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"No fuckin' way," he replied with his patented-but-beloved sharpness. "He's underground." It was the first time I had heard that term, and Herman left a depth to it that hung in the air like burning valerian. I've been thinking about this memory lately.
I suppose I've been underground, in one way or another, for a few years now. Personal circumstances, life, work, and changes in the pattern of some past social connections in the community took enough breath from me that perhaps I lost my voice for a while. That's a challenging thing when you're normally a Type-A personality with an attitude and a desire to make a positive difference in the world around you. It's been years since I last facilitated an open circle, or taught a workshop, or even held a private sabbat feast in my home.
So it was only with a little apprehension that I attended the recent Toronto Pagan Pride Day with my partner, and I'm pleased for it. Because of a firm belief that everyone should pitch in and participate in community events, it gladdened me to make myself available to its coordinators. While some attendees suggested that its turnout was small this year, for me it was an intimate enough event to stretch my spiritual legs in again and a large enough event to make some new friends and rekindle with old ones. This aging oak enjoyed the sweetwater it was offered, which is probably the most one can hope to say about such an event. Nice. Good job, guys.
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