I don’t know what to say about my experiences at the solstice. And I don’t know how to voice them.
I don’t want to use language that triggers. I’m lost by language that talks of “men” and “women”. I don’t see “men” and “women”, I see individual souls, layered, complex, experience-specific. That is my truth. I accept others see differently. I seek to connect with people in faerie space from my essential soul to theirs.
I seek to connect with all in some “authentic” way and being an empath I was awash with emotions at the gathering, some as high as the sky, some as deep, as dissident as the ocean.
I went into this gathering wounded. Alongside Orlando’s hate attack came a hate outbreak in our online community and it enfeebled me.
I think it placed fear in our hearts, fear which grew as the gathering unfolded.
I believe that fear creates fear. It sensitizes, focuses, triggers fear. Fear seeds itself.
I have not heard much talk of fear at our gatherings before. I ask was it there and not spoken or was it not there?
Was it our fear or the inrush from Orlando at the solstice?
There was grace and kindness, laughter and caring. There were wonderful workshops. There was delicious food. I felt that flowering of heart that faerie gatherings nurture. Our first heart circle, starting late at night, was profound. Death was a significant theme and the celebration of life.
Faerie space is precious to all who experience it. It embraces light and shadow. We feel shifts in our emotional frequency there. Could it be that a protective urge is emerging for some? A desire to define that preciousness, to keep it safe? How can we do that when we all have light and shadow in us. Would some of us seek to repress the shadow?
After four days the group had grown large. Finding volunteers for things was noticeably a strain. I did not sense that we were operating or connected as a single group. That was surprising. It felt unusual to me. The energy felt scattered, volatile.
Nothing formal was done for the group and nothing formal was done to orient newcomers. Our organisers continued to be very low on energy. I was curious to hear some newcomers say they’d been told faerie gatherings were sex parties. I sensed the possibility of mixed messages.
More time passed and my awareness of fear and fragmentation increased. I pushed both aside, rejoiced as the farm was glittered in preparation for the procession and Well rituals.
I left on Sunday at lunchtime. Many beautiful farewells filled my heart and eyes. I pushed away an increasing dis-ease in the energy field. I did not have any resources to offer and a long drive home.
I don’t know really what happened after I left. Many voices speaking different truths. Many silent. Many emotions. Faeries offering insights, ways to learn and heal. Faeries heavy with questions.
“We will not heal the world’s fear by giving it place in our hearts”. My heart spoke these words. They felt too raw to share on Facebook. Facebook has felt a complicated, raw place, sometimes enlivened with laughter and kindness.
Someone said the enemy of fear is love. I have been seeking to love more and fear less, although it would be a lie to say I don’t fear the energy of fear, for it is very potent.
Now is our time to renew love, starting with ourselves.
Oh how easy and trite that line sounds. And I’ve never in my life been more serious.
Love brings us together, guides us to appreciation of our differences, treasures what we hold in common and makes our particular joy manifest.
This poem came to me shortly after I got home from Glastonbury. Reading it now I hear the Mother’s voice speaking to us so clearly…
The rain met you
frothed the sky
in bloody rivers
And they did nothing
but show their faces
to the rage
kept its distance
Like empty hammocks
you hang about crisscrossed
Weigh the countless years
left to live
with fires and food and drums
but this time cannot raise
the price of redemption
Till you take your own brittle skylark
wings and shatter them
stain the soil
Then the sun re-opens
a path to your faces
Then the sun reclaims its place
and purply spreads
each as a mother’s
song enfolds a child
until it settles again
With love, Qweaver