The music was echoing through the trees, beckoning us forth to the heart of the party. We surrendered willingly to the beat of heavy electronic basslines. The reflecting lights and rhythmic pulses of people entranced us into an ecstatic dance. The full Aquarius moon watched over us with her silvery light, illuminating the party altar some of us had collectively created earlier that day.
Offerings of candles, glowsticks, cigarettes and fresh flowers. Mushrooms, berries, ghost pipe. Coins and glitter. We called in the ancient spirits of party, the queer, trans and anarchist ancestors, the beings of the land we were on. We thanked them. We asked them to join us and guide us into the soupy realms of shared joy. We asked them to watch over us in the name of harm reduction, as reality-altering substances swam through our bodies and connected to cellular receptors.
With partying often comes a hidden longing. We want to be transported to another world, swept up in the waveform of a group moving and vibing together. Our bodyminds seek out the primal sensations of rising energy and aliveness. It’s rare, but when you find it, you know. Partying as liberatory practice. The feeling of being connected to something mystical, vast and expansive. Our bones rattle with a knowing that there is so much more than the mundane daily routines of life under colonial-capitalism.
Yes, partying is not for everyone - but expressions of communal joy have ancient roots. It’s something we’ve been doing for at least 8,000 years, and drugs and alcohol kind of go hand in hand - we’ve been using them for just as long . Although in some cultures, certain substances are reserved for ceremonial use by healers and priestexes, in dominant North American culture we see Nicotine, Weed, Beer, and Liquor making an appearance at most gatherings, small to large. Go to a rave or a house party and it doesn’t take long to find Molly, Coke, or many other kinds of powdery substances weaving their way through the crowds. Our fungal friends pop up here and there sharing psilocybin with the masses, and there’s often a few drops of Acid on tiny sheets of paper floating around.
For the animists out there (like us), these chemical powders, flowers, leaves and fermented liquids have a spirit. Shifting us into altered states of consciousness, these beings may share messages and bring out surprising behaviours - we get giddy, happy, joyful, rageful, teary-eyed, contemplative, recluse.
Tanya and I had already been on the road for over a month on a cross-continental mission to bring me back home to TioTia:ke (Montreal). We were ready to unpack and put down roots, but when our witchy pals invited us to a forest rave on an abandoned campground in Gaspésie (the unceded and traditional homeland of the Mi'kmaq People) we couldn't say no. What better way to end our epic voyage - touching the salty waters of the Atlantic and celebrating connection and community with other rad human beings. What was another 16 hours of driving after 40 hours already spent together in the car?
On our way to the rave, we talked about intentional partying and what that might look like. Tanya and I have already done our fair share of partying with out setting intentions, so this rave was a prime opportunity to try something new. By that I mean creating a purposeful experience by communing with the substances we ingest in a conscious way.
Intentions guide our actions in the future. They are expressed before we take the first step of a journey. Party goers almost always have an intention, even if not consciously named: Let’s get fucked up! I want to get laid tonight. Ughhhh, I need to forget about my week… Actually naming the intention anchors us as we move through an experience, so it’s easier to stay present with what’s happening for us, rather than getting swept up in whatever is happening around us...like other people’s drama.
Tanya and I and three other witchy friends met in our spacious tent, gathering around a small altar we had built to honor the substances we were ingesting that evening. We were also dressed for the occasion, decked out in glam make-up, sequences, and shimmery fabrics. Queer-trans ceremonial party attire.
We set intentions, speaking to each other and spirits of the substances. Some of us wanted to replenish with the energy of vitality and friendship, others wanted to open new channels of communication with their bodies and the earth, others wanted to hold the vastness of grief while also welcoming in celebration.
It’s an intimate and vulnerable thing to share intentions in the presence of others, and there’s an art to it. Growing up in white suburban America, I’d never heard of intentions until I started working with magic. When we’re learning something new, especially as white folks reclaiming practices that bring us in relationship with the other-than-human world, we can be scared to fuck it up or we feel like imposters. But with practice, intention setting can find its place in daily life and ritual, as a tool for working in the material plane and getting the shit done that we want to get done. To find a bit of meaning in this world on fire.
We each took our chosen substance with care, acknowledging their presence and wisdom. We started dosing at lower levels, knowing that we could dose up later in the night if we needed. We wanted to be aware enough to stay with our integrity and whatever was arising, but still tune into the reality-bending magic of these spirits.
Being intentional also means having the tools to care for each other during the party, especially in the case of bad trips or overdoses. There were sweet folks who stayed at the harm-reduction tent all night, providing active listening, information on mixing substances and naltrexone kits. More sweet humans were giving out free food and beverages to keep us nourished and hydrated as we partied.
The night went by swiftly and slowly at once. I recalled the silence of the night before, broken by the ghostly sound of a loon calling. But that night, there were fires burning brightly in each of us. Sparks of laugher and chatter filled the air as we abandoned ourselves to the heated pulses of the music. The world outside began to slip away, worries about rent and rising food costs, illness, death and other truths of living on earth disappeared into the mist of the lake.
We each weaved our way in and out of people at our own pace, following our own adventure. We found moments of solitude and connection on the dance floor, by the bon fire, or in among the trees. We played in the blacklight installations that dangled through the forest, and we rested in the chill zone to the sound of chants and droning. Eventually, we each found our beds - some just as the sun was rising, others not until the sun was at its zenith overhead.
Integration after a trip is an important part of intentional partying – whether we do it with friends, alone journaling and meditating, or with professionals. It ties the events together, allows us to embed the experience back into our daily life and the story of who we are.
The next day, we got together to share a smorgasbord of brunchy food and tales of our travels the night before. There were tears, tarot cards pulled, and a lot of tired laughter. We were steeped in a profound awe and gratitude at the visitors in spirit form and the amplified perception.
With the steam rising from our scrambled eggs and cups of coffee, we realized how surprisingly easy it was to surrender safely to the warping strangeness of the liminal psychedelic space. The bad-trip vortex stayed far, far away, and instead we felt held and guided. But we also stayed present with ourselves and our boundaries. Tripping out with awareness meant that we didn’t over-consume, we stayed hydrated and nourished, and rested when we needed to.
This was probably the most mind-bending aspect of it all! Tuning into our bodies, we were blanketed in a feeling of replenishment – even on only a few hours of sleep. Vibrating with a healthy afterglow rather than being a depleted, half-zombie human, we indeed felt that our intentions had not let us down.
Neither Tanya nor I party much anymore, what with the on-going pandemic, our aching spoonie bodies, getting older and the stress of work-life. But when we do party, we want to do it intentionally. This is one of the places of magic and medicine – where we can practice letting go and offering ourselves more fully to an experience, while also trusting that we can create containers that can hold whatever comes up.
There is something empowering in this perspective shift. It feels like we can leave behind the days of questing for an epic party and instead experiment with creating the experiences we desire, using the power of intention and the support of spirit allies.