Roots that reach upwards . . .

After seven weekends playing Gaia, I have learned a great deal about what it means to be a Fantastickal, and I've learned even more about myself.

It sounds trite or cheesy to say that, I know. But this has truly been a transformative experience, mind, body, and soul. I wish I could adequately share it, but words make that hard. A few memories from this past weekend:

The most beautiful little girl I have ever seen, just looking at me with golden eyes as I stroked her hair. She never spoke or demanded anything, we didn't play with sticks or leaves. She just smiled as though I truly was magical, and perhaps, for a moment, I really was.

A 2-year-old boy in a Spiderman hat, spinning and spinning, "dancing" with me. He was so joyful, and I stayed with him until I was dizzy.

An older girl who sat next to me in my circle and helped me build it. When a younger child came over, she facilitated the interaction, introducing me to the more timid little girl, giving her a stick to give to me. These are my favorite children: the ones who will be leaders later on, because they are always willing to step up for others, wthout pre-thought or guile.

Finally . . . we had to let Tegan go this weekend. Every season, I always know that she must leave early to go on to another faire which starts before ours is over. Still, it is always difficult saying goodbye, and this year felt especially tough. I have become so close to all the incredible people I've been working with, and I've come to realize how much of their characters are deeply a part of them:Gen embodies the graceful quiet of leaves falling in autumn; Amanda has the quick unpredictability and sweetness of bubbles that float where they will; Therin is beautiful and slightly unexpected, with a sense of the ancient dragon within. And Tegan is rather like the flower she portrays: she unfolds slowly and her petals spread towards the sun, delicate and lovely, bright and full of promise. There is an indelible gentleness in her nature, and I will miss her these final weekends.

We are never promised tomorrow, and too often we live in a state of perpetual waiting, in anticipation of events in the future. This summer I have felt wonderfully present in a way I can't describe, living in the moment. No matter what the future holds, I am grateful for the now. I feel like a tree with roots reaching upwards, taking everything in: sky, air, ground, breath, happiness, pain, grace . . . it is all one.