"I Need a Miracle...Everyday!"

The winter solstice is upon us, promising longer days and the welcoming rebirth that is spring in the not too distant future. Even though the presents, all still wrapped, and the champagne bottles, bubbling with the anticipation of midnight and shouts of jubilation, still hold their corks firmly in place, I can't help but wishing to myself, again and again, that it was April already. April is when the first festival of the year takes place and where my mind, body and soul finally wakes up and shakes this miserable, dreary, going nowhere feeling from my aching bones. I once again have something to look forward to, and right now in my life, that, is a precious commodity. Every time I see that old rusty metal fire ring sitting in my yard, slightly off-kilter and covered in early morning frost, I swear that if I get close enough to it I can feel the warmth of the campfire that will soon occupy its hollow cavity and the warmth of my fellow hippie brethren and the stories and laughs that we will share surrounded by the light of the fire's glow.

Christmas baking was done this year, as most every year, with the sounds of the Grateful Dead playing in the background. Some people might opt for Bing or Burl or even Elvis for this holiday tradition, but I'll take Jerry and Bob over Rudolph and Frosty every time. As "Shakedown Street" gets my feet a'movin, I'm transported to a place of hula hoops, lawn chairs and beautiful, flailing tie-dye. I spot a woman dancing and am transfixed. She is gorgeous. Tall, slim and all of maybe twenty six years old. She kicks up small clouds of dust as her bare feet thump out a rhythm that has consumed her. Her elegantly long arms trace invisible patterns around her and her wild brown hair caresses her bare, bronze shoulders with every gyration. I am drawn to her because I want nothing more in this world than to be her. To scatter my inhibitions to the wind and just be...be...well, just be. The grace she possesses is not masking insecurities or self-consciousness. She is perfect in her moment of spinning bliss and she pays no mind to anyone or anything around her. She is being.

I don't know if this is going to be my last year on earth. If those wacky Mayans were right we might all be doomed 364 days from now. Frankly, I'm sick of worrying about it every time I turn on the History channel. I need a festival to take my mind off of inevitable calamity and sorrow. I need late night music and early morning frisbee. I need glow sticks and dread locks. I need tent neighbors and festy friends. And most of all I need that campfire. You don't think about things like bills, schedules, or impending doom when your knees and face are toasty warm. You think about the faces looking back at you from across the flickering circle of light and the way the stars seem to dance in the sky from on top of a mountain. You worry, not about debt or despair, but whether or not you'll have enough beer to last till Sunday or if those people you met and had a good time with last year will show up this year and find you among the masses. It's a different reality, a better reality where peace and love and brotherhood abound. For four, miraculous days you are reborn and hopes and dreams creep back into your weary soul.

While everyone else is watching Ralphie shoot his eye out or standing in line with the rest of the last-minute zombies, I will be dusting off the hackey sack and making tie-dyes. With visions of fire dancers twirling in my head I am assured by the fact that New Years means more than that twelve o'clock kiss and a new beginning, it also means there are only four more months 'til April. It can't get here fast enough. Merry Christmas and Happy Hooping!