|Contemporary Nonfiction. Part III
||[Jun. 12th, 2014|04:56 pm]
The past few days exhausted me in a way only performing, new exercises, sleeping in unexpected places, long drives, lifting heavy things, and being surrounded constantly by large groups of people can. Which is to say, a combination of many of the most tiring things I can think of all conveniently packed into a two day frenzied span. I am clutching onto the memories that still play vividly in my imagination, pleading to my mind that they stay there, fresh forever, bright and real as all my senses can sustain.|
This is not a poem, I am taking notes for my memoir.
In the rush after performing and the blur of taking down our circus rigging, loading the long aluminum poles into the van with dew-wet palms, two at a time in the darkness, a Faerie King hands me a silver chalice of tequila and urges me to stay. Eat the faerie food, stay in faerieland; it's actually that simple.
Not thirty minutes later I'm stripped of my sailor's costume, save the small shining anchor around my neck, in a hottub poised at the edge of the lush landscaping, purveying from this slightly elevated corner the cooly-lit swimming pool, which periodically explodes in a splash of skinnydipping faeries, or an elf or two, shrieking and giggling at the cold. Across the pool, there's a bright victorian-wallpapered photo booth where ladies in ballgowns, with ships-in-bottles, bird's-nests and china tea cups in their giant white & pastel pink Marie-Antoinette-styled-wigs pose for bawdy pictures together.
Alongside the pool, a lush lawn converted into a dance floor by a truss with LED spotlights in an array of complex programed patterns, paper and glass lanterns, a fog machine, and speakers with tiny altars built on top of them, bass-buzzing statues of Hindi gods dancing with the hum. Here faeries and elves in varying states of finery and disrobe clutch bottles of champagne and dance euphorically, not an insecure creature in sight. Sparkling jewels and tattered lace stockings, with elaborate headdresses and nothing but skin in between, dotted with sweat or liquor or lingering water from the pool. Everyone is laughing and dancing and singing.
In the hot-tub, song-voiced quick witted mermaids exchange stories and ask me questions; mostly about the circus. Some with pink hair, turquoise, or purple, all drenched in glitter with dangerously attentive eyes, pupils wide in the moonlight & lamplight, catch me at a loss for words.
I've been here before, and in my most casual Peter Pan candor I exist in my most masculine state. I'm halfway between falling over in love with delight, and being a just little too calm - surprised by nothing; it is like returning home to a place very few people dream actually exists. It does exist, and none leave unchanged by it.
Looking back, it could have been a very fancy, very well dressed, very opulent party like any other engagement put together on a high enough budget - but I've seen hundreds of very expensive parties, and none of them are anything like this. Partially made sacred by it's removal from civilisation, the venue was over an hour's journey from its freeway exit, winding through frighteningly narrow cliffside mountain roads that glimpse into untouched wilderness; this oasis is alone in the wild. Strikingly, all but three of the forty faeries are female. The gender-ratio of the event is profoundly unique, and assuredly is a huge part of why the space feels so deliciously safe and body-positive. Yet beyond those features, the most intangible, obvious, all-permeating delight that seems to burst from every corner is not a characteristic of extravagant beauty, isolation, or safety alone; it is the bold and unquestioning love with which these faeries express devotion to each other and their extended community that is intoxicating.
Everyone listens. Everyone asks. Everyone speaks truthfully and openly. No gentle touch is withheld. Each glance from a new friend carries the intensity and intimacy of locking eyes with a lover. Differences of opinion become matters of laughter, rather than debate. No article is beyond sharing, no judgement is passed. When you have arrived, really arrived, when you are welcomed as family into the faerie court, there is nothing but the seductiveness of feeling wholly loved and accepted by these magical, very powerful creatures.