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Oct. 16th, 2007 02:18 pmIt was about a year ago that I first went out to my friends house in central Mass, and first was exposed to fire spinning. I was captivated by the blazing patterns, the joyful, primal nature of it. A few weeks later, I started taking classes at BU. One year later I returned to my friend's house along with dozens of other freaks and friends, but this time as a participant.
Initially I was a bit nervous. There are some seriously talented people in our group, and those who've been doing it longer than me are likely not easily impressed. I hoped to just find a fairly out of the way place to spin and do my thing. Of course, when you are holding two blazing balls of fire on the end of a chain there IS no good place to hide. I started going through all of my basic moves, dancing around a bit to the music, and noticed that my pants were on fire.
The fire burned itself out in a matter of seconds and I continued on until the flames cooled from yellow, to blue, and then snuffed out. I watched some more of the spinners using different tools: staves, fire fingers, a whip, and hula hoops. One girl performed a minor striptease while hooping, which was cute. The light from the fire was punctuated with larger bursts as a small knot of people practiced fire breathing. Gouts of flame filled the air, their skin shone with droplets of fuel. The music flowed all around us, as the crowds grew larger.
I burned twice more that night, and I was happy that some of my friends got to see me burn for the first time. Each time was looser, wilder. I felt the music more and remembered why I was doing this. Because dancing and spinning with fire was damned fun. I could probably not learn a single other technique beyond what I know now, and be content. Light up. Dance. It's a wonderful feeling.
My carousing from the day before, coupled with my forgetting to eat but once that day, meant that my own fire was burning pretty dimly by midnight. I just chilled out for the most part, interjecting here and there, but letting others take the spotlight. The party showed no sign of winding down, so I decided to sleep in the comfort of my own bed rather than on the floor.
I'm looking forward to the next year of fire.
Initially I was a bit nervous. There are some seriously talented people in our group, and those who've been doing it longer than me are likely not easily impressed. I hoped to just find a fairly out of the way place to spin and do my thing. Of course, when you are holding two blazing balls of fire on the end of a chain there IS no good place to hide. I started going through all of my basic moves, dancing around a bit to the music, and noticed that my pants were on fire.
The fire burned itself out in a matter of seconds and I continued on until the flames cooled from yellow, to blue, and then snuffed out. I watched some more of the spinners using different tools: staves, fire fingers, a whip, and hula hoops. One girl performed a minor striptease while hooping, which was cute. The light from the fire was punctuated with larger bursts as a small knot of people practiced fire breathing. Gouts of flame filled the air, their skin shone with droplets of fuel. The music flowed all around us, as the crowds grew larger.
I burned twice more that night, and I was happy that some of my friends got to see me burn for the first time. Each time was looser, wilder. I felt the music more and remembered why I was doing this. Because dancing and spinning with fire was damned fun. I could probably not learn a single other technique beyond what I know now, and be content. Light up. Dance. It's a wonderful feeling.
My carousing from the day before, coupled with my forgetting to eat but once that day, meant that my own fire was burning pretty dimly by midnight. I just chilled out for the most part, interjecting here and there, but letting others take the spotlight. The party showed no sign of winding down, so I decided to sleep in the comfort of my own bed rather than on the floor.
I'm looking forward to the next year of fire.
