Aaaaaaa. These have been inspiring times. I have realised that this is not a puppetry odyssey, and this is not a blog about puppetry. This is just about the grand treasure hunt towards.....whatever it is I am trying to edge towards, in all that I do and all that calls me. So I am going to have to broaden the subject matter significantly. Basically this is just a blog about me.This month of September 2008 has been full of magic - over the past few weeks I have been lucky enough to spend time in my two most dearly-beloved places in the world, both of which have filled me with inspiration and emotion and seemed vital stopping-off points before I start a huge new chapter.
The first weekend of September I was at the Westcountry Storytelling Festival, on Dartington Estate, in Totnes, Devon. I had dreamt about this festival, and waited so long to go. The problem is I am not sure how efficiently I can put into words my feelings about the experience.
There were perhaps 300 people at the festival. From our arrival to the green, leafy grounds of the estate I realised that between every single stranger at this event there was an acknowledgement, an openness. Every stranger passing would exchange a hello. Eye contact was a constant throughout, and how good it felt. The natural thing to do around the small central campfire was to talk freely, absent-mindedly, to whoever was nearby. It all felt very healthy, very soothing for the spirit.
I was a total newcomer to this world of Storytelling, which in this case brought together traditional english tellers, interpreters of Sufi tales, American mytho-poets, musicians......what reeled me in was not any individual teller or tale, any one experience from the weekend, it was the effect of all of it woven into one thing. It was moving to spend two days in such a tiny community which believed in storytelling and the ritual act of telling and listening. That ritual was like a spell over everyone....all 300 adults and children, all open, attentive, listening and relishing. What an incredible thing.
I liked the way that the Storyteller boundaries were undefined. Late at night around the campfire, three American poets Jay Leeming, Thomas Smith and Tim Young took turns reciting their poems, interspersed with gentle banter, nuggets of stories hidden from view. Later, in the shadows, two men whom I later discovered to be called the Brothers Frantzich took hold of the campfire gatherers and began to sing songs, one drum and one guitar. Slowly they invited participation. Before long we were singing gospel songs so very beautiful, so simple, so pure in message. The brothers were leading us along from one song into the next...repeated words, rounds, endless harmonies, music that was all about hope in the face of pain. I'll never forget that time around the campfire, when every single person, full of a lifetime of vocal inhibition, was singing incredibly, and loving it. They later said that such collective magic doesn't happen often.
Twice during the weekend I seated myself before Robin Williamson, formerly of the Incredible String Band, to a collection of his animated, lengthly, interactive stories interspersed with soft songs on the harp. Tears fell quite easily in the presence of this man who had created such whimsical, romantic psychedelic folk that I had clung so dearly onto in previous years......to see him creating it anew, to see him still carrying the flame.
I came away from the storytelling festival not wanting to leave this soft, secretive, enchanted world which I had just discovered. I wanted to follow the mytho-poets back to Minnesota. I wanted to trail around with the Frantzich brothers to more music gatherings in inns and on beaches. But I felt sure that this is the beginning of something. During the weekend new developments were spoken of........including the birth of the Westcountry School of Myth and Storytelling, and its opening weekend in Dartmoor, in late October. I truly hope to continue to be in touch with this irresistible subculture.
That leaves the other special place visited this month. An island which I first stepped onto as a tiny child, and which I keep having to return to...........more on that later.
