The Netherlands Faery/Feri retreat has come to an end, and as I sit here in my host’s apartment, I wanted to share my thoughts.
The event itself was lovely. A wonderful group of people came together in love for our shared tradition and a common purpose of exploring the magic that inspires and moves us. It had been seven years since Anaar and I had traveled to Europe to offer this work. In many ways, we expected it to unfold much as it had before: a celebration of community, of poetry, of ritual, of art.
And while it did indeed fulfill all that, there was another, more global reality that inserted itself into the mix: Covid-19.
Medical illustration of the Covid-19 virus. Courtesy DepositPhotos.
I, like so many others, have been able to believe that this was something that was, for the most part, “over.” After spending years in our own self-imposed lockdown, in the past year and a half, my family and I had finally begun venturing out to the grocery store, to run errands, and even the occasional restaurant. Eventually, I stopped wearing a mask, as we had been the only ones to wear them in public, though we still maintained common sense distancing, hand washing and sanitizing, and so on. We had received all the vaccinations available to us and felt that we were being responsible in a world shifting from pandemic to endemic.
So, when it came time to gather, after all these years, to resurrect what so many had loved and wished for, it never occurred to me that we might be heading into what some may callously call a “superspreader event.”
We gathered Wednesday at a beautiful historic building, a reclaimed Catholic school in the heart of beautiful Nijmegen. Having arrived in the Netherlands just a couple days prior, I was still jet-lagged. The weather was cold and humid, something that my lungs dislike, having had Covid twice before which has left me with a slightly diminished lung capacity. While that has slowly been healing over the past few years, little things will irritate them, and so when I felt a touch of congestion there, I naturally assumed it was just that.
Still, I was mindful (if not necessarily demure) about the occasional need to cough, doing so into my shirtsleeve or handkerchief and sanitizing my hands accordingly. Otherwise, I felt fine: energetic, bright, and eager for the work ahead. We shared a communal meal. I led opening ritual. We enjoyed a bit of cake before bed.
The beautiful building at which the event was held. [S. Faerywolf]
I did not sleep well, though in truth I had not since I left my own bed in California. This is normal for me. I seldom sleep well outside of my own space. Traveling, even just within the States, often upsets my biological clock and traveling nine hours into the future this was certainly to be expected.
The next day, all was still well. I felt fine, if tired, and was eager to present the work I had prepared. We had a lovely communal breakfast and then the first workshop of the event. I led a series of meditations for the group, gathered in a large room in which we kept open windows for ventilation and cranked up the radiators as a bulwark against the cold.
Anaar took the lead on the next workshop, leading a meditation with the Star Goddess, focusing on passion and desire as precursors to the creative force. Later that evening, after dinner (wonderful food, by the way, perhaps the very best I have experienced at any retreat) we gathered for a poetry reading. We read poems by Victor Anderson, our beloved founder. We read pieces by celebrated poets and even some we had written ourselves. Even song lyrics were offered. (And a really cool “audience participation” piece led by one of the attendees.)
As the evening progressed, I felt tired, and a little hot, but having jet lag and sitting in front of the radiator I thought nothing of it. I offered my pieces, a couple poems and even a song. By the end I was exhausted, so when it was done, and dessert was offered, I decided to retreat to my room to get some rest.
That night was awful. I felt flushed, feverish. I tossed and turned. I was freezing. I was hot. I did not sleep.
The next day, Friday the 13th, was a blur. I approached one of the organizers that morning to request a Covid test, just to be on the safe side. I had previously had Covid, twice, and this felt nothing like those times, but discretion is the better part of valor, so they say. I took the test to my room, administered it, and awaited the results.
I try to be a positive person but sometimes that just sucks. [S. Faerywolf]
As the line indicating a positive result slowly emerged, things got immediately real. Anaar, my good friend and traveling companion, is immunocompromised, and the last thing I would want is to expose her or anyone else to this unpredictable virus. I immediately texted the organizer team with my results and stated that I would be isolating in my private room, offering to fulfill my workshops over Zoom for the group. I would stay in that little room for the rest of the event, venturing forth only to use the bathroom and take a shower, my meals brought to me and me receiving them from behind a mask.
One of the organizers took the reins and called for a meeting, announcing that I, and one other, had tested positive. I attended over Zoom and was happy to see many masked faces, seated farther apart, in the large room with open windows. The facilitator gave everyone a couple minutes to express their feelings and concerns.
The group posed hard questions: Should everyone test? Should everyone mask? Should we end things early? We shared our feelings, some of them hard, raw, and real. Was it a good idea for immunocompromised people to attend events at all? Some people rebelled against the idea of having to mask. Fingers started to be pointed. Since the two of us who were positive traveled from the States, albeit from different locations and on different planes, accusations of Americans bringing the infection were voiced. (Side note: I don’t blame them for speaking from their fear and anger, misplaced though it was.)
The facilitator quickly and compassionately brought the conversation back to its practical core: finger pointing was irrelevant. What was needed was decisive action on how to protect everyone, especially those who were most vulnerable. Four people who were either immunocompromised or who lived with those who were decided to leave early. Alternative sleeping arrangements began to be made to help protect those who would test negative. We purchased more tests and sanitization products.
I mostly slept in between my Zoom offerings. My symptoms were manageable, exhaustion notwithstanding, but I knew better than to assume that meant I was okay to mix with the general population. Unbeknownst to me, several others would also test positive, and since many of the sleeping accommodations were in shared dorms, those who remained negative relocated to the large ritual area to sleep on the floor. Not ideal, certainly, but the best that could be done in the space provided.
In terms of the event’s offerings, we opted to do the closing ritual a day early. Those who were infected or those who could not mask were invited to attend over Zoom. Afterward, Anaar guided the completion of the remaining art projects. All in all, we were able to offer nearly everything we had originally planned.
On the final morning, now feeling fine, I masked and carefully ventured out of my room to pack up my vendor items, making sure to not get close to anyone before going outside to await traveling back to our host’s apartment, who also tested positive. Anaar, still thankfully negative, went to a hotel room so she could remain safe.
Sick and beardless for a better-fitting mask, Storm Faerywolf isolates in his room and contemplates his life choices. [S. Faerywolf]
And so, I sit here now, graced by the hospitality of my Rotterdam host, as I reflect on the events that have transpired and consider the lessons presented to me, and to the community.
Mostly, I am grateful for a thoughtful and compassionate event staff who were forced to navigate a stressful situation, adapting to meet the needs of those who were scared and angry, who just wanted to share a vacation and spiritual event together. But I will admit I am also angry. Angry at those who would prioritize their comfort over the health needs of others and by doing so put others at unnecessary risk. Even still, my anger is not blame. We are human, after all, and we are all trying to navigate this new world, one that so many of us, myself included, have perhaps wanted to believe was not here.
We do not live in a “post-Covid” world. What I have learned is that we all need to take this more seriously that we have been. This isn’t to blame anyone. It’s just the reality of biology and the new social landscape in which we find ourselves. But now, with my eyes more widely open, I know that I would have different requirements for doing an event of this nature again.
Personally, I will no longer participate in events in which attendees are placed in communal living and sleeping spaces. I would require that participants at least be prepared to mask and practice social distancing, among other recommended precautions. This isn’t to blame the organization team for how things were arranged here, as we have done things this way for many years with little or no incident. But once there is a problem, we cannot pretend it’s not there. If we are working to build community that means that we need to be responsible, not only for ourselves, but for one another, as well.
If we, for whatever reason, are unable or unwilling to wear a mask, for example, then we need to understand that our presence becomes a potential danger for others, and we need to take responsibility and remove ourselves from the situation without blame, shade, or ego. We need to make sure that we are practicing safe distancing and washing and sanitizing our hands frequently.
For organizers, it means reminding everyone of best practices and expecting attendees to adhere to them, even to the degree of potentially expelling those who refuse. It’s on all of us to create a better and safer world for ourselves, and each other. And that means taking personal responsibility and setting clear and healthy boundaries.
In hindsight, are there things I could have personally done to make things safer? Yes. Though I did (and do) practice many of the now common precautions, I neglected to mask on the plane. It didn’t even occur to me at the time that it might be an issue, as I have flown since the pandemic with no issue and rarely see anyone masked. I now see that was a definite mistake and one that I will not make again. I will also no longer give hugs to old and new friends alike. I will also make it my business to be more aware of safety protocols for events that I will be presenting at or even just attending. I can no longer assume that others will ensure best practices because we are all human.
All in all, the event was successful, at least in the sense that we were able to present what we intended to, and we came together as a community to address these issues in real time. For the most part, I think they were dealt with really well. We made the best of a bad situation. It has been an eye opener for many of us, and aside from those who will still choose to point fingers at others, what I saw was a community interested in taking care of each other. That gives me hope for the future.
So, I will lick my wounds and tend to my needs as I cancel the rest of my plans and wait it out until I can catch my flight home. I certainly hope that no one else gets sick, especially those who are immunocompromised or live with those who are. All I can do is to pledge to do better by being more aware of just how these things spread (and how fast!) and to do my part to ensure best practices are being followed going forward.
And if we all do that, I pray that is enough.
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