Let no one weep for me, or celebrate my funeral with mourning;
for I still live, as I pass to and fro through the mouths of men.
-Quintus EnniusÂ
Our festival family was blessed for many years by the presence of Owain Phyfe. On September 5th, he left us, and there's a silence in the space where his voice once sang. We're all left with the echoes, now. I had opportunities to work alongside Owain at fairs such as Arizona, Miami, and Michigan. His stage was a place I could go during the day to reclaim 'John' when I got lost in 'Lucio'. Owain was an incredibly gifted musician & singer, and a gentle spirit. He was also know as a masterful preparer of Mimosas and Bloody Marys. Like all of us on the road, he was a little batty, too.
I take my community on the road very seriously. I care, deeply, for those who are on this adventure by my side. When mourning, we do not cry for those who have passed, but for ourselves. In this instance, I cried for those around me. I can not claim that Owain and I were bound by the deepest of friendships, but I had a great deal of respect for the man. The impact he had on all of us was immense, and if I could, I would hug every one at this festival, or any other. So many people I deeply love are hurting, now. Owain's struggle has ended. We're all struggling to balance the loss we feel with a celebration of the life we loved. Owain once said:Â "I value greatly that which I find interwoven in the art and music of the Renaissance....that virtue is worth pursuing, that man can be heroic, that happiness is not to be sacrificed, that life is an adventure worth living.".
This, to me, perfectly exemplifies not the era of the renaissance itself, but my calling to the road and to the festival circuit. We all feel these things, and it's what leads us to work or attend the antique circus, the dirty nerd zoo, or whatever we may cherish as our petname for those weekends in which we find ourselves truly alive, awake, and ourselves. Owain's work brought to the fair a sense of peace, a serenity, and an awareness of that which is bigger than ourselves; whether it's something spiritual, or our families, or (for me) the horizon.
Over that horizon, in that spiritual aether, and with the rest of our absent families, Owain is waiting. Until we can sit again, to listen or sing with him once more, we tarry here and keep singing, keep listening. We will tell our stories and break bread. We'll pursue our virtues, strive to become the heroes he had faith we could be, and we'll be happy as we continue the adventure.
