(David Lynch, Moby, Laura Dawn, Daron Murphy)

"I didn't want to say this over the phone, but the universe sometimes makes it difficult for people to get here." My wife, Laura, and I had just arrived backstage at the rec center of the Maharishi University of Management in Fairfield, Iowa. And our host, a very nice man named Bob, was apologizing for the fact that we'd had to endure 13 miserable hours of economy airline travel to find ourselves in this spot.

Laura's a singer and I'm a guitarist. We'd been invited to perform a few songs with our friend Moby (that bald-headed electronic music guy) at a special weekend to raise awareness of the benefits of Transcendental Meditation, hosted by film director David Lynch. If you're a fan of David Lynch, you might know that he is hugely into TM and has been promoting its cause through an eponymous foundation for the past few years.

For those of you who've never thought to explore any of the other 10 dimensions, Transcendental Meditation is basically a relaxation technique involving the mental repetition of a personal mantra. TM was created by the late Maharishi Mahesh Yogi -- the same guy who people like the Beatles, Donovan, Mia Farrow, and Mike Love traveled to India to study under in the 60s. Neither Moby nor Laura nor I had any real familiarity with TM (well, my hippie parents did have me try it briefly as a kid in the late 70s, but that's another story). But Lynch, who's a pal of Moby, thought his music captured the spirit. So he asked us to come, and there we were.

The Maharishi University of Management sits quietly among the tree-lined streets of old-fashioned, all-American Fairfield. We were staying out past the corn, just a couple of miles away, in an area called Vedic City, where houses are built to the specifications of "natural law" (kind of a TM feng-shui). The school is incorporated right into the old town. And except for the huge, gold-topped, flying-saucer-like meditation domes on the campus front lawn, Maharishi U. looks like any humble, Middle American college.

"Backstage" was a small garage in the parking lot behind the rec center whose perimeter had been blocked off with crime scene tape -- kind of like a location from Twin Peaks. Inside, David Lynch sat smoking a cigarette, fabulously suited and coiffed, like a handsome Hollywood version of a 50s MIT professor. He was surrounded by admiring members of the University, prepping him for an imminent Q&A session with the crowd of a thousand or so students and visitors who'd gathered for the weekend.

Hearing Lynch answer questions about his work and spirituality inside the auditorium, it was immediately apparent that his devotion to Transcendental Meditation is passionate and sincere. He explained that every human being possesses a "well of creativity and bliss waiting to be tapped," and TM is the way to get there. None of the audience members bothered to inquire as to how that well of bliss has translated into some of the most unsettling and psychologically violent films in recent popular culture. So I asked Lynch about this later in the weekend. "That's just me," he explained. "You don't have to go to a dark place to tell a story about one." Well there ya go!

After Lynch, world-renowned quantum physicist John Hagelin took the stage for an hour-long lecture on TM's ability to connect its devotees with something called the Unified Field, basically the primordial ooze of the universe. He showed pictures of brain scans from well-adjusted people who've practiced TM (nice brains) and from sociopathic criminals with mental problems who've never meditated (brains full of creepy-looking black spots) and explained how TM is the only way for us to engage the entirety of our mental faculties. Until this point, I'd always thought at least the better part of my mind had been functioning. Now I'm certain that is not the case.

Later that night, we took in a performance by the legendary psychedelic troubadour, Donovan, who sang hits like "Mellow Yellow," "Season of the Witch," and "Hurdy Gurdy Man" while playing a green acoustic guitar emblazoned with the image of a proud Celtic stag. Just before his performance, Laura and I played some songs with Moby, who caused quite a stir by using the "F" word while onstage. The kids loved it, proving that the "F" word never goes out of style, even amongst the enlightened.

The most surreal and fantastic moment of the evening, though, came when David Lynch was told that the kids from Maharishi High were having their prom that night, and had to miss the concert. So Lynch volunteered to go down to the prom and crown the King and Queen himself. Donovan and Moby and Laura and I went with him. And after Lynch performed the crowning, we played a blues jam for the kids, who seemed alternatively delighted and confused.

Despite the out and out weirdness of these events, I must say without any irony that the citizens of Fairfield are seriously on to something. Not only did these people know how to have a good time, but they were some of the nicest, smartest, and most vibrant folks I've met in a very long time. And whether or not it has anything to do with Transcendental Meditation, an outsize portion of them just happened to be conspicuously good looking. Deserving of further investigation? I think so.

Thank you, universe, for allowing us to get to Fairfield. Something tells me the journey has only just begun... --DARON MURPHY

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