Confessions of a New Age hippie

I have a confession to make: I’m a New Age hippie! No, I don’t wear tie-dye clothing and I don’t say things like “Peace” and “Flower power”. I’m a modern day hippie – a picture of respectability on the outside, but a lentil-eating, tree hugger on the inside.

Just say the words Organic, Environmentally-Friendly and Hemp, and I’m putty in your hands. Mention words like MSG, Polyester and Genetically Modified, and my nose crinkles up like I’ve just smelled a particularly stinky fart.

Just last week I developed a skin rash on my face. I followed the standard route of first consulting the Hippie Bible, ‘Heal your body’ by Louise Hay. Was there perhaps an emotional cause for my facial affliction? According to this book, I had old buried fears and anxieties. With the customary naiveté of a hippie, I pretended that this was a major revelation (Honestly, who doesn’t experience fear and anxiety in this age of hip-hop and celebrity chefs?).

Dutiful hippie that I am, I put on some Zen music i.e. a colon-cleansing blend of Tibetan singing bowls, tingshaw bells and gongs (panflute music is SO passé, dah-lings). I twisted myself into the lotus position, took a few deep, cleansing breaths (Ugh, is that garlic I’m smelling?) and proceeded to chant a series of positive affirmations: “I am safe. I…” (a police siren whizzed past my house – so much for feeling safe). “I am at peace. I…” (the Zen music reached a crescendo, ending in a crashing gong that made my teeth rattle – well, so much for peace).

Clearly this wasn’t going to work. I extricated my limbs from the lotus position and found that I could no longer feel my toes. I was also shocked to find that the lotus position had caused an old netball knee injury from my teens to flair up. To add insult to injury, my face now resembled the bum cheeks of a baby with nappy rash.

It was time for Plan B: Inner child work (a.k.a How to blame absolutely everything on your childhood and parents). Inner child work requires plenty of journaling. Journaling is an old favourite of the hippie clan – a hippie can fill an A4 notepad with deep and meaningful thoughts, faster than you can say “Monosodium Glutamate”. In fact, I suspect that the hippies might be one of the main causes of deforestation for the production of paper.

I started by analyzing my relationship with my father (a perennial favourite). I discovered that my biggest cause for anger towards my father was the fact that he had non-existent calf muscles, something I unfortunately inherited. Could this be the cause of my fear and anxiety? Was I afraid that someone might notice that I have concave lower legs?

A quick check in the mirror confirmed that two days of psychoanalysis had not healed the rash on my cheeks. If anything, my cheeks were now redder with indignation over my tapeworm legs.

It was time to move on to Plan C: What do the experts say? Hippies stick to a couple of basic rules when seeking advice from others. Rule number 1 - never follow advice given by anyone with a medical or scientific background, as it’s most certainly part of some major conspiracy. Rule number 2 – if the expert’s name starts with ‘Sri’, ‘Swami’ or anything vaguely Hindustani, then they definitely can be trusted.

My enthusiasm plummeted as I surfed the Internet for a wonder cure. Every site suggested that I should cut foods like wine, chocolate and red meat from my diet. This was NOT going to work for me. Depressed and despondent, I drank half a bottle of Shiraz, wolfed down a few lamb chops and finished with a slab of chocolate.

I woke up the next day to find that my rash had almost completely disappeared. The only problem was that I now had a severe cramp in my stomach. I automatically reached for my Hippie Bible. As I stretched up for the book, opening up the gastric pipes in the process, a mighty burp burst from my lips. The cramp was gone. I always knew that book would prove to be good for something.