I.
The invitation that came from Ilumigen to the Court of the Celestials last Friday was surprising and welcomed. To be asked presence in the Enchanted Forest is a great honor. With neither an idea of what to expect, nor persuasions to visit a locale that may remind me of recently failed faerie tales, I went ahead and headed north of the border; to the land of milk and barley, honey and homies: The Lothlorien of the Vespertines.
The Enchanted Forest was intimate that evening. I was a mere hobbit lost in its dense woods, but I found company with Ilumigen, the midnight mist, Athednae, the bearer of truth, and Jaceun, the young sprite. Later on that evening the Gemini of Coriolis, the keeper of Knossos, and Lustern, the oracle of orbits, arrived, imbibing our conversations with their dynamic presence. Finding no Middle Earth, I was initially reserved, a silent spectator. It was awkward, it always is, finding rapport with a new crowd, knowing that they’re held at such high esteem by Ilumigen. I wanted to be respectful of the company. Their lively banter and affectations, and shared narratives weaved the filaments of the Court of Celestials' enduring camaraderie, loyalty and friendship. I felt humbled, and yes grateful, to be in their presence.
But soon, I found myself jovial and conversant. Sharing stories and sentiments, perspectives and propositions with the Court of Celestials. The vibrant laughter of that evening could only be heightened by the breadth of the topics we covered. I discovered that the Enchanted Forest was no mythic deciduous thicket, clandestine and sublime, but a welcoming tropic, varied and symbiotic. And I was a seed, nurtured and welcomed by its rich humus of acceptance.
A few hours later, the vessels laid empty across the table, we found ourselves drawing the evening to a close. Thanking Athednae and Jaceun and bidding them farewell, and agreeing with Coriolis and Lustern that it was too brief, we concluded with warm embraces and appreciative anecdotes. It was swift, yet saccharine. One cannot help but be moved.
To the Court of Celestials, my deepest thanks. May the Enchanted Forest remain as verdant and vigorous.
II.
With the evening’s infancy and our spirits elevated, Ilumigen and I decided to walk. Prying the path that lead to the clearing of the woods, we found ourselves recounting and revisiting the events that transpired that day. How the coming eons seemed amorphous and full of potential. Establishing the lessons we learned from our own histories, and the wisdom it imparts on how to nurture the future into fruition. Fears were shared, and abated. Options were laid out and assessed. We both had decisions that tested our convictions, but the dialectic proved that possibility and commitment can go hand in hand. That by pursuing what one wanted, and doing what needed to be actualized, we can create our own possibilities.
Our bond was renewed and fortified, in the light of La Luna, and in light of his new moon.
III.
“Are you going home?” Ilumigen asked.
“I don’t want to. Not yet. My body is craving the faerie ring.” I replied.
“You should.”
And I did. With him as my companion, and my keeper for the night, we took the swift winds to the west, where the shores intersect with the shades. Shortly, I found myself in the place I used to call home. My former dominion of segues and séances, of alcohol and allure, where my body was my voice, and the music my muse.
I knew that soon Ilumigen’s pace will change, and his situation will become different, his company becoming a rarity. In a way, it too was a last hurrah for him. A homecoming for the prodigal son, and a farewell to the longtime resident. The homecoming was bittersweet. His path will digress to seek happiness of a different brand, while I am faced with the taste of a drug I used to be a recidivist of. He was evolving, I was atavistic.
His pedagogical guidance briefed me of the situation. The faerie ring has changed tremendously. It seemed almost unrecognizable since my last foray into its embers over half a decade ago. Yet it was also vaguely familiar. For I too have changed. Gone is the physique of a shaman, the posture of a sprite. But the thirst for its mused meanderings was reincarnated in this weak shell, unwavering and voracious. Although I am but a shadow of my former self, Ilumigen reminded me, that it was still me. Beneath this form, this body, this present, it was still me.
So I danced.
And without meaning to, beyond my own volition and discretion, saltine tears started flowing down my ample cheeks. Like an ode to a bygone era, an acknowledgement of the pain of our long hiatus and sore yearning, I welcomed the faerie ring a new man. A different man. The god of gyrations now a mere mortal, human in all its vulnerable repercussions. The distanciation of time and oblivion now cleansed. I embraced the dark and dank, the smoke and mirrors, the anarchy and euphoria, of the dance macabre that lured me before.
Once again, I was as faceless as the crowd, singing cantatas of the carnal with every heave of my wholeness, and only Ilumigen would attest to the cathartic calisthenics of my own conception. Yet unlike before, the objective was different. The dance was not a mating call but an affirmation. The jive was a gesture of acceptance, rather than an invitation to the illicit. As the night wore on, the faceless crowd morphed and evolved. Each warm body seeking another for warmth, for bearing, for affection, sifting and shifting they began to pare and pair, creating pockets of unions. But I stood my ground. I needed to heed the call of my soul. Three curious souls attempted, and I willingly accepted the invitation to match their rhythm with the beat of my bends, but they soon grew tired of my stamina and detachment. One by one, one after another, they searched the ring for a requited and receptive romp. And I persevered.
It was euphoric. Holding my vessel of poison in one hand, and caressing my landscape with the other, I painted panoramas of space synchronized with the sound of the bass. The beats melded into mutated silences, punctuated by semblances of music and mayhem. And in those short syncopated silences I lingered, nestled in the bosoms of my hermitic hell. Sweat pouring down my garb as the morning approached. Ilumigen stood watch as I lost myself in the effervescence of the faerie ring, becoming one and none.
It was past the witching hour when we decided to leave. As we found our way through the throngs of drenched bodies, I couldn’t help but smile at each of them. An acknowledgement that went unrequited. But it didn’t matter. I had my fill. And I claimed that small real estate of the ring like I did years ago, in a different life. I did, and still do, dance to the beat of my own drum. And that night, my drum beat with the resonant confidence pent up and bottled all these years. An assertion of individuality, a profession of my humanity. The need to explore, to feel, to be lost, and be primal. The thirst to suspend the movement of time, into increments of notes and beats.
It may take a while for me to return to the ring, I still question now if I was already ready to partake in the bacchanalia again. It may be soon, or may not at all. But this I know, something within me was awaken that night. A glint of the divine. I only wish that when I do return, I would be with a partner before its gates. One I own, and who owns me. And we would create beautiful music with our bodies. But for now, it sufficed.
To Ilumigen, I am indebted. And elated.
Image from
here.
