Chino's sound system was a siren's call to guide us home, dialed in like the Lewis Carroll-inspired clock-adorned DJ booth.

We were participating in a long-running psychedelic and spiritual experiment proven to shed years of societal shackles.

Who needs worldly amenities when the universe gives you a glimpse of infinity?

Lightning in a Bottle returned with a reduced capacity but a vast and diverse lineup — and, as it has for a decade and a half, the chance to leave the world of mundane distraction and instant gratification behind for almost a week. There is a carefully orchestrated method to its madness, from the menagerie of colorful characters parading about the grounds to the decadent decorations adorning every tree, hillside and false façade.

The ever-evolving floral crown adorning the DJ booth is a morphing art installation itself that is seemingly representative of some extraterrestrial stargate. The collision of sight and sound hugged the crowd tightly throughout the weekend and refused to let go. If the ’80s-neon-meets-Madmax-desert-dominatrix dress code wasn’t enough to tantalize your freshly-cleansed third eye, the fire dancers, spinners and breathers did the trick.

“I’m used to answering ‘I’m from Mexico.’ whenever someone asks me where I’m from. This week, my answer is ‘I’m from here.’ This is my land. Esta es mi tierra!” she says. “America has the title of ‘land of the free,’ but that’s just a title. The real feeling comes from Mexico. It’s an amazing feeling of freedom. The humility, the love that travels through its lands… only in Mexico.”

Nowhere else are the frat bros and party girls bombarded with the constant reminders to “be green,” “pack it in, pack it out” or “leave it better.” Burning Man and its very relevant principle of Radical Inclusion comes to mind. While the scale of veterans to virgins is obviously tipping towards the latter, the newcomers stand to learn the most important truths.

What Desert Hearts has fostered is a safe space so intimate, that your inner freak is set free. Gone are the Coachella concerns of cultural appropriation and overzealous bro advances. Here, culture has been reinvented and asking for consent is the norm. Move over, festival giants, this is how the new school does it.

When one stage provides an endless soundtrack with no dead air for an entire weekend, it can be difficult to differentiate between genres or even DJs.

While nearly all other SoCal festivals are billing themselves as “conscious” or “transformative,” filling their schedules with Ted talks, meditation and workshops, the Dirtybird Campout is simply about having a damn good time.

One thing that LIB does better than any other festival (outside of Burning Man) is the combination of art installations and immersive environments. From sunsets atop Meditation Lookout to the giant telescope at the Black Rock Observatory, from comedy and improv at the Jive Joint to burlesque and cabaret at Amori’s, from the First Annual Do LaB Soap Box Derby Invitational to a Rube Goldberg Machine-esque Bowling Alley in a ravine, it’s impossible to not be blown away by all that LIB has to offer the eyes.

What CRSSD unquestionably gets right, is the music. For the second time in a row, there was a lineup of some of the finest well-rounded electronic musicians on the planet. The heart of this festival lies in the balancing act between well-curated main stage attractions and lesser known “underground” performers on the secondary stages.

A new favorite would be the duo of PLURNT Wulfpack and Yellow Submarines, with a particularly fun set by Eduardo Manilla. I knew it was a good sign when our camp neighbors had a Beatles-era yellow submarine snugly wrapped around their van.

Sunday’s downpour was so bad that attendees were floating around the flooded grounds on air mattresses. In a region plagued by drought, however, nearly everyone was celebrating the rain as if they were part of some sacred tribal rain dance.

The constant embracing, endless dancing, and unbelievable appreciation can only be felt in person. We threw sunset parties on the edges of ravines, danced with strangers, made new festival friends, and forgot about the default world. It is moments like these that give us hope that Lightning in a Bottle can continue to grow up without losing its childlike innocence.

The communal vibe isn’t just an ideal, it’s truly felt.

There is something magical about dancing in a picturesque park while the sun sets over the San Diego bay a mere 100 feet away, reflecting off the skyline of the downtown skyscrapers on the opposite side.

To the girls with the pasties jumping nonstop in front of us, I’d be surprised if you weren’t in the promo video for next year.

A malange of cirque, spectacle, passion, and the bizarre take the crowd on a journey that is more hallucination than reality. Even thinking back to a couple days ago, I’m not quite sure what I witnessed.

And at what other festival can you swim in close proximity to the stages? The festival, held near Oakdale, earned the nickname Swimbiosis because of its beautiful swimmable waters – if the music or the yoga or the many workshops or the crowd’s weird fashion sense stressed you out, there was plenty of time to skinny-dip nearby, and many attendees did.