As I was reading this thread, a wonderful story appeared in my inbox from my very good friend Tanja B. With her permission, I'm posting it here because it seemed somewhow appropriate. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have.
A fairy godmother I once knew said "A dream is a wish your heart makes." My dream was to have the Faerie Queene appear on the playa at magic hour on Friday before the sacred Burning of the Man. To hold her court 15 minutes of fame and enchantment, to grant wishes to all that honored her, and be photographed by all who beheld her. This was my simple wish.
It took an entire afternoon attending to Her Majesty's toilette. All the
glitter, the makeup, the hair, finding a lady-in-waiting to lace her into a
17th century corset ("I dunno nothin' bout birthin' no babies, Miss
Scarlett!"). To manifest my dream, I cast spells, smeared sparkling potions on my face, and worked my faerie glamour. Soon, it all came together as imagined.
A little before sunset, I made my procession to the Temple of Joy. Not five minutes out there, a great dust storm developed. It was a complete white out. My wings became like great clipper ship masts flapping around in the wind. A guardian angel and damn good wing wrangler came up and took me under my wings shouting: "Let's get you to Center Camp!" as he scurried Her Majesty away.
This blustery moment was the agony of defeat for the Faerie Queene. The zenith of her reign was winning Grand Prize the Venice Beach Carnivale in March of last year
and click on the "Venice Carnivale and Art Show" and then forward your way through the images). To be sure, the night of Carnivale was a bitterly cold night and yet, it was sheer joy to be honored for her majestic efforts. Winning the coveted prize harkened back to when the Queene was a mere fairy princess in 6th grade, winning even then Grand Prize for her flower fairy costume and having her picture shown in the Daily News. But that squally sunset at Center Camp was the absolute nadir for the Queene.
The valiant Musketeer Wing Wrangler fought his way against the fierce gale force winds to bring Her Majesty to Center Camp, and as it happened, Center Camp was going off and in full effect when they arrived. Every Black Rock City citizen that was out on the playa was taking refuge there. The air was thick with playa dust. Shafts of setting sunlight were streaming in from behind the coffee bar like some smokey scene from a Ridley Scott movie (think "Legends" with Tim Curry). A drum circle was building to a crescendo as the dust storm kept whipping around, belly dancers were writhing about, clowns were wreaking mayhem, poets were slamming, musicians were jamming, and most other folks were sitting around, faces covered with masks and scarves, waiting for the dust storm to subside.
The Queene began to cry. The Wing Wrangler just held her, not saying a
word. Her fabulous magic gown was ruined! Her wing was bent, and tears streamed down her dusty face. She had stepped out to what she thought would be her shining moment, replete with all the paparazzi and here she was. Fucking faerie dusted! It wasn't pretty. The Faerie Queene cursed: this is dark, wicked magic and horrible trolly luck! Nassty hobbittssss!
Then... all of sudden... the photographers came to hold an audience with the Queene. They snapped away taking pictures. She slumped down on a bench, the Wing Wrangler's arm around her protecting her. "No pictures" he said. "Can't you see? This isn't cool." The Queene, eyes closed, waved her wand around aimlessly: "Let them, I don't care anymore." The photographers snapped away, when out of the dusty haze Anthony (aka Lt. Mutti, the Trash Nazi, and also the biggest fairy the Queene knew) materialized. "Achtung!!! Tanja? Is that... you?" he asked incredulously.
Anthony was a good friend to the Queene. One of her favorite people in her circle of friends. How glad she was that she told him this many times, for you never know when the last time you will see somebody. For the Queene, this would be one of the last times she would see her favorite fairy, for the morning after Anthony returned from Burning Man, he shot himself in the head with his father's gun.
Anthony bowed before he embraced the Queene. "Your Majesty, let me buy you something warm and sweet to drink. You'll feel much better." And with that the escorted her to up the coffee bar. Anthony had a way of cheering up the Queene, which is why he was well favored in her court. "Honey, it's just a little dust storm," he said. "Just be glad it's not a freaking shit storm!"
The Queene laughed, and with that laugh, became resigned to her hopeless, dusty fate. A stranger, a photographer by the name of Elaine asked to take her picture. The Queene consented but, before Elaine left, the Queene gave her her card. "Send me an e-mail with a copy of the photo," she commanded Elaine. "And I will grant you one wish."
It took many, many months for Elaine to develop the photo. Then one day, finally an e-mail arrived in Her Majesty's in-box. The Queene had all but given up on Elaine and had completely forgotten about it when it arrived.
Curious about the attachment to Elaine's missive, the Queen tapped her
tracking pad three times and said "There's no place like Burning Man,
there's no place like Burning Man, there's no place like Burning Man," when suddenly, the most amazing thing happened. For what she saw when she clicked her pad was a mortal woman at the Happiest Place on Earth living out her dreams and doing what she truly loved to do. Magic works in mysterious ways, and for the Faerie Queene her disappointment was transformed to utter delight. It is so very true that one must always, always "Follow your bliss!"
So my dear friends, by Royal Proclamation, the Queene's message to you today is: Dream. Imagine. And believe in magic!!