Blazingly hot mutant
chicks in Silk Route belly dance outfits cavorting in front of macho cops trying not to be distracted.

Hundreds of people refusing to clear the street for the cop cars to passthrough until finally begged into obedience by BANTU
organizers.

Highlight: the "owl chorus" lines up in formation and sings its sacred hymn. Soaring feminine harmonies, middle of the night, downtown LA industrial district, to an audience of a few dozen LAPD, plus the rest of us. Now that's rad.

Somebody says, "this isn't a circus, this is a travelling explosion."

And while most people are whining about the party being shut down, I'm arguing this is better. Just think of the unbelievable footage, if nothing else! It was supposed to be a "documentary performance", right?

You could never orchestrate something this magical if you tried. This is the real shit. Creative resistance, non-violent civil
disobedience,respectfully disrespectful play in the face of authority. If the BANTUs are really serious about social change through their creativity, then this is a real beginning. Not "just another party."

And after an hour or two of irrepressible vibe on the part of the partiers, all the cops can't help but grin and crack up at the
antics. What have they gotten themselves into?

So the street scene gradually winds down as alternative party plans develop. People begin to move off in different
directions, the crew go back in the warehouse to break down. Organizers call "Circle," three concentric circles to be precise. Blue bellydancer acts as facilitator, cops looking on quizzically. Guess they've never been witness to
consensus decision-making process by mutant circuseers. A first for everything.

It appears there's no bargaining with the cops. The show must NOT go on. Break down all the stuff. Get it out of there. People are bummed, a huge preparation went into this, but as Carmenchuchu points out, this is the challenge, to accept that it really is "about the process and not the product."

At some point, the cops have all disappeared. The word goes out--"the show WILL go on! Even without the main sound system!"

A hundred people stream back in from the Gigsville party nearby. The overhead lights go off. The black lights go on. The
Xmas light star mobile shines again in the corner. Lorin turns on the DJ monitors, pops the first CD in, and the party is, VOILA, back to life.

Eventually the performance does start, pared down because parts of the cast have gotten lost in the night. As it goes on, I'm trying to think about how to describe it. The story line is not at all clear. (I'm later informed it's all about menstruation--huh?) There's great gesture, interaction, dialogue, concentrated physical energy. Groovy outfits. Cute girls. A
Giant book. The hero of the story (its a "Hero's Journey" of course), cute mulatto kid with a lot of fancy capoeira moves and full mid-air somersaults. He doesn't say anything. Communicates with gesture—everybody else talks and sings at him. Hmmm. Encounter with the spirit of the jungle. Temptations of city life. The owl of death, the owl choir. The tree of knowledge. The seven sisters. A bunch of stuff about seeds, planting seeds, at the end. Not quite an ending. Performers spread out into the crowd,... planting seeds?

At moments I have a taste of what the Living Theater must have been like in the 60s. The raw energy and vibe of it is what is most compelling, and that doesn't translate well into print. So I won't bother you with a detailed review. Just to say that, like a good trip, it doesn't all make sense, there's a lot going on, multiple layers and levels, and what you make of it depends a lot on what you choose to focus on. The bottom line is, it moves, it looks good, it sounds good, it feels good. (It's pretty funny too, at points.)


What it all makes me think of is the little known fact that theater originally evolved out of the Dionysian cult of
ancient Greece. As in, wild orgiastic dance parties under the full moon, probably aided by psychedelic-laced wine. And the question I have always had on that count: what was the intermediary form, WHY did the ecstatic trance dancing turn itself into acted-out stories? We know nothing of this transitional form, this missing link, pre-5th century BC Greece. What is
it about this kind of experience that it wants to format itself into images, metaphors, characters, narrative? Is it the need to re-tell the shamanic voyage to others, to oneself, to conceptualize, digest, mythologize? After all, we are by nature culture-makers, are we not?

And we're going through the same process again, 2500 years plus down the road. Ritual dance theater, to re-embody for ourselves the story of what it is we are doing and where we are going, in the middle of the parties. A way to focus, refine, define non-verbally. Because most of us know, somewhere, it's not just about the dance. It's about shaking and baking a new human culture through the dance. Because the language of dance is our deepest and oldest root language. And because the problems of the old culture won't be solved by old culture band-aids.

And because it's about time.

And about . . .

. . . planting seeds.

"The Mystic Family Circus: A Circus With a Story to Tell... "

I had dreamed of a performance. Instead, I was given a ritual...

Watch them walk, watch them talk, those chevaliers of activation. Watch them ignite a flame within your heart. They come in all forms, all sizes: freakazoids, temple dancers, jesters, philosophers, courtiers, animals, spirits, heroes, clowns, acrobats, aerialists, jugglers, firedancers, amusers, martial artists, and so many more. They come... to tell a story, the story of all of us, across the ages, on a mission to find ourselves and the bonds that unite us together in a great family. And we stand, watching them, fascinated. Their revelries, their antics, their games, remind us that deep inside there is a child marveling at their world -- and old as we are, we forget that, once in a while. But soon, we realize that there is something else, something only hinted at... The pearl is only a shiny grain of sand, but we know that if we watch just long enough, and believe strongly enough, that we will finally know what it is they are trying to tell us. The story of Yambo, isn't it a metaphor for something? Oh, yes, humanity! Or is it love? Or family? Community perhaps? I will not presume to know. You see, I'm a circus performer too, and my journey has only begun.

And of course, you're welcome to join us...

-- Philippe of the Jungle

Underground Scene

by Radford Colfax

Planting Seeds of Change

As you all know, I've been watching as closely as possible what's happening behind the scenes with Francis DellaVecchia (watchthemayor.com). His constituents include, among various and sundry thinking, hard working and politically motivated adults, a number of very talented performance artists. In L.A. we've got the Dream Theater and Cirquanalia. In San Francisco, the Bantu Mystic Family Circus. A tight knit network of dancers, artists and performers no doubt cooked in the Black Rock City stew (a township formed at the now legendary Burning Man site).

The idea was to make a movie of a freeform semi-chaotic performance happening called the Mystic Family Circus. This concept included a vegetarian potluck, with a Yoga and Tai Chi dessert. Things began to move, the sideshows started, people started to stream in. But honestly, aside from the costuming, something was missing, the vibe was still a bit tepid. Then 3 or 4 participants dressed up like firemarshals and cops strolled back and forth through the space, trying to look as business-like as they could. Good actors. Then the party REALLY started. As 600 or 700 of the circus troop in full alien-mutant-cosmic-khaotic-tribal-psychedelic, regalia-face-paint, tattoo-piercings-feathers (feathers were THE fashion tip of the night) creatively loitered for hours in the street, entertaining themselves and L.A.'s finest. Additional lighting was provided by LAPD helicopters circling on high.

Video cameras were everywhere; they were there to document the circus for a movie they were making but they got much more. People doing somersaults, on stilts, a guy with owl wings pursuing the cop car, flags and twirlers, jesters, nonsense pronouncements, the green little man with the long nose and magic wand getting people to breathe their best wishes for a new universe into the wand, fits and starts at creating a street parade. Bangin' drum circles. Trumpets trumpeting. Flute and sage wafting. Strumming on the guitar, singing, taking it to the streets... Crowd oozing around in rhizomatic amoeboid dynamics, unwilling to disperse. Blazingly hot mutant chicks in Silk Route belly dance outfits cavorting in front of macho cops trying not to be distracted. Hundreds of people refusing to clear the street for the cop cars to pass until finally they listened to circus organizers.

A highlight of this performance was the "owl chorus," a small female chorus who sang a sacred hymn. Soaring feminine harmonies filling the night, in downtown LA industrial district, to an audience of a few dozen LAPD, plus the rest of us. Now that's rad. Somebody says, "this isn't a circus, this is a travelling explosion." And while most people are whining about the party being shut down, I'm arguing this is better. Just think of the footage! You could never orchestrate something this magical if you tried. This is real. Creative resistance, non-violent civil disobedience, respectfully disrespectful play in the face of authority. If the Mystic Circus is really serious about social change through creativity, then this was a real beginning. All the cops could do was grin at the antics. They had been drawn into the performance, unpaid extras. Not even a craft service table. But what great footage. So the street scene gradually winds down. The performers move off in different directions; the crew goes back in the warehouse to break down.

Remember P.L.U.R. (Peace, Love, Unity, Respect). The cops are people too. It works when we work it. Because it's not just about the dance. Because the language of dance is our deepest and oldest root language. And because the problems of the old culture won't be solved by old culture band-aids. It takes new ideas to solve old problems.

Contact Radford at whlurth@earthlink.net.

The Healing of Los Angeles

Hi all of you beautiful people,

This weekend I've had one of the most intense spiritual crisis/awakening of my life. I'm from the Bay Area and traveled to L.A. to experience the Circus. When I arrived at the venue it felt good to see familiar faces and feel the S.F. vibe in L.A. I was proud to be from the Bay Area sharing a part of our culture.

When the police shut us down I felt saddened and angry. So much time, engergy, money and love wasted. I heard people share the feelings during the closing circle. What I really heard in people's shares was that the police validated our message of community and
free expression, something that L.A. lacks and so desperately needs.

Later that night I went to a house party with my girlfriend Jessica, and hung out in their "chill room." (most of us were on e) The conversations I heard around me were of people talking about their upcoming record deal, what famous person they know, and how they're about to break it big. I was really tripping out on how shallow the conversation was--image, fame, money--how lost these people are. But throughout the conversations I was picking up that they also felt empty; that they're hungry for what we in the Bay Area have. We have community, we have places to freely express ourselves.

Everything in L.A. is about isolation, separateness and competition. You've got to get on the freeway to get anywhere, people are isolated in their cars. The air is poisoned. Most actors, musicians and artists in L.A. think that you need a certian image, have an agent and backstab to be successful. The Circus challenges all that...that's why we got shut down. The powers that be want to keep people separated, isolated, brainwashed and lost.

L.A. is the world's reality machine, pumping out movies, music, image--keeping people drugged on the hope of money, power, fame; thinking that these things will make one whole. I know that L.A. is ready for healing, community and a sense of direction. I witnessed this. People are hungry. We in the Bay Area can create cathartic healing. L.A. is ready to bust open. We can break down the reality machine. We can touch those in the
entertainment industry. The media can be used against those in power keeping people down. The Circus was shut down because those keeping the status quo are afraid of us. Because we bring unity.

It's no accident what transpired in L.A., it's true when they say that everything happens for a reason. It's got me clear that we are all responsible for how the world is now and how we want it to be. Please, please, don't give up on L.A. Please feel free to email me. I'm still processing many thoughts, emotions and feelings. I would love to have support, input and other viewpoints.

Love & Bliss,
Christopher Pease
chondriosapien@yahoo.com

Living Within Our Potential

I wish that I could convey everything that I want to say in a single sentence.

Even more then that, I wish that I could broadcast it directly to your mind.

What we did on Saturday night was flex a mighty new muscle.
A great strength has come into this world, and it is us.

Harmonious unity driven by individuality
All play a role, becoming a single soul
Tirza, our mother
Paradox, our father
Brother and sister
Son and daughter

I, to test the boundry
To stoke the fire in the foundry

Our power lies in our unity
Through this we move with impunity
We need Takeba
To keep us
together
So we can survive
live and thrive
forever and ever
We can do anything...
try
to
remember

Tirza our mother
Paradox our father
Flowing through us
Like fire and water

We changed the shape of reality
Sunrise instead of LAPD
A short moment in stasis
to preserve the look on our faces

Gotta keep it in motion
like tides of the ocean
live it and breathe it
love it or leave it

Our power is versatility
Filling space where we need to be

The veil has been lifted
the eyes of god
belong to us

So what do you want to create
now that we can build anything we imagine?

-- Joel Maurer

My account of what happened on March 17, 2001

I’m back from the BANTU Mystic Family Circus in LA - and oh, what a circus it was, in it's pathetic but poignant ineffitability!

Well over 200 of us caravaned down to LA, and transformed a warehouse to a sanctuary, constructing two stages from scratch getting ready for the "debut" performance. And so we began, beautiful altars everywhere, outside some bands played and side acts performed, inside tai chi and a yoga session that ended with the whole room connecting hands and feet and breathing together. From the makeup tent where two women had just finished transforming about 20 women into owls, right before the beginning of the love feast, I heard the music stop. The LAPD made everyone go outside - we just want to count the number of people because of fire code safety they said; but once everyone was outside they refused to let us re-enter, citing too many people, fire code violations & failure to go through the proper permitting channels. At least 6 cop cars, more than a dozen officers and a helicopter were on call to partake in the spectacle; cordoning off the entrances and barracading the whole block, more afraid of the peaceful and loving group of artists than the green beer guzzling St.Patricks day revelers driving around LA or whatever other goings on that go on in the surrounding concrete industrialized downtown.

Lit up by the helicopter and the glaring lights of the cop cars, the musicians continued to play, the clowns wailed big clown tears (WAH WAH WAH) and the group chanted “Yo He Vad He”. A green marionette and the tarts tried negotiating and the grandmother owls serenaded the LAPD informing them of them that “great pearls of wisdom lie inside you” in three part harmony, but instead of recognizing those pearls they insisted on just following orders, ordering dispersion of an illegal assembly, as if the constitutional right of freedom of assembly is void in the city of angels. Admist threats of arrest, the drum circle continued to rage moving beyond the barracade, while plans were laid to reconvene at various parties, other folks retreated to vehicles and places of solitude, opting for sleep or refuge to assimilate burst expectations and various levels of disgust and frustration. Others were allowed back inside to tear down what we had just finished setting up and had spent a good part of the last three months of our lives working to create, with lots of love and a fair dose of chaos and frustration throughout the process. Around four am, after the sound system, lights, and altars had mostly been torn down, a surreal stream of circus people & devotees floated back through the door. The cops had grown weary or empathetic or perhaps satiated having handed out some citations and were nowhere to be seen. In the context of the much larger ritual, the ritual performance ensued, in a scaled down form, partially in the dark, absent the fire except for that which comes from within, raw and exposed, our egos as stripped as the healing dome, where only the metal beams of the frame still stood. It was no longer a performance. It didn’t matter anymore whether it had been rehearsed enough or not. Whether there was an ending or not. Whether the story translated or not. And whether it all made sense or not. We did the ritual simply because it needed to be done. For ourselves. For each other. The sound system was brought back in and the hard core danced as a cast member stood outside on the corner with the unused tickets handing them out as admission to the sunrise as we watched the new day be born. And then we stayed to break it all down, working till early afternoon, sweeping the space clean, leaving no trace. Eating vegan spring rolls and sushi by the score, left over from the love feast that wasn’t to be. Saying goodbye, we scattered, with several folks reconnecting at Venice Beach, where the Sunday drum circle was in full swing. And once again, the circus vibrancy attracted the police. A helicopter circled overhead, lighting up the stiltwalkers, dancers, and drummers, ordering the crowd to disperse, for no apparent reason. The drum circle had been a tradition for forty years; a shopkeeper on the main strip said that it had never been broken up the way it was on Sunday. For no apparent reason. There wasn’t even a bonfire. Was it the numbers? The fact that the sun had set? They didn’t say. They just told us to leave, and drove their trucks into the crowd when we didn’t.

So much fear. About what? About what could be created if people felt free to come into their power, shine brightly, find their voices, find community, be inspired and inspire others? Isn’t that what America is supposed to be based on, freedom of expression, freedom of assembly? In a land of cul de sacs, cubicles, and on line dating, it’s more important than ever to consciously create the society we wish to live in, where we can truly look one another in the eye, where we can work and play together and recognize and honor each others unique talents and backgrounds as part of the greater whole. Where we can live in love, not fear. To the extent that this circus - and all the other synchronystic instances of coming together and recognizing family all over the globe and the need to work together to heal ourselves and our planet- are about sowing these seeds, there’s a lot of gardening to be done.

-- Prana dancer

The Purple Skies

T h e . T r a v e l l i n g . Ex p l o s i o n ….

The Mystic Family Circus: A Circus With a Story to Tell...

Underground Scene

The Healing of Los Angeles

Living With Our Potential

My account of what happened on March 17, 2001