Trial by Fire

You all probably know I've been spinning fire for a few weeks now. I started writing this two days after the fact and just finished the first part...

Ever had an experience where you feel like you're floating somewhere just outside your physical self? I'm not talking a telephone pole falls and knocks you to Neptune. You're still in the general area; it's just that whatever’s happening is so intense, it's too much for your body to contain so there's a bit of a split. Your spirit becomes an entity in itself, and your body has a mind of its own. They aren't completely disconnected, but the leash loosens -- like the Starship Enterprise pulling a foreign vessel via tractor beam (I don't know which is which in that metaphor). Two days later, it's still a giant blur, but I will do my best to give an accurate account.

The nervous energy has been coursing through my body since 4 in the afternoon as I spin my poi in pale green nurse’s scrubs outside the Seattle hospital which is actually a TV studio in LA. It takes five hours before they call us 20-something fake doctors, nurses, patients, and orderlies to set. I remember a year and a half ago working Grey's Anatomy for the very first time-- bright lights, fancy film equipment, hustle and bustle of "real Hollywood film crew", and HOLY CRAP McDreamy just walked through the door! It's not that I'm jaded, bitter, or unappreciative of this wacky, wonderful world, but tonight I'm on a mission. MUST BURN... MUST BURN...

The PA releases me at 10:18 on the dot, which gives me an hour and 42 minutes to motor my tuchus down to an abandoned park in Culver City where I will meet up with some shady characters and lose my virginity, so to speak...

I scoot up to Burbank to pick up my friend Eric at Bob's Big Boy, and we make the drive down. We walk down the hill and slosh through a lawn that feels like a swamp down to the basketball court where our people are gathered. A small group of people spin hoops, staff, poi, and other exotic objects I don't know by name. Normally, fire fills me with a feeling of serene awe, but tonight I am giddy. My time has come-- not because anyone demands it, not because a decree has spoken it so, but because something inside has told me I must. I ask Muse if I can give his fire poi a dry run and he kindly agrees. I feel as if I am picking up poi for the very first time, taking guidance from Sean as I fumble the leather loops. "How do I hold these?" I ask. It's not that I haven't done this before; more like I'm starting to freak the fuck out. He helps me thread my fingers through. First obstacle down. Once I have them in my hands, my muscle memory returns. Yes, I can do this. I can do this. I can DO this!

The clock strikes a few minutes before midnight. Someone yells the lighter fluid equivalent of "last call." "Wait!" I holler. "Is there time for me to spin?" I squeak in at the very last minute. Sean takes me to the fuel station, and I take a double dip. He walks me over to the "spin-off" area and instructs me to spin hard and fast with an emphasis on the down-motion so the lighter fluid won't splatter during my spin. He gives me a few words of advice and reassurance before I make my way to center court. "Stick to what you know, but don't worry too much; it takes a lot to light yourself on fire, and you've got two safeties even though you really only need one. Emma and I both have your back." On the way back to the basketball court, I take a deep inhale. My nostrils are invaded by a pungent toxicity. In any other situation, I would cringe and turn away, but right now it is sacred. So this is what spinning smells like…

That's all anyone can say or do. Now, it's really time. Sean and Emma have their safety blankets. Muse has his camera. I pause for a moment, lifting the poi in the air as a gesture of honor. I don't know if it’s a lighter or candle or what, but something ignites me. It’s a strange sensation, and we’re not talking flowery, land-of-the-poet, metaphorical feeling. These things are BRIGHT. These things are HOT. And they are dangling in front of my face! “Well don’t just stand there, spin!” And really, what else can I do?

Here’s where it gets fuzzy. Some things heighten. The rest falls away. Emma’s voice giving me guidance is vaguely comprehensible past the whoosh whoosh whoosh of flames streaking beside me, above me, around me every which way. Two blazing balls overpower my vision. Everything else goes black. The dance is wild; uncontrollable; takes me everywhere; makes my heart pound and my voice shriek. At least once, a flame catches my shirt. I keep yelling, “Am I on fire? Am I on fire?” “You’re fine,” they tell me, galaxies away. There is the cold air and the warm flames and my body, shaking from them both. I am in the tornado. I am over the rainbow. I am a million miles from where I’ve been. I am home.