Dance On

“In many shamanic societies, if you came to a medicine person complaining of being disheartened, dispirited, or depressed, they would ask one of four questions.
When did you stop dancing?
When did you stop singing?
When did you stop being enchanted by stories?
When did you stop finding comfort in the sweet territory of silence?”
~ Gabrielle Roth

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Solo Mission Musica

A few weekends ago, I did something rather brave (for me, anyway). I went to a music festival alone about three-and-a-half hours from where I live. Sure, I’ve traveled abroad alone and moved abroad alone, but somehow this wee domestic venture felt like I’d passed a new milestone of sorts.

Anyone who knows me, has heard me rave about Pickathon, a magical, friendly, music-filled gathering in the Oregon woods. I went last year with two of my Seattle BFFs, and I was instantly SMITTEN. Wooded stages & barn venues dotted with twinkle lights, hay bales as seats, flowing wine & beer accompanied by tasty food (all local, of course), kind folks, a sea of tents under a calming canopy of green. Everything about it appealed to my inner kinda-hippie and my love of gooooooood soul-soothing tunes. It’s a sweaty, stinky, dusty affair with a little dose of over-the-top hippie-dippie and PDX hipster, and yet, I just love everything about it.

I’d waited a full year to return again; however, when the time came, I couldn’t find a single soul able and/or willing to join. Not a one. Womp wah. After some pleas, some long shots, some pity-partying and a good amount of fretting, I decided to suck it up and simply follow my gut. I wanted to go so badly, so why not go? Alas, I did (thanks to some gear borrowing and awesome cheerleading from some really special friends. I know SUCH good people here). I’m so glad I listened to those inner whispers. They didn’t steer me wrong.

Pine State Visit by Corinne Whiting

Pickathon canopy by Corinne Whiting

Pickathon sign by Corinne Whiting

Pickathon woods by Corinne Whiting

Food court by Corinne Whiting

Pickathon barn by Corinne Whiting

Shakey Graves by Corinne Whiting

In honor of incredible music, here are some great tunes to enjoy:

*beauty*

***

Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror. 
But you are the eternity and you are the mirror.
― Kahlil Gibran

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Pickathon was beautiful, magical, fun, just awesome. I loved it.

I hope to compile some thoughts about it soon. For now, though, I’m just easing back into life outside of the those dusty, friendly, music-filled woods.  So bear with me, please:)

I hope you all had wonderful weekends, too.

Confession

Being over here on Memorial Day Weekend proves a bit rough for me (last year, and now, too. My current homebound, solitary sickness doesn’t seem to be helping…)

Instead of:

warm blue skies, pool openings, flip flops, flags, bare feet tickled by  backyard grass, pumping stereo music, barbecues with family & friends, omnipresent star-spangled Americana, vibrant sundresses, burgers on the grill, potato salad, deviled eggs, six-packs of cold beer, pitchers of lemonade

It seems to be:

gray skies, wet sidewalks, chilly air, tea, sinus infections (today, anyway. BOO)

Womp wah.

We had a glimpse of summer here, and now winter is back. This isn’t how my body rhythm works, what it expects. Something feels off, time-wise. This holiday should be spent outdoors, wrapped in the goodness of sun and annual tradition you can count on, year in and year out.

I’m trying to steer clear of Facebook and Instagram and other social media outlets that have that nasty ability to exacerbate the grass-is-greener syndrome.  I’m happy for you over there today, I really am; I just wish I was there, too.

{Photo taken earlier this weekend while exploring the incredible waterfalls of Oregon’s magnificent Columbia Gorge}

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