The Furious Spinner

I spent the weekend at the Fairy Congress out in the woods not far from where we live.

This is the second year the Fairy Congress has been held in the Hood River area. I was a bit hesitant to go, at first, for a couple of reasons. First, they use so much pesticides in the Hood River Valley that it is nicknamed "Death Valley," so I try not to venture near there too much in the spring and summer. I was also leery that the Congress might be too "airy, fairy," so to speak. I cannot abide New Age Speak: "You create reality." "Why did you cause your illness?" "You created the horror of your life so you could learn what lesson?" My view is that all those people sitting around "creating their own reality" and not being engaged in this reality need to get off their butts and help out right here in our communal reality. I don't mix well and play well with religious/spiritual fanatics of any ilk, so I was hoping the fairy weekend would not be like that.

Also, I've been to several pagan campouts. For the most part, I was not impressed. Too many people dressed in black leather, smoking cigarettes and claiming to love the Earth and their bodies as they squashed cigarettes into the ground while coughing. Too many men using the idea of sacred sex as a come on and ploy to fuck any woman they wanted. (Yes, sex becomes so much more sacred if you do it in a so-called temple lined in plastic garbage bags.) I consider myself pagan/witchy, and I don't like people using any spirituality/religion (but especially my own) as an excuse to behave badly. None of the above was true at witchy women weekends, by the way. When women gathered without men or when women were the primary facilitators without that weird hierarchy some pagans use, the weekends were no longer like a hell's angels orgy out in the woods. (Just my experiences, of course. Many of you may have had much different experiences at these campouts.)

Anyway, I decided to try the Fairy Congress, finally, because I know Sola and Cosmos who own the land, and they are very kind, loving, and members of our peace group. I do believe that the land, mountains, wind, trees, etc. all have their own kind of life, whatever you want to call that: deva, nature-spirit, fairy. (I usually call them the Invisibles.) Mostly, I wanted to be out in the woods all weekend celebrating Solstice and Midsummer with some like-minded people.

Friday

I drove to Hood River and beyond, along twisting roads through the orchards. To the north of me, Pahto (Mount Adams) slouched; patches of black rock poked up through the snow here and there like black roots showing on a blond head. To the south, Wy'east (Mount Hood) rose. I was at the heart of the world.

I got to the farm/sanctuary and parked the car along with several dozen other cars in a mowed field. The sky was clear, the world was silent. I grabbed my folded chair and bag and started walking toward tall grass and the woods. I whispered a prayer of permission for entrance to the woods. Suddenly, I saw a deer. This isn't a rare occurrence, of course. I had photographed two deer eating the neighbor's roses two days ago. But this deer was unlike any I had ever seen: it was an appaloosa deer. I murmured, "Fairy deer," as I watched her and took a photograph.

Then I continued down a path, of sorts. Three teenagers passed by me, coming up from the Fairy Congress. "Is this the way to grandma's house?" I asked."

"Huh?"

"The Fairy Congress?"

"Yeah, keep going."

Then I was alone in the scrub oak and tall grass, except for the scrub oak and tall grass and anything else I couldn't see. The grass bent to make the path turned gold as the path curved down, deeper into the woods. It was summer hot. Insects buzzed and sang. I had no idea if I was traveling in the right direction, but I didn't care because it was so blissfully quiet. After several minutes, I heard music coming from a single flute. Pan's pipe? Kokopelli's flute? I smiled. It is so grand when we live absolutely the way we wish to live, even if it lasts only a moment or so. Don't count them up like pennies to see if you have enough, darlin'. They're more precious than that.

The ground leveled off, and I came to a small open white tent. I thanked the bearded man who was playing the flute, and I registered with the woman. The man showed me a map on the table. I listened and nodded, but none of it made any sense to me. I have a good sense of direction, a great sense of place (I very seldom get lost in the woods, knock wood), but maps are often Greek to me and this one was no different. Pan went around the tent to point me in the right direction. Just then a dark red dragonfly flew up to us. "Hello, sweetheart," I said. Then, I shouldered my stuff again, and continued down the path. I went by several buildings, then down a narrow switchback through the trees (trying to watch out for poison oak), and through another field where a few tents bubbled up from the grass, like colorful nylon fairy mounds.

Then I was walking through woods, no more tall grass, and I saw colorfully dressed people walking around an outdoor kitchen. Across from the kitchen were several tables, benches, and chairs. Giant human-made flowers (photos later) "grew" from the corners of this eating and cooking area, sprouting up twice as tall as I am.

As I kept walking, I looked around to see if I recognized anyone. I didn't. The path curved, and I passed by several vendors on either side, selling, among other things, fairy wings. I wanted to ask, "Did the fairy live once you took its wings? Or is it kind of like taking legs from frogs?" But I quickly put that macabre thought out of my mind, and kept walking until I came to the center, the circle. Several people were completing work on a stage. The surrounding woods did seem alive with color and activity. I saw a sign that said, "breathe." So I did.

Even though I was surrounded by beauty, I really wanted to turn around and go home. This always happens when I go someplace like this. I was so monumentally uncomfortable that I just wanted to flee. (I imagine many of you can relate.) I thought, I don't know anyone; I'm hot; I just walked 40 fucking miles to get here; my allergies are terrible; I could have an asthma attack out here and die. Scrub oak is notorious for ticks and poison oak. Jesus Louise. WHAT AM I DOING HERE?

On the other hand, I would have to walk all the way back to my car carrying all my crap again, only it took me so long to walk here it was now even hotter out, plus I'd have to stop at registration and ask Pan to give me my check back because I was a scardy pants. So I put all my crap down and breathed deeply again. I went to the outdoor portable toilets. (Don't even get me started...Actually, they were okay, and there were plenty all around the camp. No waiting.) Then I walked around looking for a workshop to attend. They were about thirty minutes into each workshop. I heard drumming coming from the gnome dome in the woods, like the heartbeat of the woods.

I sat in on one workshop with two or three other people. A woman was talking about foxglove telling her how to help a client. I fuzzed out. She might have been entirely correct that foxglove was talking to her, but I had no proof of that. I often wonder if people know the difference between imagination and God or plants talking to them—although I also understand I may not understand that the imagination is how the natural world and/or the divine talks to us. I don't really know. Just like I didn't know if Foxglove was speaking with this woman. Proof would be in the pudding, as those old wise women said. If Foxglove suggested something to this woman which then helped her or someone else, then hey, go with it. Just remember: to harm none is the witch's creed. (Although some of us might argue with that, too. Sometimes I want harm done. If someone is sick, I want those bacteria or viruses harmed—or at least gone. But that's another discussion.) Anyway, I believe in the old adage: have an open mind, but don't let your brains fall out.

I left that workshop and went to the Soul Lodge, which was a large covered area with a fire circle at the center. A woman was discussing animal communication. I sat in on this talk, trying to relax and ground. She had us do a meditation to connect with an animal spirit. As often happened when I meditated, bear showed up. I asked him what I always ask. How do I get well? Only this time I said, "I'm tired of being told I've got the healing within me, because clearly I don't." The animal communicator was telling us to go inside the animal, to inhabit it. So "my" bear opened his mouth. (Yes, it was a "he." What can I say? Some of my best friends are of the male persuasion.) I crawled inside the bear, and he said, "You are inside the healing." I thought that was interesting. I had never heard that before. But I take all of this with a shaker of salt. I've been doing this enough years to know that I usually hear what I want to hear.

When we broke for lunch, I walked around the encampment. I also ate the tofu sandwich Mario had made me. I probably could have eaten the food they made, but I was trying to save money, so I didn't. Of course, this isolated me from the group even more. I still hadn't seen anyone I knew. I took a path down to the river, but I couldn't find it. I could hear the river, but to get to it, I would have to go through a lot of bush. (It reminded me of the bumper sticker I saw on one of the cars: save the trees, cut the Bushes.)

After lunch, I listened to a talk by Dorothy Maclean, one of the founders of the Findhorn Community in Scotland. I've been intrigued by their gardening methods for years, and here was one of the people who had started it all. She said she ended up in a caravan park in Scotland, and they didn't have any money and not much to eat, so they decided to start a garden to feed themselves. They didn't know anything about gardening, she said. She went out and started talking to the plants. She didn't actually hear them talk, she just got feelings and then put those feelings or whatever they were into words. (She also said when she used the word God, she wasn't talking about a white-haired bearded man in the sky. She meant the Divine, whatever that was.)

She said the plants told them to make compost and how to do that. Soon people in the neighborhood were coming around to ask how they were getting such great gardens in such sandy soil. She said at first they just told people it was the compost because they figured they better not talk about fairies or nature spirits. I liked her. She seemed very loving and sincere, and she had the 100 proof pudding: what she did worked. I realized that I talk to the plants in my garden, but I don't really listen to them, except before I harvest them. Then I ask for permission. Maybe I should sit down a spell and see what happens.

After the workshop, I went home and ate dinner with Mario. Then we went back to the Congress. I parked closer this time. We sat in our captain's chairs at the edge of the circle and watched the people. Children played Frisbee and hacky sack in the circle. Mario and I grinned at each other. We loved watching the children run back and forth, completely at ease and blissful in their environment. We saw a few people we knew and chatted for a bit.

After a while, we moved our chairs closer to the stage. Darkness fell and the music began. I was completely blissful sitting amongst these people, next to Mario, listening to flutes, drums, harpsichord, and guitar as the stars starting coming out. R.J. Stewart sang and played a variety of instruments. He sang ancient songs and modern ones he had composed. We were impressed. When he was finished, Mario and I put our chairs over by the Soul Lodge, and then we walked back to the car in the dark. (We had forgotten a flashlight.)

We slowly drove down the dirt drive away from the farm. Suddenly, the fairy deer appeared again. It was still for a moment, then it turned its appaloosa butt in our direction and leapt away.

Mario and I laughed and headed home.

Sometimes we get the life we want.

Blessed be.

Saturday

On my way to the morning workshop, I met one of the elders of our peace group. He walked with me for a bit, giving me a history of the farm/sanctuary. It was nice to listen to him and see him in this place. He has been an organic farmer and a protector of the woods for a long while.

I slipped into the Soul Lodge and listened to David Spangler talk about "kinship with all fairies." The wind blew all around the tent, shaking the poles that held the tenting in place. When a bird or butterfly flew over, I could see its shadow on the tent. I watched people walking back and forth as I listened. Spangler said we shouldn't limit ourselves to where we think we'll find nature spirits. He took us on a meditation to a mall. He said maybe a fairy would be intrigued by the colors and neon lights of a mall. Who knows? At first I really didn't want to be in a mall. Actually, through the entire thing I didn't want to be in a mall. But I thought he had a good point. We shouldn't limit our imaginations. He said that the mall has an energy form: to mediate congress. He talked about learning to speak the language of the world we're in. If we don't know the language, we have difficult communicating, of course. He said we should inhabit the world we're in in new ways, to be in peace with the world we're in. See everything as sanctified.

After I ate lunch, I took a walk. I sat on a rock above the river. A woman walked alone on the rocky beach, naked, her wet hair in a towel. Swallows dove here and there, gurgling their water songs, reminding me of flying music notes for some reason. I went back to the camp via the Sanctuary path. I stopped at a huge patch of poison oak. I whispered that I meant it no harm and please leave me without harm. As I walked away, I chanted my anti-inflammation chant, "Inflammation lose thy power..." As I went in the woods, I thought once again about how I would love to care for a piece of land, how much I wanted to get to know every crook and cranny of a place. I knew some people ache to have children that way; I never had. But land: I have always wanted to care for the land. I was grateful to be here, this weekend, on this land. I did not know all its nooks, but I would give it my love.

On the way to the next workshop, I saw Cosmos and asked him about the appaloosa deer. He said they had lots of deer, but he had never seen this particular one before. Someone else at the Congress had seen it, too.

Peter Tompkins who wrote the Secret Life of Plants spoke at the afternoon workshop. He talked about going around the world looking for tests for some of his theories. He didn't believe things only because someone told him it was so; he needed a test: he needed proof. When his book first came out, he went on the Johnny Carson show. They asked him to come early, so he sat around for hours with his plants. As the day went on and the plants kept getting moved, the plants got droopier and droopier. Tompkins thought, oh my, I'm going to blow it before 15 million people. To his surprise, when the lights came up and it was time for the show, the plants suddenly revived. "It's showtime!" He talked a bit about Steiner and biodynamics. Quite interesting.

Home again for dinner and Mario. I spent a long time trying to find something to wear for the Fairy Parade. I don't have a lot of dress-up stuff. I like comfort, so my idea of dress-up is actually wearing clothes. I finally settled on a long purple dress I had last worn several years ago for a Summer Solstice celebration. I went out to my garden and got some lavender and rosemary (thank you, very much). Then we drove back to the camp.

People gathered into the circle. It was so much fun to see the children and adults in their beautiful clothes. The woman who made the giant flowers undid them from the various posts and gave them out to people to carry. We formed a circle, did some singing and chanting, and then we started a spiral dance. I have participated in many, many spiral dances. The only times I've been in spiral dances where they do not turn into a form of "crack the whip" have been when they were led by Starhawk. This spiral dance was not led by Starhawk. Soon we were running, and I was being pulled apart. (Think chariots, Romans, Christians, and I was not the chariot or the Roman.) It's not a pleasant experience. I finally wrenched my hand free of Mario and I dropped out of the circle. One of my fingers was purple where he had held too tightly to it. And it hurt like hell. I was pissed off. How many times do I have to learn the lesson NOT to participate in these spiral dances before I just stop. I always have confidence that this person will know what the hell she is doing. Next time, I must remember. (Mario thinks it's a law of physics thing, and that it probably has nothing to do with who leads it. He may be right. I will admit I have an extremely low tolerance of incompetance when a person is responsible for the safety of others.)

We formed a circle again and the Fairy Queen and Fairy King emerged from a tent. We listened intently to what they had to say. The Fairy King spoke (can't remember what he said), and then we started parading through the woods. (Apparently the Fairy Queen had nothing to say.) We danced as we walked, singing and drumming, headed for the fairy mound. Once there, we did a quick meditation and then danced and sang some more. I loved standing amongst all the color and songs.

Then it was back to the circle where a fire now blazed. We danced in the darkness. Sparks flew up to the sky, becoming stars just for us.

Mario and I walked back to the car, this time with flashlight in hand. Once home, I slept through the entire night.

Sunday

Mario and I went to R.J. Stewart's workshop on Big Fairies in the morning. I wrote a note to Mario, "Even if you don't believe any of this, it's fascinating." He wrote back, "Oui." Stewart knows the stories. He talked briefly about Bigfoot. Then he spoke about even bigger creatures. He said we were all living inside a fairy being. (This was fascinating, given my earlier meditation that I was living inside the healing.) It was all quite complicated and interesting, especially from a writer's point of view, but impossible (for me) to summarize.

Mario and I stayed in the Soul Lodge for lunch. One of the vendors had brought her little dog, and it yapped the entire time we sat eating. I tried to find the woman who owned the dog but couldn't. I said to Mario, "Maybe we should try to communicate with that dog." "OK. Find me a big stick and I'll communicate with it." I laughed so hard. Funny thing, the dog stopped barking.

After lunch, Mario and I walked down to the river to Butterfly Beach. Sure enough, huge butterflies flitted here and there. The stones and sand were all gray, making it seem rather subdued, or something. Mario constructed a pile of rocks. Everywhere you go in the West, you see these piles of rocks. Standing stones. On our way back to the Soul Lodge, we saw a bumper sticker on one of the campers that said, "I support the separation of church and hate."

The final workshop was "Living On The Practical Paths to Faery." R.J. Stewart, T. Thorn Coyle, and Orion Foxwood talked about their every day practice. They all said stillness was important. Orion quoted Sun Bear: "If your religion can't grow corn, I don't want anything to do with it," which is exactly how I feel. Foxwood spoke about his interest in folk ways, and folk magic, which is an interest of mine. I thought of my grandfather. He never planted potatoes before St. John's Day. In fact, he may have planted potatoes on St. John's Day (Midsummer, June 24th). He used a dowser to find where to put his well. My father did, too. Everyone did where we lived: because it worked. Proof in the pudding.

We talked about how to save the natural world. They believed the big picture is being taken care of, so we should take care of the little things. (This reminded me of think globally, act locally.)

How do we bring the fairies into our lives, someone asked. Stewart told the story of someone who had a dream about unicorns. When he awakened, he was crying. "Why are you crying?" "Because," he said, "the unicorns told me they never went away." They’re still here.

Mario and I packed up our things, and then we slowly left the Fairy Congress. During the weekend, I hadn’t seen a single piece of litter; I never saw anyone with a cigarette. I never even heard a swear word.

At the car, Mario and I held hands and thanked everything and everyone for this place and this weekend. We hugged each other and then got in the car and drove away.

I don't know if we grew any corn, but I know I stood on the skin of the Earth, I ran my fingers through the Wind, I French-kissed Water as I drank it, I warmed my body on Sun-drenched rocks. I stood at the Heart of the World. As always, as always. I am within the healing. Someday I will learn the language of this world. For now, my only language is passion, love, and these words. They're my only proof.

Blessed be!


Appaloosa Deer


Children's Fairy Village


Before the Parade


Little Fairies


Into the Woods


Butterfly Beach










All photos by Mario Milosevic except the three rock photographs, including the one with Mario in it; I took those.

All photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.