A flower-child of my generation sown in the land near Woodstock, I hearkened to the call to go West in the winter of 1970, and found the promised land in Southern Oregon. The Sunnyridge Mining Claim, nestled on a ridge that poked above the fog line in the Siskyou Mountains and through which gurgled Blind Sam Creek, became home, at times, of close to 100 young people fleeing the excessive materiality of their middle-class upbringings. Kindred souls found one another and together we created a lifestyle of voluntary simplicity, one of harmony with the natural rhythms of the earth.

      We built cabins from salvaged materials and planted a luxurious garden whose abundance never failed to nourish us. We gave birth to many babies, and the sound of children laughing and crying was the background to the endless activities necessary for survival in a world without electricity or running water. Everyday the men and some women went on woodruns to bring back fuel to keep the many fires stoked. Everyday the women and some men prepared three meals a day on the huge cast iron cookstove for from anywhere between thirty-five to one hundred people, depending on the season and year. We baked bread daily in batches of fifteen loaves, beginning with grinding the wheat berries by hand with a stone mill. Wood was chopped and cords stacked, dishes washed, gardens planted, weeded, watered, and harvested, clothing sewn and mended, tubs of water heated for laundry and endless diapers scrubbed by hand, chain saws and the Yellow Beast truck maintained, children tended, buildings constructed and restructured.

      But the centerpoint of the day, the moment when everyone came together as one and celebrated the communion of the commune was the OM Circle that we held every evening right before dinner. Having rejected most of the rituals from the culture we had left behind and looking for others which we could make our own, the OM Circle became the focal point of our spiritual expression. To the extent that the model of rites of passage that Turner outlined describes the pattern inherent in ritualized events that facilitate "transitions from one situation to another and from one cosmic or social world to another," the Sunnyridge OM Circle functioned in this way as it put us into daily contact with the divine energies that sustained and renewed us.

      It began with the first ringing of the triangular iron bell that hung suspended from the porch of the Old Kitchen. About twenty minutes before dinner was ready, someone from the kitchen crew (or one of the children scampering about) struck the bell three times. In this preliminal stage of separation, the sound of the first dinner bell signaled the cessation of ordinary activities. We stopped watering the garden, working on projects and chores, or engaging in relaxed conversations or heated disagreements. It was time to round up kids, wash hands, and perhaps change or don clothing appropriate for the evening--long sleeves for mosquito buzzing summer nights or an extra sweater and poncho for cool rainy winter nights. The second bell toned the call to gather.

      Coming out of the woods from many directions, the members of our communal family streamed into the dining area, indoors or outdoors according to the weather and season. We chose places around the circle, depending upon whom we wanted to sit next to that night and chatted away until it appeared that everyone had arrived. As one person held out his or her hand to those on either side, other hands were then clasped in unison around the circle. A hushed silence fell upon us, as talking suddenly ceased, often in mid-sentence, and even the babies stopped crying. The circle of clasped hands represented the sacred action that ushered us into the second stage, the liminal phase of the rite.

      We would breathe together as one being for a while and then, lifting up our voices, we would intone the sacred sound of OM, the mother seed syllable of the Sanskrit alphabet. It wasn't as if, as a group, we followed any particular dogma or creed; certainly there was no identification with being Hindus. If anything, we repudiated any form of institutionalized religion or hierarchical structures. Yet, in the sound of the OM, we recognized a universal timeless vibration that, as spiritual seekers, we felt connected us with the soul of the cosmos and with one another.

      Sometimes the OM was short, about three minutes long; other times we might carry the tone for up to fifteen minutes. There were no rules concerning the length of time, but the energy itself seemed to have a life span of its own, and it was apparent to everyone when the evening invocation was complete. The ludic recombination took the shape of the mixture and harmonizing of our different voices. Peter often carried the deep baritones, and the soprano voices reverberated the melodious strains. Philip might insert the longer variation of OM MANI PADME HUNG into the communal hum, and it was not unusual for one of the children to burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter infecting the other kids with giggles as well. A hungry toddler, impatient for dinner, might start screeching, but we embraced all the spontaneous expressions

      In the liminal space of the sounding of the OM, we stepped out of ordinary reality for a little while each day, and experienced a trance-like state of mystical union, a sense of at-one-ness with ourselves, with each other, and with the divine. After the last strains of the OM gradually faded away, we remained in the silence for a few more minutes. Eyes opened and smiled across the circle in acknowledgment that we had once again touched something sacred and nourished our souls. Emerging from the limen, soon the clatter of dishes and utensils would signal the onset of nourishing our bodies, and the joyful chaos of dishing out dinner to thirty, fifty, seventy or more people once again began.

      Last night I made a few calls, asking some old Sunnyridgers what function the OM Circle served for them. Jimmy said that it was a way to center ourselves and to bring the day to a peaceful conclusion before dinner. Peter concurred that it was a moment to collect ourselves and calm everyone down. Barbara added that it made us feel more like a family, and by uniting our energy we raised ourselves to a higher level. Aaron observed that amidst the many changes over the seven years that the Sunnyridge Commune existed in physical form, it was the only constant point of reference. No matter what else was happening, we never failed to OM before dinner. It unified us, smoothing over the many conflicts that inevitably arise when so many people live so closely together. Elizabeth reminisced that it heightened our sense of relatedness to and awareness of each other, a deep mystical experience that had nothing to do with chopping wood or baking bread.

Manifestation:
There was a belief that whatever we needed as a whole and/or for individuals would "manifest". Food and money would come to Sunnyridge. Individuals would walk up the driveway who fulfilled a certain other individual's need regarding karma (it takes two to tango).

No trips:
Signs, posters, and any religious, political, or worldly proselytizing seemed to be prohibited. Calendars, clocks and media did not exist. Newspapers and magazines seemed to be ok and served to both entertain the mind and substitute as toilet paper. Artwork abounded as it both expressed the individual’s inner life and freedom. The entire atmosphere promoted individual freedom and less emphasis on rigid social structure.

Children:
There was an unexpressed understanding that the children were some kind of blessing to the social consciousness. On one hand, the innocence, joy and freshness of youth blessed the overall ambiance and attitude of the adult interactions with the same playful and self-surrendering abandon. And, on the other hand, their presence checked and mollified what would undoubtedly have been a much more vicious and unacceptable acting out of mind games and karma. They gave us life and acted as our social “conscience”. Although they have expressed as adults that they were not prepared for the “real world” with a necessary worldly education, and that they suffered from exposure to rather unusual experiences, it is pretty obvious that these souls were supposed to be here and had the spiritual background to actively participate in the Sunnyridge experiment.

9:03 a.m.: A second hijacked airliner, United Airlines Flight 175 from Boston, crashes into the south tower of the World Trade Center and explodes. Both buildings are burning.