Brad Robinson

Successful young professionals — many with a polyamorous bent, some bearing fanny packs stuffed with pharmaceuticals — were heading to the woods to party, and I hoped to join them.

Our destination was, let’s call it RISE, an exclusive three-day dance-music festival-cum-New Age spiritual retreat held on a 10-acre property in the wilds of New England, to which I’d wrangled an extremely hard-to-get invitation. (The name of the event has been changed, as have the names of att…