I was blessed to travel to Pantheacon with two good friends. We traveled together from the airport and we roomed together—easily navigating the shared space of the hotel room, including the wash basin full of iced Guinness and cider bottles. We did some events together and some separately, each of us with our own interests as well as our own down-time needs. I dubbed us the Three Tricksters of the Apocalypse. We set out to engage in as many shenanigans as our purses and bodies could manage. We were sad to part ways on Monday night and are looking forward to a merry meeting next weekend for my birthday. That’s such a huge thing—and I am so grateful. It’s easy to get tired and stressed on a long trip, and friendships have been strained (and even lost) on conference and festival trips.
It would be name-droppey to list all the people I was glad to see and hang out with and drink with and have meals with—and I’d be sure to leave someone out who means a lot to me. I will say I was glad to meet face-to-face with West Coast colleagues that I’d never met. And time spent with my Maryland and Delaware “family” is always inspiring and beautiful. They are my home-away-from-home and always hold a piece of my heart.
The lesson on personal shielding that I learned in West Virginia last year was not lost or left behind. (Let me hasten to say that the dear friends in WVA were kindness itself and they also hold a piece of my ragged old heart, those home folks. It was the land that taught me the lesson—as land often does—in grief and pain held in the soil and stones and waters. I went in completely unshielded to feel the history of that place, to feel what I needed to feel.) One of my friends—when we hugged in greeting—whispered in my ear, “Shields up, I see.” Indeed.
I was apprehensive about such a large and famous conference and the shielding and grounding (as I tell my students) served me very well. Because I did that personal work, it was easy to shake hands and hug and smooch so many different folks. And it meant I could read signs as they came and not be puzzled.
Here’s an example of what I experienced: I got a scrape on my jaw (from the buckle on a shoulder bag, I suspect) and needed a bandaid on Saturday. Star ripped a fingernail closing a heavy sliding window/door and she bled, too. When, on Sunday morning, Oriana complained of scratching an itchy place on her leg until it bled, I got out of bed, got dressed and headed for the temple that the Coru Cathbodua priesthood had set up. I took an offering of a silver bracelet and a glass of excellent whisky and prepared to humble myself before the Great Queen who has been generous in Her Kindness and in Her gifts to me. I knew the three of us shedding blood (and my inexplicably packing the small zippered bag of bracelets) was a sign, a sign I would be wise to heed.
The priest on duty gave me space to do what I needed to do and there was no question that the Divines were there in that sweet temple. My debt was paid and the connection strengthened.
And no more blood was shed throughout the weekend’s shenanigans.