There’s something so glorious about feeling your feet in the earth. Getting dirt under your nails and not caring. Leaving home without your phone.
I went to Burning Man a couple of years ago and I’m actually heading back to Black Rock City again in a couple of weeks – something I’m sure I’ll write about afterwards. But the Garbicz Festival last week, set in the magical surroundings of a Polish forest and lake, was my first foray into festival life away from the dusty Nevada playa.
The Garbicz Festival marked the first time (in my late thirties I might add!) that I’d been to a festival with friends, slept in a tent and danced in a forest till dawn. I’d do it all again. Maybe with a bigger tent.
Festivals are medicine to me. They’re the perfect chance to switch off and re-connect with what matters most…. people.
Also, when you’re free to clear your mind in the open air, it’s amazing how many more creative thoughts bust through the doors and beg to be written down.
My imagination was on fire out there; a thousand story-lines inspired by these enchanting settings. The breeze rippling the lake at sunset, singing with a Spanish musician and his guitar in a neon purple cape; the way the Music Ashram went from one muttering shaman to a full on orchestrated dance party in a clearing. We lounged, we bounced, we blew bubbles.
While some friends were entranced by trance at epic sound-stages, others sat by a fire and made up songs. No pressure, no rush, no worries.
The Garbicz Festival really is a special affair; every part of it felt crafted with pure love! You can read about its history here, of how two brothers bought the land to build on and deemed it far too beautiful in the end. Who can blame them? There’s magic in the air here – you can feel it.
I had to let my new potential story ideas go for the most part, and trust that the best ones would come back. I might be waiting a while. Let’s not get carried away. Festivals also tend to hurt your head… a lot.
So maybe a book about a festival is in order, at some point. I’m not sure how the leads would fare, losing each other, finding each other, finding themselves. There’s also a thin line between a person who loves the odd weekend in nature, and a hippy who no longer feels the need to shower (I went three days, don’t judge).
Hmm. There are lot of details to iron out here. Maybe I’ll go find a tree to lie under, and think about it some more.