The Unseen Thread: A Tullhead's Spiritual Journey Through Music To Community

My journey began not in a forest grove, but in the pages of my grandmother’s forbidden book collection. Long before I ever heard the wild, fluting call of Ian Anderson, a five-year-old boy, unable to read, would sneak into an off-limits living room. There, I would lose myself in the images of a series of tomes titled Man, Myth, and Magic. The books felt ancient and heavy in my hands, and their pages were filled with strange symbols, mythical creatures, and ancient rituals. My grandmother, seeing my curiosity, would smile and tell her friends I was "fae touch." She saw in my childhood curiosity a sensitivity to the unseen, and she was right. She was planting the seeds of what would become my spiritual path, long before I even knew what a spiritual path was.

The year I turned twelve, a new world opened up to me, one with a soundtrack: Jethro Tull. Their music, with its intricate melodies and lyrics steeped in British folk traditions, spoke to the very core of my being. Albums like Songs from the Wood and Heavy Horses weren't just music; they were a lyrical and musical validation of the pagan sensibilities I had absorbed from my grandmother's books. Songs about the changing seasons, the harvest, and a deep connection to the land resonated on a profound level. My heart and soul were forever branded with their sound, and from that moment on, I was a Tullhead.

My identity as a Tullhead was forged in the fires of the music I embraced, and the years that followed would add new layers. In my early teens, I found myself drawn to metal. While seemingly a world away from the pastoral sounds of Jethro Tull, bands like Black Sabbath and the thunderous presence of Ozzy Osbourne were a crucial part of my journey. This music didn't just teach me to headbang; it taught me to confront and embrace the "shadows" of human experience. Metal showed me that light and darkness were not a simple good-versus-evil dichotomy, but two sides of the same powerful coin. It laid the groundwork for a pagan path that would be unafraid to explore the raw, untamed parts of the human spirit.

Just a few years later, in 1983, a powerful convergence began. I found Wicca, and a whole new chapter began. That very same year, a witch named Sarah who introduced me to the Goddess, took me to my first Rainbow Family Gathering. The experience was a beautiful, chaotic, and eye-opening glimpse into a communal life lived outside of the mainstream. I was 17, and the nomadic, tribal-like family that embraced spontaneity and shared values felt like a living embodiment of the pagan ideals I was just discovering. A few years later, in 1985, I attended my first Grateful Dead show at Red Rocks. I was 20, and the music, the lights, and the free-spirited energy of the Deadhead scene felt like a natural extension of the Rainbow Gathering. These two experiences merged to shape my understanding of community—a sense of belonging to a non-traditional tribe that would become the "Hippie" part of my identity.

My musical tastes continued to evolve, and as I grew into my twenties, I moved from Wicca to Druidry. This change felt like a natural evolution, and it led me back to the source of my beloved Jethro Tull. I dove headfirst into British and Irish folk music, discovering legendary bands like Fairport Convention and Pentangle through Tull. The songs, with their ancient stories and mystical atmospheres, spoke directly to my Druidic path, grounding my beliefs in the folklore of the land. My favorite Fairport song, "Matty Groves," a dark and powerful traditional ballad, felt like a lyrical version of the shadows I had learned to love in my metal years. My tastes were not a single thread, but a rich tapestry.

From my mom and stepdad, I inherited a deep love of country music. Later, my friend Matt, whom I had introduced to the Grateful Dead, returned the favor by introducing me to the worlds of bluegrass and "jamgrass." This music, born out of the American heartland and the mountains, was the perfect hybrid. It had the improvisational spirit of the Dead, but the rustic soul of folk music. It was here that the "mountain boy" part of my identity started to take shape.

This identity was further solidified during my years as a "rubber tramp." It was then that I encountered a group of young "Dirty Kidz" who introduced me to their modern, punk-infused hobo and trainhopping music. This sound, rooted in the Appalachian tradition, was the raw and defiant anthem of a life lived on the road, much like the traveling tribe I had known years before.

My musical expression evolved as well. For years, the silver flute was my instrument of choice, a direct and physical link to Ian Anderson and the Jethro Tull sound that started it all. But over time, my lungs could no longer handle it. Rather than quit, I adapted, finding a new voice in the ukulele. Now, I play a Risa electric Les Paul tenor ukulele and an acoustic-electric tenor ukulele Fender. It's a fun and quirky hybrid, allowing me to tap into both the folk and rock aspects of my past. The transition from the flute to the ukulele is a poignant symbol of my resilience—accepting the natural cycles of life and finding a new way to sing the same song.

My long and winding journey has led me to a place that feels like a spiritual homecoming. Today, I live in an Intentional Pagan Community in Eastern Tennessee with my adopted niece and her husband, founded in 1983—a year after I first found Wicca and the Rainbow Family. Nestled against the magnificent Great Smoky Mountains, it's a home that has been waiting for me for over four decades. This community, which is also a venue for Pagan festivals, is not only my home but also a place where all parts of my identity—the Metalhead, the Hippie, and the mountain boy—can coexist in perfect harmony.

My musical journey has come full circle. I spend my days as a busker, making a living by sharing my music on the streets of Newport, Knoxville, and Nashville. The old folk traditions I first loved in Jethro Tull and the communal spirit I embraced with the Dead are now a living, breathing reality. The music I play and the community I live in are one and the same. It's a life where the shadows are embraced, the myths are real, and every song is a prayer to the ancient and powerful spirit of the mountains. The 60's British Folk , the mosh pit, the Dead Lot, and the Druid grove have all led me here, and I wouldn't have it any other way.