we fairies, that do run...
from the presence of the sun,
following darkness like a dream,
now are frolic.
~ A Midsummer Night's Dream, V, 1
~*~When people ask me to describe
the Fairie Festival, I'm usually at a loss. "It's pure magic--you've never been any place like it. It's a community, a tribe of the heart..." I try, but it doesn't cover what it is, what it means, what it holds.
I'm a freak. No part of me is "normal." I'm a lesbian, Pagan, Witch, priestess, writer, vegetarian/vegan, heavily tattooed, pacifist, animal lover, organic gardener, I was raised homeschooled and on a macrobiotic diet and as a ridiculous sick child who went to countless doctors and could not be made well. I'm actively open about all of these things, and people ask me questions about the obvious every day--and, yes, sometimes invasive, hurtful questions. I laugh it off, I answer them, I continue on with my life. I've been threatened for what I am, but even on days when I'm
not, I have to listen to people telling me why I'm wrong, and
I have to explain who and what I am and why, as if it's their right to question me.
Based on my appearance or the fact that I'm holding my wife's hand, or I'm wearing a pentacle, I'm immediately judged.
I don't mind it. I enjoy being able to shed some light on some things people are afraid of, or completely don't understand, and some people have completely changed their minds about "insert subgenre here," because I'm open and kind and approachable. Most days, I'm totally fine with all of it...
But, some days, it gets tiring. If I'm having a terrible day, and I'm being particularly Cancerian and retreating into my shell, I don't want to deal with it. It's very rare, but there are those days where I don't want to be commented on, questioned, made to explain myself and be the good little ambassador into Normal Land for "my kind."
And, on those days where I find it almost unbearable...I have the Fairie Festival.
There is no place in the world for someone like me, unless I dig it out and build it myself. Most people have a place. I don't. Some of the things I am are my choices, others are simply who and what I am, and couldn't be changed, even if I wanted to. I'm a unique, rainbowed creature who has no home among people in the mall-going, everyone-wears-the-same-clothes, it-mustn't-do-to-be-different eco-system that our world has currently evolved into.
But...
not at the Fairie Festival.
For three days and magical nights, I transform from a freak, from a single-glance-you're-obviously-strange person who has no society to hold her, who--by her very nature, must explain why and what she is--into...well...an accepted, loved and beautiful creature.
At the Fairie Festival, I am simply a fairy among fairies, nothing more and nothing less. I get to wear the wings I always know I have anyway--just on the outside, this time. I get to be among people who laugh and open their arms to me when I hold hands with my wife. In 2004, right after I proposed to Jenn, we left the Festival, hand in hand, and a little old man smiled at us and said: the fairies love it when you love each other! That comment, alone, personifies what the festival is.
It's acceptance and love and community and tribe and deep compassion and kindness and wonder and beauty and the exact opposite of cynicism and awe and joy and jubilation and everyone is equal and nobody gets hurt and everybody is beautiful and amazing and no matter who you are or what you profess or your creed or your religion or who you love and who you can't help but loving or who you want to become or who you've been, there's a place for you here, here, here, and there's always been a place here if you can find your way home. Because that's what this is: home.
When we get handed a tract about how we're going to hell because I have my hand at the small of my wife's back, when there are picketers who hold up signs that witches were made for burning, when someone hands me a piece of meat and laughs when I won't eat it, when I'm told repeatedly how it's almost impossible to get published and I shouldn't hold my breath and I probably never will be, when people tell me we'll never get out of debt or that having dreams is fucking stupid or there is nothing beautiful about this beautiful, mad and amazing world...I find the strength within me to act out of grace and compassion, and I remember--oh gods, how I remember--that there is a place that I can go and be.
Home.
To the Fairie Festival.
So...if you've ever wondered what it's like, why you should go, why we've been going since forever...that gives you a tiny, small scrap of an idea why the world needs it, why it's
important, why I count every blessed star in luck that we have it. The Fairie Festival is something I can not explain, a living, breathing, magical entity like the fairies themselves who exist there. It is alive, it is beautiful, it is magic. It will hold you, no matter who you are, and it will never judge you--simply, at its very core, it will always love you. And there needs to be more of that, in this world. Simple, given love.
Come, whoever you are--be as thou wast wont to be, here, home, the Fairie Festival.
