Feb. 22nd, 2010

myblackeyedfire: (Snape: b&w sweet aching freedom nude)
At this year's Wicked I dressed as the white rabbit and saw the Gypsy Nomads' performance. The main room where they played was filled over capacity and I was surrounded by vendors and attendees and staff and a tide of lovely people. I danced while the Gypsy Nomads played and did not look to see who was watching, did not censor or overthink my moves. I listened to the music and moved as seemed right at every second. I thought vaguely about it being three years since I first met Jeff. I thought about how Wicked was the first time since deciding to transition that I didn't worry about policing my actions or pronoun mishaps and related junk. The energy in the room was sweeter and more encouraging than I thought possible. I thought of how much more outgoing, more capable, more solid I was at this year's Faire than the previous one.

A steampunky fellow in a belly-dance hip scarf happened to be doing very similar footwork maneuvers to mine at one point and we kept looking at each other across the floor to encourage the other to get up and dance to the following songs, linking up at various points to dance in relative sync. I accidentally nudged a lithe man in dreadlocks and a corset and we grinned and proceeded to dance in mutual acknowledgement of each other's existence. By that point my arms hurt from picking up so many people while hugging them, the rabbit ears were precariously on the brink of slipping off, and I'd been on my feet for most of the day. None of it mattered. I poured everything I had into moving with the music, with savoring being alive. I succeeded. I think I also killed off many residual unwanted pieces of my old self this weekend. It was time.

During the whole of Wicked Faire, but most obviously just then, I felt exhilarated and happy to be here. No, not happy. Fucking elated. Determined. Ravenous. Thrilled.

Sonnets to Orpheus: II, 12 (stanza 1)
-- Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Br. David Steindl-Rast

Desire change. Be enthusiastic for that flame
in which a thing escapes your grasp
while it makes a glorious display of transformation.
That designing Spirit, the master mind of all things on earth
loves nothing so much in the sweeping movement of the dance
as the turning point.

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