— Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics
This 10.5K-word deep-dive is the anatomy of the moment a decade-long Zen existence met its absolute threshold. The narrative charts what happens when a man is pushed too far in his most sacred space, refusing to back down, and finally roaring: “Enough!”
Two years in the making, the chronicle delivers a raw study on boundaries, standing your ground, and the heavy reflections that follow the storm. It was my first Full Lunacy gathering after losing my father, and my first after returning from a five-month experimental relocation to the Lagoona. To sweeten the deal, I’ve compressed four years of chaotic Dahab full-moon magic (30+ gatherings!) into a rapid-fire visual montage.
The main event of the piece occurred over two years ago. The basics were noted down shortly after so that the memories remain fresh. Then it was written over a period of time throughout the following year. Recently, in what seems like the wake of a heavy storytelling streak here on One Lucky Soul, it has finally been finalised. This creative wave includes The Healing Powers of Storytelling: A Personal Experience, as well as the official migration of the new Early Memories Never Worded series from Facebook — where 80 stories already exist — over to their new home in the anthology: The Subconscious Chronicles #1 and #2.
This new form of reflective storytelling is not merely about recounting a wacky sequence of events. It is about unpacking the precise psychological angles that come with dramatic, high-voltage experiences — compelling my older, and hopefully wiser, self to analyse and reflect, while gloriously dissecting myself in the process.
With that, I hope you enjoy reading the following twelve chapters as much as I enjoyed putting it together.
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Chapter 1: Back When Tigers Used To Smoke
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I do not precisely remember the last time I lost my temper with such fierce, primal passion, but it was most probably during my last formal relationship somewhere around 2012. Having dealt with my own demons by executing the heavy Inner Work, I simply reached a point where I did not allow anything or anyone — but myself — to get me to that volatile state. So I didn’t.
What a Zen-like superpower that turned out to be. Not just on a personal level; it radically shifted my entire existence. I started communicating with ants, saving drunk fruit flies, rescuing drowning bees, and leading a peaceful, blissful, heavenly life.
But how long can this absolute peace truly last for those of us who still choose to remain part of the world and maintain an active relationship with it — despite a partly innate, occasional compulsion to desert it entirely? Those of us who keep interacting with its human inhabitants and are naturally exposed to their unfiltered, chaotic energies.
The wacky thing about this story is that, out of all places, it happened during a Full Lunacy Drum Circle by One Lucky Soul — Dahab or, rather, somewhat afterward, as we’re about to see. Why get enraged at a peaceful Full Moon musical gathering on a beach, around an open fire?
If we reckon that Full Lunacy is part of a blog-turned-community I had passionately founded many years back, which came to extend across two countries, then you might think I’m bluffing.
Having already dealt with the reawakened sensitivity of the emotional sobriety stage of recovery, along with the shame and guilt, being On The Road in North America was the new adventure my soul was seeking — possibly craving. Until I found myself in Venice Beach in L.A. and deciding to stay. There, drumming followed writing as an additional artistic self-expression. Writing was how I first began expressing myself on a laptop in the comfort of my home, but drum circles were how I really learned to socialise on a whole different level. It is a raw, fun, meditative, cathartic, chaotic, creative, spiritual, emotional, therapeutic experience all at once; the same goes for drumming in general.
But it was founding and hosting my own Full Lunacy Drum Circle at Dockweiler Beach in 2016 that was an even more substantial step to get me out of my comfort zone, by inviting acquaintances then mere strangers to a free musical gathering every month... and simply flow through whatever happens. Mind you, apart from a handful of new Allies I was alone, had no car or much money, fuelled only by passion and a healthy dose of enthusiasm. Some Lunacy too of course — with capital L out of respect. Add that to writing, and you become your own healer.
Oh and “strangers”? They are no longer strangers once we share the music, the fire, the full moon and the whole energy.
These full moon drum circles came to be the ultimate key to keeping my sanity — and insanity — in an increasingly mad, mad world; a space to meet new people, commune with nature, and above all, regulate my emotions. It was no longer just an event; it became my monthly somatic sanctuary, an umbilical cord and a psychological baseline keeping my nervous system integrated. So much so, I regard the gathering, this movement of energies, as my own child. To try and compromise it isn’t just an intrusion; it’s a direct assault on my clinical equilibrium.
For a deeper, unvarnished look and sound at this rhythm evolution over the years, check out the compiled chronicles on Facebook: A Celebration of Life in Drumming & Photos and A Celebration of Life in Drumming & Videos — all with original audio. You can use it as a soundtrack for this piece. Ha. 🪘݉♮♯
So what disturbed the peace, and myself included, that fateful night? Let us find out.
This personal storytelling piece sits firmly in the same category as Banged Up Abroad — My Few Days @ The Don Jail. And minus actual academic research, it shares the raw existential spirit of The Great Pyramid’s Blessed Curse: Climbing to the Top and Beyond, Surviving the Madness of Sakarana — Hyoscyamus muticus (aka Deadly Nightshade), and Out-of-Body Experience and Ego Death on a “Heroic Dose” of Mushrooms. Unlike them, however, the entire “Commotion” here is barely one hour long. It is the later psycho-philosophical reflections upon the unusual event that take up the vast majority of these 10,500 words. So here it goes.
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
— Maya Angelou
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| The very first Full Lunacy Dahab, October 2022 |
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Chapter 2: PUFF PUFF PASS — GROWL!
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On April’s full moon of 2024, I decided to bring Full Lunacy back to the same spot on the beach where it had all started in October 2022. Six months prior, I had thought to relocate it to the Lagoona area — a nature reserve away from residential areas — hoping for more space, freedom, and possibly more Full Lunatics. I remember a friend, Machteld, asking if I would be fine if no one attended, and I said yes. She later confessed she wanted to make sure I know it is a possibility.
The location indeed proved too remote for our then-humble numbers. We — as in I — ended up with only several people on those five gatherings. Being the windiest and coldest months of the year in Dahab, the weather from November to February didn’t exactly help the migration.
Despite its relative closeness, most people needed a car to get there and return — a mere 10-minute ride, nevertheless. But compared to the original location right by the Boardwalk, it was too radical an excursion for anyone who wasn’t a wee bit crazy about full moon drum circles… and battling the natural elements. Even just a couple of ‘wees’.
As such, after the brief Lagoona experiment, the decision to return back to our original beach home was taken.
There is another crucial detail to mention because it forms the emotional undercurrent of this entire story: My father had just passed away a few weeks prior in Cairo. This was the first gathering following his departure — and Full Lunacy, remember, is where I regulate my emotions on a monthly basis. Just as it was the first after our re-relocation back to the main shore.
The circle that night included three or four strollers parked by the Boardwalk while the parents and their 2- to 5-year-old children sat, ran, and drummed around the fire. Needless to say, they were all foreigners. A friend I had met in L.A. who moved to Dahab following my own move was there too, along with a couple of her friends.
Was it different than Dockweiler Beach in L.A? Of course. It is, after all, a different continent, a different country, a completely different culture and set of instruments. Yet music, and drumming in particular, remains universal in the way it connects and unites people.
The numbers were still somewhat limited that night — at least compared to how they picked up in the following months. Also, our recent disappearance from the area had likely taken its toll on attendance.
One thing I recall about the spot chosen to set the fire that night is that it was further left than our usual setup. The reason was that when I first arrived earlier to clear the beach and place the firewood, the residents of the middle beach house were sitting outside with their gate wide open. So as not to block their view, I considerately chose to push our circle further left, towards the next-door residence. It felt like a minor, entirely insignificant courtesy at the time, but this microscopic shift in coordinates would end up dictating the chaotic trajectory of the entire night.
Chapter 2: PUFF PUFF PASS — GROWL!
============================================
On April’s full moon of 2024, I decided to bring Full Lunacy back to the same spot on the beach where it had all started in October 2022. Six months prior, I had thought to relocate it to the Lagoona area — a nature reserve away from residential areas — hoping for more space, freedom, and possibly more Full Lunatics. I remember a friend, Machteld, asking if I would be fine if no one attended, and I said yes. She later confessed she wanted to make sure I know it is a possibility.
The location indeed proved too remote for our then-humble numbers. We — as in I — ended up with only several people on those five gatherings. Being the windiest and coldest months of the year in Dahab, the weather from November to February didn’t exactly help the migration.
Despite its relative closeness, most people needed a car to get there and return — a mere 10-minute ride, nevertheless. But compared to the original location right by the Boardwalk, it was too radical an excursion for anyone who wasn’t a wee bit crazy about full moon drum circles… and battling the natural elements. Even just a couple of ‘wees’.
As such, after the brief Lagoona experiment, the decision to return back to our original beach home was taken.
There is another crucial detail to mention because it forms the emotional undercurrent of this entire story: My father had just passed away a few weeks prior in Cairo. This was the first gathering following his departure — and Full Lunacy, remember, is where I regulate my emotions on a monthly basis. Just as it was the first after our re-relocation back to the main shore.
The circle that night included three or four strollers parked by the Boardwalk while the parents and their 2- to 5-year-old children sat, ran, and drummed around the fire. Needless to say, they were all foreigners. A friend I had met in L.A. who moved to Dahab following my own move was there too, along with a couple of her friends.
Was it different than Dockweiler Beach in L.A? Of course. It is, after all, a different continent, a different country, a completely different culture and set of instruments. Yet music, and drumming in particular, remains universal in the way it connects and unites people.
The numbers were still somewhat limited that night — at least compared to how they picked up in the following months. Also, our recent disappearance from the area had likely taken its toll on attendance.
One thing I recall about the spot chosen to set the fire that night is that it was further left than our usual setup. The reason was that when I first arrived earlier to clear the beach and place the firewood, the residents of the middle beach house were sitting outside with their gate wide open. So as not to block their view, I considerately chose to push our circle further left, towards the next-door residence. It felt like a minor, entirely insignificant courtesy at the time, but this microscopic shift in coordinates would end up dictating the chaotic trajectory of the entire night.
.jpeg "Full Lunacy Drum Circle — Dockweiler Beach, May 2018 - Losing It 𝘉𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘺 At Full Lunacy: First Burst of Anger in Over 12 Years by Omar Cherif, One Lucky Soul") |
| Full Lunacy Drum Circle at Dockweiler Beach two years after its inception. To give you a sense of the difference — May 2018 |
Do note that this specific area on the Dahab beach is quite limited in terms of space, and has been steadily shrinking ever since we got here; I have photographic evidence of the gradual process — seen clearly in the YouTube video below. Add the shifting tides throughout the year, and some months it can barely fit the circle at all — also deliberately shown in one clip where i filmed the moment I arrived to the location to find only a few meters between the water and the actual Boardwalk. Yeah, but I still made it work with whatever we Mother Nature offers us.
Furthermore, a couple of years back, the residents paid money to place massive rocks that divided the beach into three or four smaller partitions. Why? Because some local Bedouins used to drive in the sand with their vehicles and get stuck. At least, that was the perspective of the residents. I do remember helping quite a few by pushing. And to be honest, yes the process usually gets noisy, chaotic, and if you happen to be sitting there, quite disruptive and annoying too. Today, however, there is as a cafe about to be built on the shore, rendering the surviving available sand space absolutely minimal.
As such, seeking more space was a major part of the motivation to try Lagoona. But coming back was simply more convenient — for myself as well as for Full Lunacy and the community. Making it work with whatever space is there is what we do; again, “we” by the time point was still mainly myself; unlike L.A, there was no tribe of regular drummers and dancers who help out in the process, not even ready-to-use firepits. When I invite “Dahab” as a whole through a social media post shared across few Facebook groups, you have no idea how the night will unfold. This made every month a totally different experience, or as I call it a “date with the unknown”.
Looking back, that tiny geographical adjustment was the ultimate catalyst; a domino piece that seemed completely trivial on the sand, but one that effectively set the stage for the entire multi-layered commotion to ignite.
Another thing to recall from that night is having an artificial lamppost right above us, which was blindingly bright and downright bedane — testicalising. I took a mental note: Next time, stay away from the artificial light by going back further to the right where it used to be. Fortunately for us, that lamp went completely kaput in the following months and remains broken until today. Everyone prefers it pitch dark anyway, with the fire as the only source of illumination. It creates a magical and inviting atmosphere, really. Add some multicoloured glow sticks encircling us — which I acquire from Amazon — and you got it going, Baby.
Despite the charming magic of the fire, by 8:30 PM almost everyone had left the circle. The toddlers probably had to sleep. From 5:00 to 8:30 PM, it wasn’t the optimal drum circle you would envision, but again, it was what it was, and I was still grateful to have hosted the night and to be there amid the elements.
Being only five minutes away from my house, I chose to keep the fire running low while playing football on the sand with Abanoub and Roufaeil. The 9 and 12-year-old boys are the sons of the domestic keepers of the middle sea-view residence I mentioned earlier — one of the three picturesque properties right on the shore. Each belongs to European expats who, it is said, have been here in Dahab for a few decades. The keepers are a kind, simple Christian family from Cairo, and the mother sometimes sells food right by the entrance of their adjoined house.
Furthermore, a couple of years back, the residents paid money to place massive rocks that divided the beach into three or four smaller partitions. Why? Because some local Bedouins used to drive in the sand with their vehicles and get stuck. At least, that was the perspective of the residents. I do remember helping quite a few by pushing. And to be honest, yes the process usually gets noisy, chaotic, and if you happen to be sitting there, quite disruptive and annoying too. Today, however, there is as a cafe about to be built on the shore, rendering the surviving available sand space absolutely minimal.
As such, seeking more space was a major part of the motivation to try Lagoona. But coming back was simply more convenient — for myself as well as for Full Lunacy and the community. Making it work with whatever space is there is what we do; again, “we” by the time point was still mainly myself; unlike L.A, there was no tribe of regular drummers and dancers who help out in the process, not even ready-to-use firepits. When I invite “Dahab” as a whole through a social media post shared across few Facebook groups, you have no idea how the night will unfold. This made every month a totally different experience, or as I call it a “date with the unknown”.
Looking back, that tiny geographical adjustment was the ultimate catalyst; a domino piece that seemed completely trivial on the sand, but one that effectively set the stage for the entire multi-layered commotion to ignite.
Another thing to recall from that night is having an artificial lamppost right above us, which was blindingly bright and downright bedane — testicalising. I took a mental note: Next time, stay away from the artificial light by going back further to the right where it used to be. Fortunately for us, that lamp went completely kaput in the following months and remains broken until today. Everyone prefers it pitch dark anyway, with the fire as the only source of illumination. It creates a magical and inviting atmosphere, really. Add some multicoloured glow sticks encircling us — which I acquire from Amazon — and you got it going, Baby.
Despite the charming magic of the fire, by 8:30 PM almost everyone had left the circle. The toddlers probably had to sleep. From 5:00 to 8:30 PM, it wasn’t the optimal drum circle you would envision, but again, it was what it was, and I was still grateful to have hosted the night and to be there amid the elements.
Being only five minutes away from my house, I chose to keep the fire running low while playing football on the sand with Abanoub and Roufaeil. The 9 and 12-year-old boys are the sons of the domestic keepers of the middle sea-view residence I mentioned earlier — one of the three picturesque properties right on the shore. Each belongs to European expats who, it is said, have been here in Dahab for a few decades. The keepers are a kind, simple Christian family from Cairo, and the mother sometimes sells food right by the entrance of their adjoined house.
— ☙ ❊ ❧ —
On my very first day to drum by myself after relocating to Dahab, the boys had curiously and cautiously approached to investigate this long-haired dude banging on a strange-looking drum while facing the Red Sea. I had simply chosen the spot because it was far and away from the noisy cafes and restaurants on both sides, yet close enough to home to be easily accessible.
Week after week, month after month, the boys and I eventually became great friends. Our musical meetings may have inspired a certain unexplored passion in them; they began to truly enjoy drumming for the first time in their lives. At some point, they began to come down and join my drum tunes on the beach using empty plastic buckets and wooden sticks — à la legitimate street performers. It was incredibly adorable.
Then one day, they excitedly ran up to share that while they were drumming on the sand, a foreign tourist woman gave each of them 20 EGP. Making money without asking for it, all while doing something they intrinsically enjoyed? True bliss. It was a heartwarming moment that left me feeling like a proud father planting creative seeds for the future. Because of that bond, every Christmas the boys would get a little gift from Skuncle O. One day in the future, they may very well have their own full moon drum circle.
— ☙ ❊ ❧ —
All this flashback-intro is to say that by this fateful night, this sweet family and I had known each other well for over a year and a half.
On a parallel note, my piece The Joy of Giving covers how — somewhat counterintuitively — giving is infinitely more rewarding than receiving. Written in 2025, it is inspired by the Dahab Vibe, and my interactions with children as well as dogs, cats, and goats.
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| Always the first to arrive but eventually rarely the last to leave, December 2022 |
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Chapter 3: The Commotion
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While shooting the football back and forth with the boys, I noticed a blonde woman coming out of the third house — the one with the black gate. She was heading directly towards us, mumbling incoherently and looking visibly distressed. One noticeable thing amid the seaside shadows was that she had an alcoholic drink gripped firmly in her hand, so it was easy to assume her state of mind. Since she wasn’t addressing me personally, and wasn’t even making eye contact, I ignored the commotion as I usually do and didn’t give it much attention.
In my mind, my protective instinct was a bit exhausted: “Eugh, the third complaining woman in Egypt since my return.” But then again, what was she complaining about this time? The drumming had already completely stopped, everyone had left the beach, and it wasn’t even 8:45 PM. I actually had no clue if she was bothered by us, as in me, or if it was something entirely unrelated that was irritating her.
Moments later, the spectacle took a radical turn. We watched her march up to the fire pit and attempt to violently stomp out the embers, throwing sand onto the flames using her feet.
Huh? My Fire of the Soul? Whaaa!
By the time I started walking toward her to exchange a few mature words that could help me understand what exactly the deal was, she furiously turned around, stormed back into her residence, and nervously locked the heavy gate behind her. She looked visibly agitated, frustrated, and somewhat unstable.
Following this moody moment of what seemed like a drunken theatrical antic, I defiantly chose to remain right there on the beach, still shooting the ball with the younger 9-year-old Abanoub.
About ten minutes later, her husband came out of the gate — a tall grey-haired man in his early-to-mid 60s. He looked just as disturbed and perturbed. But he, too, refused to address me like a man or a mature adult. Instead of walking over to me, he marched snappily towards his next-door neighbour’s middle residence and began knocking on the gate like a madman while shouting frantically in German.
Up to that point, I still had no idea what the actual issue was, but there was indeed a storm brewing. Naturally, I wanted to know the reason behind the couple’s intense anger and how it could possibly relate to our humble drum circle — which had already ended. I remained observing from a distance, hoping to solve the mystery, yet staying far enough from the agitated man so as not to interfere prematurely.
Fortunately, the cooler next-door neighbour refused to engage the shouting man and turned him away. His own relationship with the keepers has been seamless for ages and he simply chose not to play the angry game. Kudos!
The core point I kept in mind was this: The couple may have owned that beachfront residence for over 30 years — as the man loudly boasted — but they do not own the beach in front of it. No one does. The sand and the water belong formally to the country and its future generations, and less formally to the entirety of humanity.
The man stormed in and out of his gate about two or three times over the following 30 minutes until my patience was thoroughly depleted. Why such profound enmity towards a free, musical community gathering that attracts young parents and their toddlers? Why act out now, after the event was entirely over and everyone had gone home? And why this time specifically, given that this gathering had been preceded by about a dozen identical full moon circles on this exact [few metres away] shore, some even smaller in number?
I was utterly befuddled but intensely curious to find a reasonable connection. Yet the man could neither speak directly nor coherently clarify the situation. And a lack of communication is precisely what creates unnecessary heat and tension between human beings. There was simply nothing convincing or logical coming out of his mouth.
Once again, it was the wife’s turn to storm back out. She headed straight towards the fire pit and attempted to put it out, much more aggressively this time. After stamping at the embers, she drunkly retreated to the safety of her fortress. This time, an Egyptian guy, Ramy, who was standing nearby watching the spectacle unfold pulled his phone out and began filming her attack on the fire. Her reaction was to run inside dramatically, slamming and locking the gate behind her. She later claimed the guy was then attacking her, wanting to follow her into the house. Pff!
It was a total madhouse that night, I’m telling you. And it just so happened to clash with an even madder human being responsible for a phenomenon called Full Lunacy — out of all names. I guess the universe dictated it was bound to get entirely coo-coo bonkers in shambles.
The last time the man stormed out, he nervously uttered something along the lines of: “I could build a wall right here in front of my house and forbid anyone from entering this beach!”
That was the line. The exact semantic trigger that instantly lit the match inside my brain. What is this guy even saying? Where does he think he is? Why are they attacking my safe haven — the gathering I had created out of absolutely nothing to add a sliver of love, passion, and creativity into this absurd world we live in? Not just back at Dockweiler in L.A, but tailored specifically to the Dahab community here— in my very own country of birth? What a bloody thank you.
============================================
While shooting the football back and forth with the boys, I noticed a blonde woman coming out of the third house — the one with the black gate. She was heading directly towards us, mumbling incoherently and looking visibly distressed. One noticeable thing amid the seaside shadows was that she had an alcoholic drink gripped firmly in her hand, so it was easy to assume her state of mind. Since she wasn’t addressing me personally, and wasn’t even making eye contact, I ignored the commotion as I usually do and didn’t give it much attention.
In my mind, my protective instinct was a bit exhausted: “Eugh, the third complaining woman in Egypt since my return.” But then again, what was she complaining about this time? The drumming had already completely stopped, everyone had left the beach, and it wasn’t even 8:45 PM. I actually had no clue if she was bothered by us, as in me, or if it was something entirely unrelated that was irritating her.
Moments later, the spectacle took a radical turn. We watched her march up to the fire pit and attempt to violently stomp out the embers, throwing sand onto the flames using her feet.
Huh? My Fire of the Soul? Whaaa!
By the time I started walking toward her to exchange a few mature words that could help me understand what exactly the deal was, she furiously turned around, stormed back into her residence, and nervously locked the heavy gate behind her. She looked visibly agitated, frustrated, and somewhat unstable.
Following this moody moment of what seemed like a drunken theatrical antic, I defiantly chose to remain right there on the beach, still shooting the ball with the younger 9-year-old Abanoub.
About ten minutes later, her husband came out of the gate — a tall grey-haired man in his early-to-mid 60s. He looked just as disturbed and perturbed. But he, too, refused to address me like a man or a mature adult. Instead of walking over to me, he marched snappily towards his next-door neighbour’s middle residence and began knocking on the gate like a madman while shouting frantically in German.
Up to that point, I still had no idea what the actual issue was, but there was indeed a storm brewing. Naturally, I wanted to know the reason behind the couple’s intense anger and how it could possibly relate to our humble drum circle — which had already ended. I remained observing from a distance, hoping to solve the mystery, yet staying far enough from the agitated man so as not to interfere prematurely.
Unable to grasp a single word of the German being shouted, I only found out the truth later through the keeper, who rushed back from wherever he was after his eldest called him to come soothe things out. The German man’s problem was this: He was furious about the boys of his neighbours’ keepers playing football with me on the sandy public Boardwalk. Really?
It was likewise implied through his shouting that the location of our fire pit was too close to his home. Why not just say so from the very beginning, and I would have happily moved it? Why not calmly walk over and state that, instead of throwing a hysterical, nervous fit? But it really wasn’t close to the residence, it was, as mentioned, only few metres left than the usual location.
Fortunately, the cooler next-door neighbour refused to engage the shouting man and turned him away. His own relationship with the keepers has been seamless for ages and he simply chose not to play the angry game. Kudos!
The core point I kept in mind was this: The couple may have owned that beachfront residence for over 30 years — as the man loudly boasted — but they do not own the beach in front of it. No one does. The sand and the water belong formally to the country and its future generations, and less formally to the entirety of humanity.
The man stormed in and out of his gate about two or three times over the following 30 minutes until my patience was thoroughly depleted. Why such profound enmity towards a free, musical community gathering that attracts young parents and their toddlers? Why act out now, after the event was entirely over and everyone had gone home? And why this time specifically, given that this gathering had been preceded by about a dozen identical full moon circles on this exact [few metres away] shore, some even smaller in number?
I was utterly befuddled but intensely curious to find a reasonable connection. Yet the man could neither speak directly nor coherently clarify the situation. And a lack of communication is precisely what creates unnecessary heat and tension between human beings. There was simply nothing convincing or logical coming out of his mouth.
Once again, it was the wife’s turn to storm back out. She headed straight towards the fire pit and attempted to put it out, much more aggressively this time. After stamping at the embers, she drunkly retreated to the safety of her fortress. This time, an Egyptian guy, Ramy, who was standing nearby watching the spectacle unfold pulled his phone out and began filming her attack on the fire. Her reaction was to run inside dramatically, slamming and locking the gate behind her. She later claimed the guy was then attacking her, wanting to follow her into the house. Pff!
It was a total madhouse that night, I’m telling you. And it just so happened to clash with an even madder human being responsible for a phenomenon called Full Lunacy — out of all names. I guess the universe dictated it was bound to get entirely coo-coo bonkers in shambles.
The last time the man stormed out, he nervously uttered something along the lines of: “I could build a wall right here in front of my house and forbid anyone from entering this beach!”
That was the line. The exact semantic trigger that instantly lit the match inside my brain. What is this guy even saying? Where does he think he is? Why are they attacking my safe haven — the gathering I had created out of absolutely nothing to add a sliver of love, passion, and creativity into this absurd world we live in? Not just back at Dockweiler in L.A, but tailored specifically to the Dahab community here— in my very own country of birth? What a bloody thank you.
 |
| Full Lunacy Dahab with few known allies in Lagoona during the experimental period, December 2023 |
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Chapter 4: The Sovereign Contribution
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You see, here in this small Bohemian enclave of Sinai, there isn’t much happening on a massive social scale. With several thousand residents overall, that slow pace is part of Dahab’s ultimate charm. Occasional, free community gatherings like these ought to be encouraged — especially by long-time expats who, by definition, should enjoy adding some sparkle and magic to the coastal city they call home. That was another core philosophy I kept in mind ever since launching Full Lunacy Dahab.
I may have never worded it like that before, because I never previously had to explain nor defend myself regarding what I do or why I do it. But yes, this is how you add something positive and substantial to one’s community. Gathering people together to share a few musical hours under the full moon is one of my personal contributions to humanity; writing is the other. My deep sense of hospitality was heavily influenced by living inside hotels for 20 years, then working within their management for seven. And truly, these days more than ever, humanity needs to unite in order to remember our core similarities rather than our petty differences; to remember where we came from and reflect on where we are heading.
============================================
You see, here in this small Bohemian enclave of Sinai, there isn’t much happening on a massive social scale. With several thousand residents overall, that slow pace is part of Dahab’s ultimate charm. Occasional, free community gatherings like these ought to be encouraged — especially by long-time expats who, by definition, should enjoy adding some sparkle and magic to the coastal city they call home. That was another core philosophy I kept in mind ever since launching Full Lunacy Dahab.
I may have never worded it like that before, because I never previously had to explain nor defend myself regarding what I do or why I do it. But yes, this is how you add something positive and substantial to one’s community. Gathering people together to share a few musical hours under the full moon is one of my personal contributions to humanity; writing is the other. My deep sense of hospitality was heavily influenced by living inside hotels for 20 years, then working within their management for seven. And truly, these days more than ever, humanity needs to unite in order to remember our core similarities rather than our petty differences; to remember where we came from and reflect on where we are heading.
 |
| Cosy night, May 2024 |
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Chapter 5: The Twelve-Year Roar
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“People fail to understand that they are indebted to violence
for the degree of peace that they enjoy.”
— René Girard
Poetic words aside, the man kept up his fit of unreasonable, incoherent anger. By then, it was glaringly apparent that his rage originated from something much deeper going on within the couple’s personal life than a mere fire pit, remnants of flying smoke, or a grown man shooting a football with a 9-year-old on the sand. We can safely call it textbook Misplaced Anger.
Him and her kept pushing and pushing. It was as if they were begging for my contribution to the drama in any way, shape, or form. Like almost all worked-up, overly emotional people, they desperately needed to be engaged to feel relevant and listened to. Eufff.
But it was that specific, arrogant threat — the absurd fantasy of a foreigner erecting a wall to banish locals from a public Egyptian beach — that kept echoing in my skull. It was the ultimate, intolerable disrespect to the sacred boundary of the circle, the kids, and the land.
And that, my friends, was the exact millisecond I flipity flipped. Ka-Booooiiiinnnngggg. Ka-Paaaawwww. Ka-Chiiiinnnnkkkk. Ka-hoooottttt?
A completely different, tectonic energy took over my body, and I started frantically screaming from the absolute top of my lungs:
“ARE YOU GOING TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO… IN MY OWN FUCKIN’ COUNTRY? ARE YOU CRAZY?! ARE YOU FUCKIN’ CRAZY?! IF YOU HAVE A PROBLEM, YOU COME TALK TO ME LIKE A MAN! AND YOU DO IT. WITH. FUCKIN’. RESPECT!”
All in CAPS, because it was uttered with the exact same raw intensity as Jack Nicholson’s iconic “You can’t handle the truth!” — complete with a fierce, unwavering finger-pointing gesture cutting through the moonlight to accompany the final sentence.
The German man looked thoroughly startled by the sudden heat of my rage. The sheer loudness and crushing intensity of my voice shook him to his core. He was completely taken by surprise. It appeared clear that no Egyptian had spoken to him like that in decades.
The man, however, wasn’t the only surprised one; it was probably the same to everyone who happened to be in the vicinity during the temporary combustion, including the two boys who had perhaps never even imagined that I’ve got IT within me. After all, you don’t expect this from a peaceful-looking hippy-dippy bearded long-haired dude — with accent nails — living full-time in Dahab; let alone at or after a Full Moon Drum Circle. You really don’t.
Now, amid my own shouting, my mind registered the swift, stark, unanticipated fear in the man’s eyes. His tall, imposing stature seemed to literally shrink in front of me. He took a panicked step backward, attempting to hide his body behind a parked car.
“Are you going to attack me now?” he fearfully asked. His shaken, trembling tone glaringly contradicted the loud, brash shouting he had been directing at the neighbour’s gate just minutes prior. It was Psychological Projection at its finest.
To be honest, I can be quite intimidating when I flip — scary even, as told by the very few who have ever witnessed my fury. The physical appearance or look in general don’t exactly offer reassurance to an adversary. You see, if a man in a hat screams at you at the top of his lungs, it means one of two things: either he’s ridiculous and shouldn’t be taken seriously, or he is a walking hazard representing potential danger who should be taken very seriously. There seems to be no middle ground with Mad Hatters. Think about it. Now, add a fluorescent glow stick sticking out of my hat, reflecting the illuminated full moonlight, and you’ve got a madman on the loose.
The frail sight of this grey-haired man, who was visually a bit younger than my recently departed father, acted as one of the primary anchors that brought me back to Planet Earth. Ground Control kicked back in, and I managed to respond in a slightly calmer, controlled voice:
“Uhm, it’s you and your wife who just attacked my peaceful drum circle. What is that about?!”
Avoiding any direct answer, he pointed a finger at the two young keeper boys standing nearby, speaking with a certain unmistakable classist disdain.
“I’ve been here for decades,” he tearfully said, his eyes welling up. “And Dahab is not how it used to be… since these people moved in.”
Realising his deeply shaken state of mind and seeing his watery eyes compelled me to calm myself down even further.
“Yeah well, everything is changing,” I replied. “Welcome to the world.”
— ☙ ❊ ❧ —
Standing there on the sand as the heat of the confrontation began to settle, my mind immediately pivoted inward to dissect the sheer anatomy of the eruption.
It was a brief blackout instant that led to acting on pure, unadulterated impulse. The primal man inside my head “raised the blade” — luckily for everyone involved — for only about 45 seconds. And that was it. That was all it took. The very same inner man then instantly “rearranged me till I was sane”. It was an incredibly swift polar transfiguration: In and out, black and white, almost absolute fury to almost absolute precision. You can have a sweet, sharp tongue and nimble, sensitive drumming fingers, yet still have fangs. In this life, you kind of ought to.
It is of importance to note that when I say “blackout,” I still consciously as well as subconsciously trust my baseline conditioning; I knew I wouldn’t get physical or hurt the man. That is a crucial nuance to add. Because yes, I allowed myself to “black out,” but I subliminally and intuitively permitted myself to get to that edge. It’s not like I had no choice; rather, the decision was taken without overthinking, though a split-second calculus absolutely occurred before the roar. There must have been.
While throughout all these past twelve years my conscious, daily decision has been to never engage the human circus or participate in its low-vibration drama, then and there, the boiling point had been breached. It seemed the circus desperately needed to be reminded of who the bigger clown was.
But hey, as it turned out: There is a limit to my patience; to what this assumed Zen-head could take or acquiesce to. I am not one to use the term “I’m only human,” because it’s regular use is reductive and diminishing. But I am a full, integrated human who is no saint. And if I’ll flip once every 12 years, then statistically speaking that’s actually a pretty satisfactory thing — for the world but also for myself. Given of course this flipping never goes out of my complete control as to hurt someone or myself.
So The Path of the Razor’s Edge is still a fine line, which many end up crossing during heated moments like these. Then it would be too late. Controlled demolition is what we could call it.
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| Google Maps, Baby! |
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Chapter 6: The Underground Rave
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“I’d rather be whole than good.”
— Carl Jung
— Carl Jung
I was later told by people close to me that these heated, explosive fights are actually normal weekly or monthly interactions for many people in the modern world. Fights with spouses, boyfriends, girlfriends, siblings, parents, corporate bosses, and aggressive commuters — that intense level of anger is no stranger to the society we inhabit. Living in a violent, emotionally reactive world that kills each other over resources and national identity is the undeniable truth; we cannot sugarcoat this grim reality anymore.
When those around me confessed to going to that dark place far more often than they should, it forced me to truly appreciate my own trajectory. It had been more than a full decade of conscious existence during which I never felt the need to explode in such a manner. I mean, what for? Why care so much about other people’s broken opinions or unstable actions? And even if you do care, screaming is never the path. If you take the low road for a temporary thrill, you usually end up stranded in a dark underground parking lot or a freakin’ ditch.
Anger, in its standard form, is childish. It is a disempowering weakness. You must rise above it. Transcend the bullshit. Or better yet: Inhale the good shit: Exhale the bullshit. That is exactly how I had been perceiving human conflict throughout this mature chapter of my life.
But is anger always a weakness, really? Are there absolutely no benefits to reaching your ultimate threshold and saying enough? To refusing to back down, standing your ground, setting hard boundaries, and defending that which you have poured your heart and soul into?
I think there absolutely are. What is deemed worthy of defending remains a variable that differs intensely from one human being to another. Also reality is not so black and white.
What occurred on the beach that night could be classified as a “healthy level of anger”. Or so it was concluded upon contemplation over a few days. It is an anger characterised by expressing it assertively, respectfully to the core principles of space, and appropriately to the threat without causing physical harm to oneself or others. Anger, believe it or not, is not a negative emotion in any absolute sense, despite how society at large and “spiritual communities” in particular try to demonise it. It is a natural human emotion that, when channelled and expressed with precision, can be incredibly healthy. It shouldn’t be suppressed — certainly not for too long. If you completely deny your anger, it simply mutates into ugly passive aggression, rendering one meek, mushy, and certainly inauthentic.
That is what Spiritual Bypassing is about. In Dahab, and L.A before it, you come across this an emotionally immature scene drowning in toxic meekness and toxic positivity. They force themselves to smile, turn the cheek, and swallow insults because they are terrified of breaking their fragile, manufactured “enlightened” avatar, yet another mask. “Good vibes only!”
The Core Truth: That isn’t enlightenment; it’s cowardice masquerading as peace, a mere shallow facade. It is a castrated spirituality that refuses to face the shadow. When you deny your darkness, anger included, it doesn’t vanish — it just mutters under its breath and turns into passive-aggressive rot. You see, when people are unconscious of their own dark sides, they tend to project the darkness outward into others and condemn evil in them; they transmute their inner pain and self dislike into outward aggression. This is the basis of Psychological Projection.
As Carl Jung once again explained, when inner darkness is not confronted, people remain controlled by their own demons rather than the other way round. For they don’t see things as they are, but as they themselves are.
Beyond the actual storytelling, this is precisely why I chose to share this piece. To show that being true to yourself, being whole, does not equal being “perfect” — whatever that actually means in our human world.
— ☙ ❊ ❧ —
Life is very much like a drum circle; those who drum,
those who dance to the beat of the drum, and the audience who watches them both.
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Chapter 7: The Sent Servant and the Law
============================================
Returning to the immediate reality of that fateful night, the echoes of my roar still hung in the salt air as I stood on the shore, watching the dust settle.
I was actively trying to find a logical link between whatever personal crisis he was going through and my drum circle, but there still wasn’t one. That night, the man was having a profound emotional breakdown, likely involving his wife as well, and their misplaced anger — which was actually active sadness — came pouring out on us; at the drum circle rather than myself in particular. The intense energy of the full moon, perhaps combined with the primal nature of the fire and the drumming, stirs human passions in entirely volatile ways. But truly, I could not not feel a pang of empathy for a grown man tearing up in front of me in such a state.
Yet again, I pushed for clarity: “What exactly is the problem with the drum circle? It has been going on right here since 2022, and I live right here.”
There was never a clear answer, only ridiculous nonsense: “The smoke from the fire was coming into our bedroom window… when the wind changed directions, uhhh…”
Whaaa?! The fire pit was situated far away from their gated residence, completely on the other side of the Boardwalk.
By the time my roaring fit had subsided, a small crowd of Egyptian guys had gathered around for support. They explicitly stated what I already knew to be true: “Keep staying right where you are, Omar. You are doing nothing wrong on a public beach. The beach doesn’t belong to anyone — certainly not a screaming foreigner.”
One of the men in the small crowd, Ramy, was the one who had filmed the woman stomping on the fire. The unstable couple apparently perceived his filming as an attack, claiming he had chased her to her residence. I was standing right there; he did not. More projection.
When I went back to the fire pit to drum a bit by myself in an attempt to regain some of the lost full moon magic, an Egyptian guy in his early 30s approached me, suggesting I stop drumming. I had no clue who he was. When I decided to keep playing, he tried to sleazily assert authority: “Enough for the night ( بقي ), pack it up.”
At some point, I decided I had had enough of the circus. I walked over to the German man, extended my hand to shake his, and chose to end the standoff right there. But I made sure to leave him with a firm reality check: “I am not going anywhere.”
We shook hands, and I again said with a slightly sarcastic, “See you next month.” Ha. We did, however, agree that I would move the circle a few meters back to the right for future gatherings so as not to be directly facing his windows — which was actually much cooler, as it got us away from that annoying lamppost. Peace.
I do not need to keep repeating that the absolute last thing I am looking to do is disturb a neighbourhood’s peace with a simple drum circle. Truly. This is Dahab.
When I finally put the fire out after that incredibly eventful evening, I remained on the sand for another 10 to 15 minutes just to meditate while staring into the full moon. It was a conscious attempt to return to Zen land, but that ship had sailed a long time ago. While I had regained my external calm and composure right by the end of those 45 seconds, the chemicals inside my brain and entire body were throwing a massive underground rave.
Man, the flood gates were of Biblical proportions. Imagine not having an emotional orgasm for 12 straight years, and then finally one random day — KABOOOM.
In some twisted way, my system seemed to have missed the chaos, or perhaps it was celebrating the final, necessary release of 4,383 days of tightly guarded peace; 4,383 days of consciously choosing Peace over bullshit and drama and quarrels, even or especially when provoked, until it becomes somewhat of a second nature. I was choleric, dyspeptic, splenetic, and apoplectic all at once. The wrath of the drum gods was unleashed upon the disbelievers in the form of a swirling, twirling tempest that had been brewing for over a decade.
Chapter 7: The Sent Servant and the Law
============================================
Returning to the immediate reality of that fateful night, the echoes of my roar still hung in the salt air as I stood on the shore, watching the dust settle.
I was actively trying to find a logical link between whatever personal crisis he was going through and my drum circle, but there still wasn’t one. That night, the man was having a profound emotional breakdown, likely involving his wife as well, and their misplaced anger — which was actually active sadness — came pouring out on us; at the drum circle rather than myself in particular. The intense energy of the full moon, perhaps combined with the primal nature of the fire and the drumming, stirs human passions in entirely volatile ways. But truly, I could not not feel a pang of empathy for a grown man tearing up in front of me in such a state.
Yet again, I pushed for clarity: “What exactly is the problem with the drum circle? It has been going on right here since 2022, and I live right here.”
There was never a clear answer, only ridiculous nonsense: “The smoke from the fire was coming into our bedroom window… when the wind changed directions, uhhh…”
Whaaa?! The fire pit was situated far away from their gated residence, completely on the other side of the Boardwalk.
By the time my roaring fit had subsided, a small crowd of Egyptian guys had gathered around for support. They explicitly stated what I already knew to be true: “Keep staying right where you are, Omar. You are doing nothing wrong on a public beach. The beach doesn’t belong to anyone — certainly not a screaming foreigner.”
One of the men in the small crowd, Ramy, was the one who had filmed the woman stomping on the fire. The unstable couple apparently perceived his filming as an attack, claiming he had chased her to her residence. I was standing right there; he did not. More projection.
When I went back to the fire pit to drum a bit by myself in an attempt to regain some of the lost full moon magic, an Egyptian guy in his early 30s approached me, suggesting I stop drumming. I had no clue who he was. When I decided to keep playing, he tried to sleazily assert authority: “Enough for the night ( بقي ), pack it up.”
Wait a second — who are you to tell me what to do? When I realised he actually worked for the German man, likely as his private driver, he took a swift piece of my mind too: “As an Egyptian in your own country, you should never be okay with a foreigner treating people from your own homeland with such blatant disrespect — whoever they may be. Shame on you.”
When this sent servant couldn’t convince me to leave, they called the cops. Ha. A sole policeman eventually came down to investigate. I introduced myself calmly and told him the entire story from A to Z. The intoxication of the German resident was undeniably obvious to the officer as well, so he left soon after when it was clear nothing illegal was happening.
At some point, I decided I had had enough of the circus. I walked over to the German man, extended my hand to shake his, and chose to end the standoff right there. But I made sure to leave him with a firm reality check: “I am not going anywhere.”
We shook hands, and I again said with a slightly sarcastic, “See you next month.” Ha. We did, however, agree that I would move the circle a few meters back to the right for future gatherings so as not to be directly facing his windows — which was actually much cooler, as it got us away from that annoying lamppost. Peace.
I do not need to keep repeating that the absolute last thing I am looking to do is disturb a neighbourhood’s peace with a simple drum circle. Truly. This is Dahab.
When I finally put the fire out after that incredibly eventful evening, I remained on the sand for another 10 to 15 minutes just to meditate while staring into the full moon. It was a conscious attempt to return to Zen land, but that ship had sailed a long time ago. While I had regained my external calm and composure right by the end of those 45 seconds, the chemicals inside my brain and entire body were throwing a massive underground rave.
Man, the flood gates were of Biblical proportions. Imagine not having an emotional orgasm for 12 straight years, and then finally one random day — KABOOOM.
In some twisted way, my system seemed to have missed the chaos, or perhaps it was celebrating the final, necessary release of 4,383 days of tightly guarded peace; 4,383 days of consciously choosing Peace over bullshit and drama and quarrels, even or especially when provoked, until it becomes somewhat of a second nature. I was choleric, dyspeptic, splenetic, and apoplectic all at once. The wrath of the drum gods was unleashed upon the disbelievers in the form of a swirling, twirling tempest that had been brewing for over a decade.
 |
| Illuminating the Fire of the Soul for Full Lunacy, February 2026 |
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Chapter 8: The Psychology of the Mad Hatter
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Chapter 8: The Psychology of the Mad Hatter
============================================
“I sat with my anger long enough until she told me her real name was grief.”
— C.S. Lewis
— C.S. Lewis
The Metamorphosis: Why We Write
So why am I sharing an 10,500-word piece about a 45-second outburst of anger... years after the fact? Well, my friends, because it is a rather monumental, earth-shattering happening for this assumed Zen-head. This is a personal chronicle detailing the exact story, the immediate raw aftermath, and the retrospective reflections from where I stand today.
But most importantly, this text exists to expose what it truly means to be a whole, integrated individual. It is a direct confrontation with the serious, widespread sickness of Spiritual Bypassing — an emotional immaturity that saturates nomadic hubs like Venice Beach before, and Dahab today. And Bali of course.
The “spiritual communities” and today’s “healing Industry” that surround us are often meek, fragile, and all-accepting. They swallow disrespect and muzzle their own instincts just to look agreeable and “enlightened”; or to sell you something. That isn’t enlightenment; it’s a castrated consciousness terrified of its own shadow.
This confrontation was a raw demonstration of Healthy Anger and a refusal to absorb text-book Psychological Projection. True wholeness is a Coincidentia Oppositorum — the Unity of Opposites. It is knowing how to communicate with ants and save drunk fruit flies, while keeping your teeth sharp enough to defend the sacred space you put your heart and soul into: Meraki.
Here was the psychological unravelling of the day the volcano finally blew.
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| Planting seeds: Abanoub and his even younger brother in June 2024, a couple of months following our action here. |
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Chapter 9: Reflections: Replaying the Tape
============================================
This introspection commenced once home that night and carried on for at least a week. It wasn’t out of the system — the psyche — until I’ve handwritten few pages recounting the events before some of the sensory details evaporate. I already knew that this psychological explosion would translate into powerful new material to explore and write about.
Sitting home at 10:00 PM, still buzzing. I began to replay the final portion of the night. How did you let yourself go like that? Did you overreact? Could it in any way be your fault? [NO]. Perhaps most importantly: What exactly triggered the outburst after 12 long years of unbroken Zen? Inquiries, inquiries. Time for some deep pondering.
Because it was a full moon night, it was naturally followed by my usual life-affirming ritual: Going out to the beach at dawn to watch the sunrise, meditate, do some light stretching, and commune with the canine pack. While sitting there facing the Sea, I replayed the scenario one more time.
In one way, there was a minor sliver of shame, knowing that I had allowed an external person to push me to that volatile boiling point. You know, I was never an angry child or an aggressive individual to begin with; in fact, I am generally a pretty jolly, chilled, and easygoing guy—or so they say.
In another way, I was furious because I had been attacked at the heart of my most passionate creative movement — a gathering I built from nothing to connect human beings to one another and to Mother Nature. Asking for absolutely nothing in return, this free circle is a noble endeavour, one that I hope will live on long after my physical departure towards Major Tom.
The confrontation instantly took me back in time to my younger self, reminding me of the rare verbal and physical altercations I took part in across my life map. Starting with school yard brawls, then the “Rambo Knife” incident at 18, and the far more serious “Beast Mode” era at 20.
Later in life, as I learned to master self-control, the confrontations became far more benign — like dealing with a provoking junkie in a Toronto Jail at 33, and a few years later in L.A, as documented in my piece, The Bloke Who Thought I’m Too Much of an Alpha Male.
Beside North America, there is also the story of Retrieving a Phone From a Thug Who Stole It here in Egypt.
Yeah, I explicitly document these rare occurrences because, in essence, I am not a natural-born fighter. But when I find myself in a situation that strictly requires it, I will step into the ring without a second thought. As tolerant and forgiving as I may be, I am simply not the meek, turn-the-other-cheek kind of guy, and never will be. They also remain exceptionally unique storytelling material, so there’s also that.
The massive difference, however, is that in my youth I was merely reacting to other people’s anger and bullshit; I was playing their game. As I grew older, experience taught me that raw violence possesses purely destructive qualities and is rarely ever healthy. It ravages, destroys, and potentially leads to dangerous consequences. So whenever provoked or attacked nowadays, I no longer entertain aggressive thoughts as a first resort. Still, in any perilous situation, I trust completely that — mentally and physically — I will stand my ground firmly and fearlessly step up to the challenge.
The Rhyming Primordial Stardust
🌝🌛🌓🌜🌚
Can you reach the secret too soon?
Cry for the Moon?
A goon loon مچنون
Forever faltering and baltering to his own tune?
It is said, you must be chosen
To add your soul fire to the frozen
Hearts that bend, my friend
Are ones that tend to mend
Ascend — to the Ultimate Ground of Being
Meaning is trivial, as looking is not seeing
The sun does not apologise for its vibrancy
Nor the wind for its gust
The moon does not feel guilty that its lunacy
Does not always appear perfectly full around the crust
Brother, forget the ‘should’ and the ‘must’
Do what thou wilt with love and self-trust
Stay true to thyself — shine on with beaming lust
Keep flowing and glowing like our ancestors: The Primordial Stardust.
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Chapter 10: The Smooth Operator's Protocol
============================================
By the time I entered this current chapter of my life, I was completely out of the toxic lifestyle and actively rediscovering my creative passions. I had chosen to ascend to a higher plane of consciousness. I wasn’t even driving a car anymore, nor did I have to deal with large volumes of humans on a regular basis. Even the violent action movies that were highly enjoyable to my teenage self became entirely hollow. Heck, the only movie I went to see in a theatre during those days was John Wick. It was October 2014 in L.A when I ended up walking out 20 minutes before the end, which eventually inspired my humorous, John Wicky — Absurd Review of the Icky Sticky.
One of the ultimate secrets to lifelong peace is to observe yourself. Most of the time, I don’t take a provoker or an attacker seriously. I will simply smile back or disregard them altogether, refusing to offer a response. Life is simply too short for fighting.
If I choose to mindfully respond to conflict, it is always done calmly, often with a light smile in an effort to completely diffuse and disarm them. A subtle, sarcastic response may or may not be included. This was exactly how I handled the women who previously came all the way down to the beach to complain about my sole drumming; or the other one in Zamalek who called the cops on me on her third complaint in one year.
[HINT: IT WAS ONE OF THE MAIN REASONS I KNEW I AM NEITHER BUILT FOR CITY LIVING NOR CAIRO. AND INDEED, I LEFT TOWARDS COMPLETE SOLITUDE IN SOKHNA FOR TWO AND A HALF YEARS BEFORE MISSING PEOPLE AND MOVING TO DAHAB]
You see, this sort of non-reaction is utterly frustrating for someone throwing a tantrum; they desperately want you to engage with their low-vibration neural network and match it with similar intensity. When you refuse to engage, they have nothing left to do but stop the whiny charade. Pacification is the art of calming a worked-up person through absolute stillness.
If I choose to mindfully respond to conflict, it is always done calmly, often with a light smile in an effort to completely diffuse and disarm them. A subtle, sarcastic response may or may not be included. This was exactly how I handled the women who previously came all the way down to the beach to complain about my drumming. This sort of non-reaction is utterly frustrating for someone throwing a tantrum; they desperately want you to engage with their low-vibration neural network and match it with similar intensity. When you refuse to engage, they have nothing left to do but stop the whiny charade. Pacification is the art of calming a worked-up person through absolute stillness.
It is highly useful to remember the fitting OLS Reflection: Always smile; it will either confuse people or make them think you’re up to something.
Chapter 10: The Smooth Operator's Protocol
============================================
By the time I entered this current chapter of my life, I was completely out of the toxic lifestyle and actively rediscovering my creative passions. I had chosen to ascend to a higher plane of consciousness. I wasn’t even driving a car anymore, nor did I have to deal with large volumes of humans on a regular basis. Even the violent action movies that were highly enjoyable to my teenage self became entirely hollow. Heck, the only movie I went to see in a theatre during those days was John Wick. It was October 2014 in L.A when I ended up walking out 20 minutes before the end, which eventually inspired my humorous, John Wicky — Absurd Review of the Icky Sticky.
One of the ultimate secrets to lifelong peace is to observe yourself. Most of the time, I don’t take a provoker or an attacker seriously. I will simply smile back or disregard them altogether, refusing to offer a response. Life is simply too short for fighting.
If I choose to mindfully respond to conflict, it is always done calmly, often with a light smile in an effort to completely diffuse and disarm them. A subtle, sarcastic response may or may not be included. This was exactly how I handled the women who previously came all the way down to the beach to complain about my sole drumming; or the other one in Zamalek who called the cops on me on her third complaint in one year.
[HINT: IT WAS ONE OF THE MAIN REASONS I KNEW I AM NEITHER BUILT FOR CITY LIVING NOR CAIRO. AND INDEED, I LEFT TOWARDS COMPLETE SOLITUDE IN SOKHNA FOR TWO AND A HALF YEARS BEFORE MISSING PEOPLE AND MOVING TO DAHAB]
You see, this sort of non-reaction is utterly frustrating for someone throwing a tantrum; they desperately want you to engage with their low-vibration neural network and match it with similar intensity. When you refuse to engage, they have nothing left to do but stop the whiny charade. Pacification is the art of calming a worked-up person through absolute stillness.
If I choose to mindfully respond to conflict, it is always done calmly, often with a light smile in an effort to completely diffuse and disarm them. A subtle, sarcastic response may or may not be included. This was exactly how I handled the women who previously came all the way down to the beach to complain about my drumming. This sort of non-reaction is utterly frustrating for someone throwing a tantrum; they desperately want you to engage with their low-vibration neural network and match it with similar intensity. When you refuse to engage, they have nothing left to do but stop the whiny charade. Pacification is the art of calming a worked-up person through absolute stillness.
It is highly useful to remember the fitting OLS Reflection: Always smile; it will either confuse people or make them think you’re up to something.
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| The Fifth year of Full Lunacy Drum Circle Dahab — February 2026 |
The level beyond that is an actual minor physical altercation, like the shove from “Alpha Male Bloke”. Despite being an absolute rarity in my adult life, I still learned to remain mindful and control my physical reflexes. That was a massive evolution, because when things used to get physical in my youth, my body tended to react as a pure motor reflex before the mind could even process the event. Dangerous, possibly reckless.
The truth is simple: If you can control your own reactions and impulses, absolutely nothing in this world can control you. That is a universal law. But when someone goes entirely, unreasonably batshit loco on my drum circle and persists in their aggression, it might very well be the precise time for a volcanic eruption — as it occurred here.
Whenever we begin looking at angry people as immature children who cannot control their tempers, it becomes almost impossible to get genuinely mad at them. For this very awareness of the nature of their anger tends to act as a shield, protecting us from being dragged into their internal storm. Essentially, many people are just deeply angry at themselves. Their fight is not really with the outside world; it is raging entirely within them. That is all.
It actually took me years to realise that the hysterical fits and outbursts of anger that some people close to me would occasionally get into were mere involuntary cries for help, masked as aggressive emotional expressions. If we are not able to respond with love and act as the bigger person by taking the road, assuming the observer position offers quite an amusing spectacle.
Sage words, right? They took a long time to be realised, and even more time to put into words. Up until this specific story, I had seemingly mastered the art of avoiding confrontations and absorbing other people’s emotional toxicity. Even in my past life, in fact, I was so highly skilled at disarming and pacifying people that it was my literal job for several years as an Assistant Manager in 5-star luxury hotels. They would call me to the floor specifically when things went wrong with highly irate guests. I would handle the corporate crises calmly and with a certain surgical precision. With them, I had become a definitive “smooth operator” — as an ex famously used to call me. So by now this hospitality conditioning has indeed become second nature.
But as you have seen, this human being — any human being — has a definitive breaking limit. There is a Michael Douglas from the movie Falling Down living inside each and every one of us inhabiting the “civilised world,” just awaiting the perfect environmental conditions to emerge. Never forget what the frantic pace of modern life can do to a person psychologically, emotionally, and spiritually. Luckily for everyone, we have no shotguns lying around here in Dahab.
The culmination of triggers in effect on that full moon night enticed a primal, ancient part of my soul to roar ENOUGH! It wasn’t directed solely towards the German man and wife, but towards the modern world as a whole, and the booze-drinking older generations in particular, still trying to tell me what to do or not do as an adult in his 40s — expressed in a deeply symbolic way.
The clarity came to me starting at that next sunrise by the beach and kept me company over the following four or six days. It took time to fully process the happening and to understand myself even better. I actually thoroughly enjoyed the rumination until I scribbled down the first raw draft of this piece. Then, and only then, was it time to let it go. When you allow suppression to become healthy expression, the dark cloud tends to instantly dissipate.
 |
| Lit night — showing the open gate and the residents behind enjoying the view, November 2025 |
============================================
Chapter 11: Happy Ending
============================================
You can actually tell how completely I had let the incident go by the fact that it took a whole two years for this text to see the light of day. This storyteller didn’t even share it on Facebook at the time, as he usually tends to do regarding uniquely and dramatically captivating life tales. But here is the story, finally coming along beautifully alongside some further corresponding reflections.
Because it was initially “unpublished,” I was of course itching to tell the tale to a few close friends and acquaintances around Dahab. I am a storyteller after all. And I did. One of them was Ed, the Nordic guy I played chess with at Kakao Cafe. Thinking that I’m worked up, after hearing the epic play out he tried to help me out or “console” me by saying, “Oh, just let it go, man.”
I looked at him amusingly and explained that I eventually would, but for now, this was easily one of the highlights of my decade — and I must marvel on it until it takes its proper time exiting my system.
In one way, it’s healthy to communicate such dramatic events in order to be able to process them; to understand the self along with its triggers and impulses. To me, the key lies in the verbalisation. Once the thoughts have been organised in a fairly coherent fashion, the vision and perspective become much clearer, inspiring novel insights. That’s how writing is a therapeutic activity before anything else.
Another reason for not publicising the event at the time is that I wouldn’t want to go around town sharing the happening or bad-mouthing the couple. Just let it be. But as a wacky story and its repercussions, it ought to see the light, and it did.
A few days later I passed by the family to talk some more about what had happened. He explained how this couple in particular, out of the other residents of the other two mansions next-door, are tough to deal with.
He also mentioned how his own employer totally ignored the man who came banging at his door mid the commotion on the full moon. “Not my issue, and I will not fire this family because their children drum or play soccer for a bit.” This was a much more rational attitude, welcoming the drum circle taking place in front of his own middle residence.
It was a lesson to the kids to not be so kind and forgiving that you allow others to disrespect you. You have every right to run on the beach, join the circle, and play football. “If you allow it, you wil spend your entire life having people walk all over you,” I told Abanoub as we sat there by the fire a few months later. This is how we truly empower the younger generations — through leading by example. They knew well that if it took me, out of all people, to erupt in such a way, then it must be something worthy. And it is.
============================================
You can actually tell how completely I had let the incident go by the fact that it took a whole two years for this text to see the light of day. This storyteller didn’t even share it on Facebook at the time, as he usually tends to do regarding uniquely and dramatically captivating life tales. But here is the story, finally coming along beautifully alongside some further corresponding reflections.
Because it was initially “unpublished,” I was of course itching to tell the tale to a few close friends and acquaintances around Dahab. I am a storyteller after all. And I did. One of them was Ed, the Nordic guy I played chess with at Kakao Cafe. Thinking that I’m worked up, after hearing the epic play out he tried to help me out or “console” me by saying, “Oh, just let it go, man.”
I looked at him amusingly and explained that I eventually would, but for now, this was easily one of the highlights of my decade — and I must marvel on it until it takes its proper time exiting my system.
In one way, it’s healthy to communicate such dramatic events in order to be able to process them; to understand the self along with its triggers and impulses. To me, the key lies in the verbalisation. Once the thoughts have been organised in a fairly coherent fashion, the vision and perspective become much clearer, inspiring novel insights. That’s how writing is a therapeutic activity before anything else.
Another reason for not publicising the event at the time is that I wouldn’t want to go around town sharing the happening or bad-mouthing the couple. Just let it be. But as a wacky story and its repercussions, it ought to see the light, and it did.
A few days later I passed by the family to talk some more about what had happened. He explained how this couple in particular, out of the other residents of the other two mansions next-door, are tough to deal with.
He also mentioned how his own employer totally ignored the man who came banging at his door mid the commotion on the full moon. “Not my issue, and I will not fire this family because their children drum or play soccer for a bit.” This was a much more rational attitude, welcoming the drum circle taking place in front of his own middle residence.
It was a lesson to the kids to not be so kind and forgiving that you allow others to disrespect you. You have every right to run on the beach, join the circle, and play football. “If you allow it, you wil spend your entire life having people walk all over you,” I told Abanoub as we sat there by the fire a few months later. This is how we truly empower the younger generations — through leading by example. They knew well that if it took me, out of all people, to erupt in such a way, then it must be something worthy. And it is.
 |
| Another angle of the Magick, November 2025 |
============================================
Chapter 12: The Golden Reconciliation
============================================
Then came the following May’s Full Lunacy. When I went to the beach an hour earlier to clear the area and place the firewood, the wife of the third residence on the right approached me with some cuttings of a tree to use for the fire. Oh, thank you! How kind.
I felt compelled to then and there tell her about last month’s commotion and how I hope our circle will not disturb them. I even invited her. In broken German-English, she confirmed they are fine with the circle and that sometimes they watch it from the comfort of their own balcony. Ever since, I often go on the full moon to find tree cuttings left by their gate for us to use. Noice, what kindness. Now this is the sense of community that I was expecting.
A year and a half has passed with monthly Full Lunacy taking place in the same location and without any sort of resistance by anyone. In fact, being in its fourth year of existence, the gathering has become a constant among other events and happenings in Dahab — most of which require a certain fee or donation. It is the only full moon drum circle though, or drum circle in general. The rest are jams, open mics, and ceremonies.
The first Full Lunacy following the summer break of 2025, yet another welcome was added. Again, while clearing the beach, choosing the spot, and placing the firewood, I could see the gate of the middle residence open where three men — including the owners — were sitting. Seen in the photo below as well as in the video, these are the cool German employers of the Christian family who were sitting right there when I first arrived on the night of the altercation.
After returning the car, showering, and coming back on the bike to start the night, I could see the gate still open with two or three men enjoying a drink and the view. This time, however, I did not move further to the left. But the decent thing to do was to head towards them to invite them to our circle and to say a “Happy Full Moon”. It was as if to get their blessing or whatever, which seemed to have been given.
The caretaking father was also standing right there. And again, out of decency, I asked him where the best spot to start the fire was. As he had been suggesting since last year’s conundrum, and after consulting the owners, he pointed to a spot on the beach right in front of their residence. Great. Now they will get the best view of the circle.
As people kept coming, every once in a while I would see one of the owners or their friends getting up from their spectator chairs to take pictures or videos. They even remained there up until 10:30 perhaps.
Both Roufaeil and Abanoub also joined us at some point — with the ten-year-old younger brother being fond of drumming and possessing an uncorrupted musical ear. No attacks this time. And they keep joining until today.
I guess after five years in Dahab and a full decade in Dockweiler in L.A, more people realised that Full Lunacy will take place on the full moon. And as heard from someone who heard people talking about the gathering, they say it has become one of the constants, enjoyed by numerous residents and visitors alike.
It was likewise heard that the guy who hosts the event — moi — will have it anyway no matter who’s coming or not. No confirmation or RSVP needed. Mint: They finally got that no one is waiting for anything in return, and that I will light the fire and start drumming alone anyway. For I do this mainly for myself. And we gather together because we intrinsically enjoy bonding over a common passion, even for a few hours every month. It seems the end was a happy one.
============================================
Chapter 12: The Golden Reconciliation
============================================
Then came the following May’s Full Lunacy. When I went to the beach an hour earlier to clear the area and place the firewood, the wife of the third residence on the right approached me with some cuttings of a tree to use for the fire. Oh, thank you! How kind.
I felt compelled to then and there tell her about last month’s commotion and how I hope our circle will not disturb them. I even invited her. In broken German-English, she confirmed they are fine with the circle and that sometimes they watch it from the comfort of their own balcony. Ever since, I often go on the full moon to find tree cuttings left by their gate for us to use. Noice, what kindness. Now this is the sense of community that I was expecting.
A year and a half has passed with monthly Full Lunacy taking place in the same location and without any sort of resistance by anyone. In fact, being in its fourth year of existence, the gathering has become a constant among other events and happenings in Dahab — most of which require a certain fee or donation. It is the only full moon drum circle though, or drum circle in general. The rest are jams, open mics, and ceremonies.
The first Full Lunacy following the summer break of 2025, yet another welcome was added. Again, while clearing the beach, choosing the spot, and placing the firewood, I could see the gate of the middle residence open where three men — including the owners — were sitting. Seen in the photo below as well as in the video, these are the cool German employers of the Christian family who were sitting right there when I first arrived on the night of the altercation.
After returning the car, showering, and coming back on the bike to start the night, I could see the gate still open with two or three men enjoying a drink and the view. This time, however, I did not move further to the left. But the decent thing to do was to head towards them to invite them to our circle and to say a “Happy Full Moon”. It was as if to get their blessing or whatever, which seemed to have been given.
The caretaking father was also standing right there. And again, out of decency, I asked him where the best spot to start the fire was. As he had been suggesting since last year’s conundrum, and after consulting the owners, he pointed to a spot on the beach right in front of their residence. Great. Now they will get the best view of the circle.
As people kept coming, every once in a while I would see one of the owners or their friends getting up from their spectator chairs to take pictures or videos. They even remained there up until 10:30 perhaps.
Both Roufaeil and Abanoub also joined us at some point — with the ten-year-old younger brother being fond of drumming and possessing an uncorrupted musical ear. No attacks this time. And they keep joining until today.
I guess after five years in Dahab and a full decade in Dockweiler in L.A, more people realised that Full Lunacy will take place on the full moon. And as heard from someone who heard people talking about the gathering, they say it has become one of the constants, enjoyed by numerous residents and visitors alike.
It was likewise heard that the guy who hosts the event — moi — will have it anyway no matter who’s coming or not. No confirmation or RSVP needed. Mint: They finally got that no one is waiting for anything in return, and that I will light the fire and start drumming alone anyway. For I do this mainly for myself. And we gather together because we intrinsically enjoy bonding over a common passion, even for a few hours every month. It seems the end was a happy one.
 |
| The numbers in winter can get smaller while the gatherings cosier, but not always — December 2025 |
============================================
Epilogue: The 2026 Evolution
============================================
A full year and a half of peace and musicality later, the cosmic cycle threw another challenge right back onto our shoreline grid. Another drunk man stumbled into Full Lunacy Dahab. He was told kindly and multiple times to move away from the fire, but he refused to respond. This time around, there was no 45-second blackout volcano. A swift, icy, single-sentence ejection was all it took to sever the cord. The very next day, I felt compelled to publish an open letter on Facebook to educate the growing wave of beachgoers who have never been exposed to legitimate, cross-continental drum circles. Some in Dahab genuinely assume it is an unmanaged, lawless party, or “jam”. It is not. I ended the broadcast with a direct link to my 2017 lifework guide, Drum Circle Etiquette — The Do’s and Don’ts, which I still actively expand as our global tribe grows. Also by re-sharing The [Full] Full Lunacy Drum Circle Story, including a dozen YouTube videos from 2017-2019 L.A, as a reminder of the origin story and of why we do what we do. Consider this the real-time evolution of our boundaries — originally published in February 2026:
Dear Drunk Person Who Comes Crashing at Full Lunacy,
While I am aware that the full moon stirs people’s passions and emotions, and that the warm sight of people gathered around the fire on the beach is inviting, drum circles in general are NOT a party.
Most are free and take place at public spaces, so even as a founder, host, organiser it is not for me to tell people what to do. A reason why non-alcoholic gatherings or vegan ones didn’t appeal to me back then. We’re all mature adults here who are first and foremost in it to have fun. But, Full Lunacy as a musical gathering is much more than mere fun or freedom. The true experience is more holistic than that, even spiritual one might say.
If you choose to drink alcohol at a drum circle, do it discretely and not right inside where people are drumming or dancing. In case there is a fire, the area between it and the drummers should always be kept clear, as they should be able to see each other and make eye contact — that’s ABC. Here on this ever-shrinking beach space, it is a challenging matter. So instead of showing off that full bottle in hands, be respectful to the sacredness of the circle, its space, and its musicians.
This time, a middle-aged European man was sitting near the fire drinking from a bottle while mumbling to himself. I let it be for a while until the space got more packed, when I gently told him to move away — explaining it’s a drum circle. A friend then also told him, yet he seemed pixilated and unresponsive.
Shortly after he passed out on his side right by the fire, later on his back with his dirty foot in the air facing the entire circle. Pff. Finally, I woke him up and had to say it sternly: “I told you 3 times already. Move to the side please. You’re disrespecting the circle, have some common decency.”
Blammwahwahwahahhh. “Get the fuck out of here, man!,” I snapped at him, calmly but firmly and only once — to the shock of some attendees, haa. Losing my bliss for an instant is rather unusual and seemingly weird for a drum circle, but as we have seen, sometimes you must do it to keep the circle together.
Few moments after he came to sit right behind me and decided to mumble back complaining. He wanted me to emotionally engage him in front of everyone. “I’m not here to argue with you” and left it at that. We then went back to playing.
I still felt kind bad for an adult foreigner so out of it. So I turned around and tried to shake his hands, telling him I have nothing against him personally or his imbibing, but it’s simply not the place. He refused to shake my hands — probably didn’t even pick up on my attempt to pacify the situation... with a stranger who happened to find himself at Full Lunacy. Fine. Back to play.
Another guy watching it all unfolds came to inquire. Apparently, some attendees didn’t know this was an actual drum circle or musical gathering, but thought maybe it was just some random Dahab people getting together on the beach, which explained why I had to step up to “manage” the situation. And this guy got it and even thank me. The other was too sloshed to grasp what was going on or that he was disturbing the mood.
At the very end, Full Lunacy is about peace, love, freedom, musicality, creativity, diversity, tolerance, inclusion. It is still natural that heated moments occur among repeated gatherings of humans on the full moon. With only a handful throughout ten years, that is more than an acceptable ratio. When however there are actual disruptions, I out of all people will always take a stand — assertively and to the point. Especially after all this time, I will passionately defend the circle if needs be.
So once again, visibly intoxicated person, some sensibility and respect ought to be kept in mind: to the circle, to everyone, and hopefully to your own self and dignity.
This would be a convenient place and time to remind ourselves that alcohol is one of the worst, most destructive drugs known to man. Primarily, because it is legal and readily available pretty much everywhere, hence normalised and glamourised. But let’s be real, it’s a shitty mind-numbing poison to choose. Mind you that’s coming from one unmedicated psychonaut.
Meh, people will do what they do anyway and it’s not for us to judge. Likely this archetype will keep reappearing again and again throughout the next 150 Full Lunacies and beyond — whether in Dahab, Dockweiler, or anywhere else for that matter.
To wrap my letter to you, dear one, consider the following words when stepping into the drum circle world and Full Lunacy in particular: Fun, holistic, creative, mad, transcendent, wild, healing, chaotic, therapeutic, community experience — all at once. Still not a party... nor a jam or ceremony.
Be cool. Don’t be a dickhead.
Cheers [Hic] 
*The article Drum Circle Etiquette — The Do’s and Don’ts [below] is where I did my best to convey the unwritten unworded guidelines of this captivating world through my own eyes.
— ☙ ❊ ❧ —
Only after a few Dahab gatherings did my precognitive dreams of Drumming by the Great Pyramids — while I was living in L.A and had no intention of returning back to Egypt — make sense. My subconscious was teaching me that full moon drum circles have become part of my life no matter the location. They also infused me with the vision needed to yet again start from scratch and build something worthy of defending with my heart and soul... and with my words.
[NOTE FOR THE TIMECAPSULE BELOW: Pay close attention to the 3:20 mark of the video history. The creativity gods completely co-authored this timeline through a bizarre, 7-minute accidental pocket-dial recording. Nobody knew my phone was filming from the darkness of my pocket, yet the Youniverse managed to capture the absolute raw essence of a live jam: the crowd clapping, my own signature elated “YEAHHHH,” and a young woman’s hearty laughter in the background: Authentic, unvarnished Lunacy, preserved by pure divine accident.]
The cherished baby worth defending
The
rare and unusual action aside, let us reaffirm that triggers are cues
to unresolved, often unconscious issues that we have to deal with, and
sometimes heal from. Rather than complain about external events we
usually cannot control, it’s more beneficial to look inside and wonder
why we allowed another person or situation to get such an explosive
charge out of us.
Rather than add gas to the fire by building upon it, most triggers are relatively trivial and can be overcome. Yet this is not to say we should take the unacceptable behaviours of others by turning the other cheek or by embracing the victim stance; nor by being an all-acceptable mushy individual who has no ability to keep basic boundaries and to say “No” or “Enough”. Every now and then, life actually demands from us to assert ourselves in one way or another. This interval varies greatly from one person to the next. Si vis pacem, para bellum (“If you want peace, prepare for war”).
This 45-second eruption wasn’t a regression into low-vibration drama; it was a necessary, integrated explosion of sacred boundaries. True strength isn’t about never having a sword; it’s about knowing exactly how to keep it sharp, keeping it sheathed for 4,383 days, and knowing precisely when to draw it to secure the perimeter.
If, or more likely when, it happens and one is set off as in our story here, the right thing to do would be to later investigate in order to learn, and hopefully in my case, to keep the peace for more than twelve years into the future this time. Choosing not to be led by emotion does not mean we’re cold or heartless; it means we’re wiser. And no one but yourself can get you angry. That’s your superpower. Unless someone overdoes it, then maybe they ought to get a piece of mind and tongue right back into their faces.
Rather than add gas to the fire by building upon it, most triggers are relatively trivial and can be overcome. Yet this is not to say we should take the unacceptable behaviours of others by turning the other cheek or by embracing the victim stance; nor by being an all-acceptable mushy individual who has no ability to keep basic boundaries and to say “No” or “Enough”. Every now and then, life actually demands from us to assert ourselves in one way or another. This interval varies greatly from one person to the next. Si vis pacem, para bellum (“If you want peace, prepare for war”).
This 45-second eruption wasn’t a regression into low-vibration drama; it was a necessary, integrated explosion of sacred boundaries. True strength isn’t about never having a sword; it’s about knowing exactly how to keep it sharp, keeping it sheathed for 4,383 days, and knowing precisely when to draw it to secure the perimeter.
If, or more likely when, it happens and one is set off as in our story here, the right thing to do would be to later investigate in order to learn, and hopefully in my case, to keep the peace for more than twelve years into the future this time. Choosing not to be led by emotion does not mean we’re cold or heartless; it means we’re wiser. And no one but yourself can get you angry. That’s your superpower. Unless someone overdoes it, then maybe they ought to get a piece of mind and tongue right back into their faces.
———————————————————————————————————————
 |
| Behind the seen and heard: The Six-Dog Energetic Parameter is where countless hours were spent editing, polishing, curating photos and videos for this immersive chronicle while surrounded by all the allies the Youniverse sends my way. |
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For the curious mind looking to map the coordinates of this madness, welcome to the Alchemical Archives. The entries below contain the foundational blueprints — the origins, the rhythm mechanics, and the raw psychonautic grit that birthed the trajectory of One Lucky Soul.
ALSO VIEW:
🥁 The Core Pillar: Drum Circles, Rhythms & Gatherings
• Drum Circle Etiquette — The Do’s and Don’ts
• How Drumming Changed The Way My Brain Processes Music
• The Intertwining of Music and Sexuality ― A Djembefola’s Tale
• Unshackled by the Red Sea — Free-Form Djembe Jam: The Lysergic Recordings [video]
• A Year at the Venice Beach Drum Circle in Photos & Videos (2014-’15)
• Another Year at the Venice Beach Drum Circle in Photos & Videos (2016-’17)
• One More Year at the Venice Beach Drum Circle in Photos & Videos (2017-’18)
• A Wacky Day Out at LA Burning Man Decompression in Photos & Video
🧠 The Psycho-Philosophical Grid: Shadow Work & Wholeness
• A Dialectic With Myself: Practical Yin Yang Approach to Coincidentia Oppositorum
• Theory of Mind: Thinking About Thinking and the Benefits of Observing the Observer
• The Intertwining of Genius and Insanity
• The Intertwining of Pain and Pleasure
• Who Are We?
• My Journey Towards Self-Transcendence
• First Existential Conversation With Meta AI
📚 The Craft: Storytelling Chronicles & Metamorphosis
• The Healing Powers of Storytelling: A Personal Experience
• For The Love Of Storytelling
• Connecting the Dots — a Storyteller Way of Seeing the Big Picture
• Early Memories Never Worded: The Subconscious Chronicles #1
• Early Memories Never Worded: The Subconscious Chronicles #2
• Tripping Through Venice Beach Art
• More Tripping Through Venice Beach Art
• Tripping Through Dahab Beach Art
• The Writing Process and the Creative Block
• From English as a Third Language to Author — How I Expanded My Vocabulary
• Choosing Art Over Corporate and Academia
• Creativity Shall Set You Free
• Change Is The Only Constant
🎬 The Visual TimeCapsules & Vault Videos
• Man Still On The Moon — Djembe Madness [Sokhna, 2021]:
• Man On The Moon: Motherland Drum Jam Session I [Inglewood, CA]
• Man On The Moon: Motherland Drum Jam Session II [Inglewood, CA]:
🚨 The High-Voltage Psychonautic Archive: Grit, Crisis & Roots
• Addiction Talk: My Correspondence With a 31-Year-Old Reader Before He Passed Away
• Opiated Then Hatin' It
• Placebo Effect & The LSD Prank
• The LSD Experiments of the 1950s and 60s [Videos & Documentaries]
• Out-of-Body Experience and Ego Death on a “Heroic Dose” of Mushrooms • Surviving the Madness of Sakarana — Hyoscyamus muticus (aka Deadly Nightshade)
• Amphetamine, Methamphetamine, and Crystal Methamphetamine — A Psychonaut’s Review
• Banged Up Abroad — My Few Days @ The Don Jail
• Banged Up Abroad — A Night @ The London Police Station
• The Great Pyramid’s Blessed Curse: Climbing To The Top And Beyond
ALSO VIEW:
🥁 The Core Pillar: Drum Circles, Rhythms & Gatherings
• Drum Circle Etiquette — The Do’s and Don’ts
• How Drumming Changed The Way My Brain Processes Music
• The Intertwining of Music and Sexuality ― A Djembefola’s Tale
• Unshackled by the Red Sea — Free-Form Djembe Jam: The Lysergic Recordings [video]
• A Year at the Venice Beach Drum Circle in Photos & Videos (2014-’15)
• Another Year at the Venice Beach Drum Circle in Photos & Videos (2016-’17)
• One More Year at the Venice Beach Drum Circle in Photos & Videos (2017-’18)
• A Wacky Day Out at LA Burning Man Decompression in Photos & Video
🧠 The Psycho-Philosophical Grid: Shadow Work & Wholeness
• A Dialectic With Myself: Practical Yin Yang Approach to Coincidentia Oppositorum
• Theory of Mind: Thinking About Thinking and the Benefits of Observing the Observer
• The Intertwining of Genius and Insanity
• The Intertwining of Pain and Pleasure
• Who Are We?
• My Journey Towards Self-Transcendence
• First Existential Conversation With Meta AI
📚 The Craft: Storytelling Chronicles & Metamorphosis
• The Healing Powers of Storytelling: A Personal Experience
• For The Love Of Storytelling
• Connecting the Dots — a Storyteller Way of Seeing the Big Picture
• Early Memories Never Worded: The Subconscious Chronicles #1
• Early Memories Never Worded: The Subconscious Chronicles #2
• Tripping Through Venice Beach Art
• More Tripping Through Venice Beach Art
• Tripping Through Dahab Beach Art
• The Writing Process and the Creative Block
• From English as a Third Language to Author — How I Expanded My Vocabulary
• Choosing Art Over Corporate and Academia
• Creativity Shall Set You Free
• Change Is The Only Constant
🎬 The Visual TimeCapsules & Vault Videos
• Man Still On The Moon — Djembe Madness [Sokhna, 2021]:
• Man On The Moon: Motherland Drum Jam Session I [Inglewood, CA]
• Man On The Moon: Motherland Drum Jam Session II [Inglewood, CA]:
🚨 The High-Voltage Psychonautic Archive: Grit, Crisis & Roots
• Addiction Talk: My Correspondence With a 31-Year-Old Reader Before He Passed Away
• Opiated Then Hatin' It
• Placebo Effect & The LSD Prank
• The LSD Experiments of the 1950s and 60s [Videos & Documentaries]
• Out-of-Body Experience and Ego Death on a “Heroic Dose” of Mushrooms • Surviving the Madness of Sakarana — Hyoscyamus muticus (aka Deadly Nightshade)
• Amphetamine, Methamphetamine, and Crystal Methamphetamine — A Psychonaut’s Review
• Banged Up Abroad — My Few Days @ The Don Jail
• Banged Up Abroad — A Night @ The London Police Station
• The Great Pyramid’s Blessed Curse: Climbing To The Top And Beyond
