A concert became my turning point, my release from my dark and dusty religion. I sat in a crowd of about 15,000 at the Boutwell Auditorium one night. Then-rising star Neil Young was on stage, and the combined whining of his guitar and tenor voice were blending together with the mysterious haze that was began to collect around the heads of the people in the crowd. A straw-yellow cigarette was passed my way and, curious, I took a pull of its smoke. A few more passed by as the music progressed. The smoke and the sound resonated together and formed chords of their own, which seemed to flow right through me, and when the amplifiers finally fell quiet I felt I was telepathic with the universe.