Ode to Faery Folk at Beltane


Twenty years ago on a crackling burst of Sagittarian fire, I abruptly left my corporate career, dropping the notion of high powered jobs and the money to take a 10-day course at the Mueller College of Holistic Studies.

When we students squeamed about taking off our clothes in one large room to lie under transparent white sheets, founder Bill Mueller, exploded in frustration. “Your bodies are merely shells housing your spirits! That spirit is where your attention should be.” He then spoke of Esalen Institute in Big Sur, the rugged cliffs, windswept trees and green lawns where peo
ple roamed naked and were kind and joyous, taking classes and workshops on the expansion of their spirit and human potential. This became my elusive Garden of Eden, my Turkish Delight, or perhaps Eve’s Apple.

Several years later, a local took me to Esalen to see the preschool and marvel at the free-standing toilets on the hillside overlooking the expansive sea. They felt kids should not be shamed and closeted to do such natural business as elimination. The powerful vibration of Kwan Yin and Lemurian crystals was palpable.  Oh how I yearned to raise my boys in such a free-spirited, loving environment. But it was not to be and I was devastated.

Now that I had tasted the light, the ordinary world of southern California tasted of dust. I lived off slivers of raw energy from books, drum circles and sacred rituals. How difficult it was to hold onto the magic among the heaviness of the concrete, traffic, scarcity, fear and self-righteousness. I yearned for more and sometimes forgot what it was like to be surrounded by the power of the people attuned to nature, crystals, rocks, trees, streams. Mystical coincidences and serendipity happened, but I wanted to be drenched in such a landscape and bathe every day in luminescence and love.

Kobe n I in Zion
Jamie Della at 5 dancing with a palm tree suring a Santa Ana wind
me and sky

Road trips became the path to freedom, lucid living and dreamlike enchantments that absolutely must last through the drought of living in such a barren desert. When left to fumes, the faeries nudged me out the back door and off I’d be on a mad dash to the lighthearted ways …like a butterfly on a life-giving breeze
to clean air and minds. I let the winds carry my gypsy soul to encampments of like-minded beings where I saturated mind, body and spirit in magical, mystical, charmed, sometimes feral ALIVE-NESS.

Back and forth I went for years as the burden of it pulled me down, down, down like leaden cannonballs, making it nigh impossible to fly. For when I did catch the impish breeze I never could completely shake the notion that I should keep my feet firmly on the ground as proof of love and dedication to my children. Unfortunately I fell into a maze of blame and shame to try and alleviate the agony as it ripped and tore at my gossamer wings.


Why do we faery folk tie ourselves to the rules and regulations of society when their ways are not our norms? We should not hold any allegiance to their customs and languages when they are so foreign to the Fae Folk light? Why do I hold my fragile self to their harsh demands and wonder why it hurts so much? The bane of my existence has always been to have a faery’s freespirit and a loyalty to tradition and hard work.  I am now exhausted, spent beyond endurance and must have Fae Magick running through my veins, green trees my canopy and open skies a regular – not simply occasional – bread. For freedom is my sustenance. It may not be their norm, but it is mine.

So how could Esalen possible live up to this dream? It simply did.


Last week, the full moon cast its bluish light on waves like sparkling crystals that crashed with a boom on the black sand and turned into foam of mermaids or white horses – depending on your chosen myth. As a Goddess I stepped into the buoyant mineral hot tubs on a cliff above this breathtaking view – finally back in Esalen. It was like dipping into liquid moonlight. I dropped in, let go and floated in the warm water.  It smelled of sulfur and wet stone.  I was surrounded by fellow children of the light and the man I love, cushioned in the womblike love of The Mother, feeling peace at last.

Leave a Reply