When I was negotiating to be a speaker at the upcoming Heartland Pagan Festival, I did not ask for a cabin. There were two reasons for this. First, it's more fun to camp with my Avalon folk, waking to the smell of coffee and the sound of crackling bacon, sitting at night around our fire across from Memorial Grove. Secondly, I'll have Caesar with
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Aren't you moving back to Kansas City next year?
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My delusion that I would be missed by anyone here was dispelled at Beltane, when not one person bothered to call to see if I was dead on the road, or in a hospital somewhere or (yes, the right answer was behind Door #3) just lost. Not a single person. I have no idea of when the grove began to perceive me as being so utterly worthless. Or maybe it was always this way, and I was just too stupid to notice ( ... )
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