It seems impossible to translate the sights and experiences of a truly amazing experience into words, yet I shall attempt the task anyway. Last Thursday I and the GF packed up her car with camping utensils and drove to the Sierra Nevada foothills of California. We were headed to Firedrums, a weekend full of fire spinning workshops and fire spinners. For those of you who do not know what fire spinning is, the basics are this: Kevlar wicking is sewn into a small shape, dipped in fuel, ignited, and then spun around the body at the end of a chain or metal staff. Other items may also be used such as fans, rope darts, and whips. If you still don't know what I'm talking about, Google is your friend.
Firedrums started out as a gathering of spinners together to learn from each other and spin with each other. It's since grown, and 800+ people were with me to take classes and participate in the large fire circles that were populated deep into the night. There were two full days of workshops, with each day cut into at least 7 periods which were then divided into as many as 12 different class options. If you wanted to learn poi, there were classes. If you wanted to learn staff, there were options. If you wanted to learn whip, nunchaku, puppyhammer, rope dart, there were options. At the end of the day, as the sun went down, the DJs came out and the fire barrels were lit. Everyone contributed fuel to make one massive and supervised fuel depot used by all. Two circles were created by placing 55-gallon drums, cut in half vertically, all around. Small fires were started in the half-barrels, and the spinners would spin in the middle.
The experience was like being in another world, where everyone speaks your heart's language. It was almost like church. Every hour I learned something. My body was bruised, but kept learning. I singed the hair off the backs of my hands. I tried new fire props, I learned new things on old props. I watched a lot of amazing people do amazing things. I lived without the internet, without mass transportation, without the pressures of anything not related to fire spinning. People around me hugged plentifully, wore festive and dramatic clothing, helped you learn, and kept you humble. We laughed when a group of poi spinners came charging, guttural war cries spewing from their lips, through a class of confused but good-natured hoopers. People strode through burning coals barefoot, as rhythmic drumming centered their spirits. When exhausted, we could lay in the grass, or get a massage in the tent of pillows and singing bowls. When overheated, we could dowse our feet and heads in the fresh, mountain spring that flowed nearby.
Coming back to colorful San Francisco was like coming back to a foreign culture. Why am I at work today? Why do I intermingle with others who do not share my passion for fire? Oh yes, I am in the city, and part of life is to share it with others who are different. Maybe you'll get to see me light up my staffs and spin for you. Maybe you can share that with me. Someday.
I'm still here,
LT
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