Final thoughts on a season passed . . .

This season has certainly been an incredible experience. It's difficult to know where to begin, really; how do you encapsulate a feeling in words? They aren't good enough for this, but they are all I have. There is a pull inside me to eschew words all together after this summer just passed, but I cannot lose the ability to communicate and go completely inside myself, attractive as that idea might seem at times. So here goes.

Try to imagine a tree. It starts with just a seed that has the promise of becoming, without the certainty that it truly will. It could be eaten by a bird first, or washed away in a rain storm. It could sprout and be uprooted. It could wither before its time. In rehearsals, I felt like the seed: so much potential waiting for me to touch it, but so much fear too. Am I good enough? Am I qualified to be here with these people? Will others look at me in this group and shake their heads, wondering why I'm with them? Am I too clumsy, too fat, too old, just plain not right? I struggled, but I took root in the ground during those weeks, and tentatively started to push up through the soil.

The tree sprouts and starts to grow, but it's fragile and thin, unable to bear weight. For the first few weekends at Faire, I tried to find my feet. I had very little confidence in myself, and I still often felt awkward and out of place. Gaia was in me, but not in my limbs yet; I was still "pretending" to be her, rather than being her. I still felt like an imposter. But, every time a child came up to me with wonder in their eyes, every time they smiled and treated a leaf like the best gift in the world, or touched my hand in awe, I started to believe.

The tree starts to grow strong, rings building upon rings. Now I could start to feel her in my arms, in my legs, in the tilt of my head. I started to learn unexpected things about her, that she is shy, and curious, and gentle. Slowly, children started to restore my faith in people, their guiless sweetness meant more to me than anything else. I am mistrustful of most adults, but children were like brightly-colored birds, to be handled carefully and fawned over, often nervous, sometimes frightened, but always real. I began to see myself reflected in their eyes, and started to belong.

It took time, but by the end the tree had tentatively spread tender, callow branches to the sky and unfurled yellow-green leaves to the sun, sinking roots deep in the earth. It is a new tree still, fragile, but with care will keep growing. I found stillness within, and though I often stumbled and caught myself "pretending", that stillness was always waiting for me. It was there in the dragonfly and the moth, in the chiming music of the spheres, in the play on sun and shadow in the meadow grass, and in the eyes of so many children. I became fae, and it was deeply trabsformative and powerful; I do not think I will experience its like again, in any other role. I am already looking forward to next year.