FPG and Gumbo

My son, who is on a cheese only diet lately just surprised me by consuming a rather large bowl of Daddy Dave's gumbo. I mean, ate to the point of licking the bowl clean. Amazing! Especially considering that Daddy Dave doesn't do anything mildly. He's been known to clear a room full of sinuses and leave tears in the eyes of grown men. My kid's got strange taste-buds, for sure. I'm just glad he ate something, finally.

He's teething, two bottom teeth, two top molars, all at once. Poor kid. Poor me... he's so fussy and clingy. This is the first time he's teeth have really bothered him.

Do you have a website that you visit regularly? One that, when you arrive there, it's almost like a homecoming?

For me it's the FPG site. FPG

This is a festival that Wil and I attended regularly before Jonas was born. I can't even begin to tell you what a group of amazing individuals we've met there.

You see, I'm pagan at heart, but I'm not much of a "practitioner" of the craft. You won't find me casting circles, invoking the elements, garbed out in flowing robes and chanting. Nope, I'm just not that elaborate of a person. To me, paganism is more about living life in tune with the earth. It's got about as much to do with flash and glimmer as Christianity does with the easter bunny or Santa. I'm a silent worshipper of the fallen leaf and the flowing water.

But festival... oh, my sweet festival. So many people. So many like-minded, earth-loving folks. And there's such a variety. There's your typical black-footed hippy, and then there's the Joe Schmo corporate banker that, for this one weekend, sheds the geekdom and let's it all hang out... quite literally.

There's comraderie between folks that, in every-day life, just wouldn't exist. There's love flowing from every corner of the park, it's thick, palpable, exquisite.

I miss fire-circle, with drums pulsing out the earth-beat, the dancers, sweat-glistened and the scent of burning dead-wood. The musk of incense. The laughter from the camp next-door. The lonely guitar strummed in the darkness. Lord Jacobus, the oldest Pagan in the state, smiling wisely from his chair, yellow-white beard flowing down his chest.

I miss Boom-Boom, the ever-child, fairy wings upon her back, belting out a song about her "big ovaries". I miss men in loin-cloths, women in less, the squeal of children chasing butterflies in the labrynth.

It's utopia, or at least, as close as you'll ever get in this life. And I'm not saying that pagan folks are the only ones capable of creating such a sacred space, where 500 or more people can gather and there not be a single argument or tiff, but it's the only place where I've ever experienced such. It's like coming home to family. It's like resting your head in the palm of the goddess, at least for one weekend out of the year.

I'm homesick for my FPG.