I was born in San Francisco, a city teeming with self-proclaimed messiahs. I’ve encountered everyone from American gurus and spiritual teachers to private jet owners, Playboy playmates, self-help swamis, and even cult leaders. The city has seen its share—there are too many to count. Among them, I met deeply compassionate, unforgettable souls and witnessed more than my fair share of corruption alongside kindness.

I was born in 1953, right into the heart of the Sixties counterculture—a time of communes, cults, meditation centers, music, and alternative spiritual movements. Those years taught me countless lessons. Feminism, rock ‘n’ roll, the drug scene, the gay rights movement, and the sexual revolution all challenged traditional religious norms and left a lasting impact on many lives. San Francisco was far from the only place influenced by the Sixties; across the country, in states like Arizona, Maine, Maryland, Michigan, Montana, New York, Oregon, South Carolina, Tennessee, Texas, and beyond, people experienced their own American stories as they evolved through that transformative era.

“Music doesn’t lie. If there is something to be changed in this world, then it can only happen through music” – Jimi Hendrix.

We were a restless generation, hopelessly hopeful, constantly searching for enlightenment and ecstasy. We refused to accept what was told to us—we wanted to feel it all for ourselves.

Our journey was to explore everything beyond the limits of denominations, doctrines, or dogma—whether that came through a captivating Eastern guru, Jesus, psychedelic mushrooms, or peyote. We were famously drawn to spirituality rather than traditional religion. What started as a call to serve our country shifted for many into a search for personal identity. In the process, a generation grew up, embracing both the ideals and contradictions of the time. Traditional concepts of faith and family collapsed, igniting a quest for something new. We were a generation that refused to be confined by suburban lifestyles or Sunday services. Some of us sought to experience God, while others aimed to become God—or at least relive the euphoria and enlightenment of that unforgettable acid trip we could never quite shake.

In the Sixties, my life was a relentless chase for total freedom, an attempt to exist in the present moment. Does that sound idealistic? In truth, much of the Sixties and Seventies were spent indulging in drugs and casual sex.

In many ways, the Sixties were truly wild. The highs felt higher, and the lows hit deeper. There was a vivid sense of being alive, a nostalgia even as we lived it.

We experienced life in a way that feels rare today. Now, everything seems so tense.

Looking at the high school kids in my neighborhood, it feels like something’s missing—a sense of freedom. There’s this overwhelming sense of restraint.

We were among the last generations allowed to roam freely as kids. Nowadays, every child is shuttled from one activity to the next, and every moment is tightly scheduled. This profoundly shapes our children, molding society in ways we still don’t fully understand.

My father believed his generation lived through extraordinary times, and my grandfather felt the same about his.

It’s easy to romanticize the ’60s—I do it all the time.

These days, I come across plenty of rants about Baby Boomers, and I find them amusing.

They tend to focus on a small slice of our generation—the pretend hippies, the radicals, the sellouts, and the yuppies—who are the obvious targets.

I challenge the critics to take a closer look at the real spiritual activists of the Sixties counterculture—the idealists who wanted to change the world or at least transform themselves. For many of us, the Sixties wasn’t just a decade from January 1, 1960, to December 31, 1969—it was a mindset.

You could highlight several vital moments to define the era: from the Greensboro lunch counter sit-ins in 1960 to the Kent State shootings in 1970 or even Watergate and Nixon’s resignation in 1974. It was a period of turmoil in the streets and our homes.

And then there was Woodstock, held on August 15, 1969—a three-day music festival where I, like many others, escaped home to immerse myself in the hippie lifestyle. The event unfolded during a time when countless young people were passionately protesting the Vietnam War, advocating for peace and love.

Two small pills—LSD and the birth control pill—radically altered our views on sexual morality and reality itself.

Women entered the workforce, and gays, lesbians, and single mothers forced society to redefine what family meant.

I was born and raised in the heart of some of the wildest sexual, social, and spiritual experimentation of that era.

“Life has no meaning. Each of us has meaning and we bring it to life. It is a waste to be asking the question when you are the answer.” ― Joseph Campbell.

What awaits us at the end of our journey? What is it that spiritual seekers truly hope to discover? What lies beyond the door we strive to open?

Growing up in the Sixties was both a gift and a challenge—and the stories I have to share are nothing short of remarkable.