Hippie Vibe

by Bill Tiepelman

Trippy Gnomads

Shrooms, Shenanigans, and Soulmates Somewhere between the mossy roots of logic and the leafy canopy of “what the hell,” lived a pair of gnomes so groovy they made Woodstock look like a church bake sale. Their names were Bodhi and Lark, and they didn’t just live in the forest — they vibed with it. Every mushroom cap was a dance floor, every breeze a backing vocal, every squirrel a potential tambourine player in their daily jam session with existence. Bodhi had the beard of a wizard, the belly of a well-fed mystic, and the aura of someone who once tried to meditate inside a beehive “for the buzz.” He wore tie-dye like it was sacred armor and claimed he’d once levitated during a particularly potent batch of lavender tea (Lark said he just fell off the hammock and bounced). Lark, meanwhile, was a radiant chaos goddess in gnome form. Her hair changed color depending on the moon, the tea, or her mood. Her wardrobe was 80% flowy rainbow fabric, 15% bangles that jingled with intention, and 5% whatever she'd bedazzled while “channeling divine glitter.” She was the kind of woman who could make a peace sign look like a mic drop — and often did. The two of them weren’t just a couple — they were a cosmic alignment of snorts, incense, and undeniable soul-meld. They met decades ago at the annual Shroomstock Festival when Bodhi accidentally danced into Lark’s pop-up tea temple mid-spell. The resulting explosion of chamomile, glitter, and bass frequencies knocked both of them into a pile of enchanted moss... and love. Deep, sparkly, sometimes-kinda-illegal-in-some-realms love. Now, decades later, they’d made a cozy life in a hollowed-out toadstool mansion just off the main trail behind a portal disguised as an aggressively judgmental raccoon. They spent their days brewing questionable elixirs, hosting nude drum circles for squirrels, and writing poetry inspired by bark patterns and beetles. But something peculiar had stirred the peace of their technicolor utopia. It started subtly — mushrooms that glowed even when uninvited, birds chirping backwards, and their favorite talking fern suddenly developing a French accent. Bodhi, naturally, blamed Mercury retrograde. Lark suspected the cosmic equilibrium had hiccuped. The real cause? Neither of them knew — yet. But it was definitely about to turn their blissful forest frolic into an unexpected trip of the wildest kind. Cosmic Detours and Glorious Confusions Bodhi woke up to find his beard tied in knots around a mandolin. This wasn’t entirely unusual. What was unusual was the mandolin playing itself, softly humming something suspiciously close to “Stairway to Heaven” in gnomish minor. Lark was levitating six inches above her pillow with a satisfied grin, arms spread like she was doing trust falls with the universe. The air smelled like burnt cinnamon, ozone, and one of their questionable experiments in "emotional aromatherapy." Something was very not-normal in the glade. “Lark, babe,” Bodhi muttered, rubbing sleep from eyes that still glowed faintly from last night’s herbal inhalation, “did we finally crack open the veil between dimensions or did I lick that one too-happy mushroom again?” Lark floated down slowly, her hair swirling like galaxy tendrils. “Neither,” she said, yawning. “I think the forest’s having a midlife crisis. Either that or the earth spirit is trying to vibe-check us.” Before either could dive deeper into spiritual diagnostics, a series of thuds echoed through the glade. A line of mushrooms — fat, bioluminescent, and increasingly annoyed-looking — were marching toward their mushroom house. Not walking. Marching. One of them had a tiny protest sign that read, “WE ARE NOT CHAIRS.” Another had spray-painted itself with the words “FUNGUS ISN’T FREE.” “It’s the spores,” Lark said, eyes widening. “Remember the empathy tea blend we dumped last week because it turned our armpit hair into moss? I think it seeped into the root web. They’re woke now.” “You mean sentient?” “No. Woke. Like, unionizing and emotionally intelligent. Look — they’re forming a drum circle.” Sure enough, a ring of mushrooms had gathered, some tapping on stones with sticks, one chanting in rhythm, “We are more than footstools! We are more than footstools!” Bodhi looked around nervously. “Should we apologize?” “Absolutely not,” Lark said, already pulling out her ceremonial ukulele. “We collaborate.” And thus began the most psychedelic, passive-aggressive negotiation ceremony in woodland history. Lark led the chant. Bodhi rolled joints the size of acorns filled with apology herbs. The mushrooms demanded an annual celebration called Mycelium Appreciation Day and one day off per week from being sat on. Bodhi, overwhelmed by the sincerity of a portobello named Dennis, broke down crying and offered them full sentient citizenship under the Glade’s Common Law of Whoa Dude That’s Fair. As the moon rose and painted everything in a silvery hue, the newly formed G.A.M.E. (Gnomes And Mycelium Entente) signed their Peace Pledge on bark parchment, sealed with glitter and mushroom spore kisses. Bodhi and Lark fell back into their rainbow hammock, emotionally exhausted, and giddy from what might have been historical diplomacy or just a shared hallucination — it was hard to tell anymore. “Do you think we’re... like, actually good at this?” Bodhi asked, snuggling into her shoulder. “Diplomacy?” “No. Life. Loving. Floating with the weird and riding the vibe.” Lark looked up at the stars, one of which winked back at her in obvious approval. “I think we’re nailing it. Especially the part where we mess up just enough to keep learning.” “You’re my favorite mistake,” Bodhi said, kissing her forehead. “You’re my recurring fever dream.” And with that, they faded into sleep, surrounded by a softly snoring circle of sentient mushrooms, the forest finally at peace — for now. Because tomorrow, a sentient pinecone with a ukulele and political ambitions was scheduled to arrive. But that’s a trip for another tale.     Epilogue: Of Spores and Soulmates In the weeks that followed the Great Mushroom Awakening, the forest pulsed with an odd but joyful harmony. Animals began leaving handwritten notes (and mildly passive-aggressive Yelp reviews) on Bodhi and Lark’s door. The sentient fungi launched a twice-weekly improv troupe called “Spores of Thought.” The raccoon portal guardian began charging cover fees for dimension-hoppers, using the proceeds to fund interpretive dance classes for possums. Bodhi built a new meditation space shaped like a peace sign, only to have it claimed by the newly unionized chipmunks as a “creative grievance nest.” Lark started a ‘Gnomic Astrology’ podcast that became wildly popular with owls and rogue squirrels looking to “find their moon-beam alignment.” Life had never been more chaotic. Or more complete. And through it all, Bodhi and Lark danced. In the morning mist. Beneath moon-soaked leaves. On treetops. On tabletops. On mushrooms that now required enthusiastic consent and a signed waiver. They danced like gnomes who understood the world wasn’t meant to be perfect — just passionately weird, deliciously flawed, and infinitely alive. Love, after all, wasn’t about finishing each other’s sentences. It was about starting new ones. With laughter. With glitter. With the kind of kiss that smells faintly of rosemary and rebellion. And in the heart of the forest, where logic took long naps and joy wore bells on its toes, two trippy gnomads kept dancing. Forever just a little off-beat, and absolutely in tune.     Bring the Vibe Home If you felt the funk, the freedom, or maybe just fell a little in love with Lark and Bodhi’s kaleidoscopic chaos, you can invite their spirit into your space. Wrap yourself in the magic with a super-soft fleece blanket that practically hums peace signs. Let the art take over your walls with a forest-sized tapestry or a vibrant canvas print that turns any room into a glade of good vibes. And for those who still believe in snail mail and soul notes, there’s even a greeting card ready to deliver whimsy with a wink. Celebrate weird love. Honor magical mayhem. Support the unionized mushrooms. And most of all, stay trippy, friend.

by Bill Tiepelman

Meditative Whiskers of Light

The Hippie’s Guide to New Year’s Resolutions Another year, another trip around the sun. That’s what I told myself as I sat on my meditation pillow in the corner of my living room, incense smoke curling around me like the mystical tendrils of my free-spirited youth. “New Year’s resolutions,” I muttered to my cat, Cosmic Steve, who blinked at me with the detached wisdom of a being that had seen me at my worst—like that time I tried to ferment my own kombucha in 1987 and ended up with a kitchen that smelled like a Woodstock porta-potty. I scratched my beard, now streaked with a respectable amount of gray, and pondered the challenge ahead. Resolutions. They were like trying to quit sugar while holding a box of organic vegan brownies—technically good for you, but still painfully hard. “Okay, Steve,” I said, “this year, I’m gonna be serious about it. No more excuses.” Resolution #1: Eat Healthier I dusted off an old juicer I’d bought at a yard sale in 1993. It had probably made juice for some long-lost commune in Oregon, judging by the faint smell of patchouli oil that still clung to it. I tossed in some kale, a carrot, and an apple for good measure. The juicer roared like an angry bear, spitting out what looked like swamp water. I took a sip, grimaced, and immediately followed it with a shot of tequila. Cosmic Steve looked at me as if to say, “You’ve learned nothing.” Resolution #2: Exercise More “Yoga,” I decided, rolling out a mat I’d bought in the 70s. It had more stains on it than a tie-dye shirt at a Grateful Dead concert. I stretched into downward dog, which quickly devolved into downward nap. Somewhere between child’s pose and corpse pose, I dozed off, only to wake up an hour later to the sound of Steve pawing at the juicer. Exercise was off to a rough start. “Maybe tomorrow,” I said, as I shuffled to the couch to watch reruns of That 70’s Show. Resolution #3: Be More Tech-Savvy This one was Cosmic Steve’s idea. Or at least I assumed so, given the way he always walked across my keyboard while I tried to Google “how to live off the grid in 2024.” I decided to finally set up a TikTok account to spread my hippie wisdom to the masses. It didn’t go well. My first video, titled “How to Make Macramé Dreamcatchers for Your Third Eye,” got exactly three views—one of which was me trying to figure out how to delete it. “Social media’s a trap, man,” I told Steve. He didn’t disagree. Resolution #4: Be More Organized I bought a planner. A really nice one with floral patterns and inspirational quotes like “The journey is the reward.” I promptly forgot where I put it. When I finally found it—underneath a pile of vinyl records—I realized I’d written “PLAN LIFE” on January 1st and nothing else. “This is fine,” I told myself. “Free spirits can’t be confined by calendars.” The New Year’s Epiphany By the end of the first week, my resolutions had devolved into vague intentions, like “maybe eat less cheese” and “think about jogging.” But then, during one of my evening meditations (okay, fine, I was lying on the couch with a glass of wine and some Pink Floyd), it hit me. Why was I trying so hard to be someone I wasn’t? I’d spent decades perfecting the art of being an old hippie soul. Resolutions were just societal constructs, man. They were like clocks and taxes—arbitrary rules meant to box us in. “Screw it, Steve,” I said. “My resolution is to keep being me.” The Final Lesson So here’s the deal: I didn’t lose weight, I didn’t run a marathon, and my TikTok career is probably dead before it started. But I did reconnect with the things that make me happy—sunsets, vinyl records, and the occasional questionable kombucha experiment. And maybe that’s what resolutions are really about. Not changing who you are, but doubling down on the parts of you that are already groovy. Happy New Year, man. May your vibes be good and your resolutions be optional.     Explore the essence of "Meditative Whiskers of Light" in our Image Archive. This vibrant, whimsical artwork is available for prints, downloads, and licensing. Perfect for adding a touch of colorful serenity to your space or project. Dive into the magic today!