The Sacred and the Profane

Would you like to follow me on a journey 

into The Festival of the Sacred and the Profane?

It's just over there on the other side of the marsh

in that old World War II bunker.

Let's hike in to take a look.

No one advertises the festival.

There are no posters or fliers.  

It just appears each year 

on one day in October,

and so you find yourself there

among the graffiti and mud. 

And you ask yourself, 

"Where have I seen this bike before?"

To attend this festival, 

you've really got to want it.

But once we arrive, there's crowds and warm food

and aliens to show us the way.

Let's go inside.

We've entered a sort of subterranean Moulin Rouge

full of wonderful characters

and neon umbrellas to light the way

if not to keep us dry.

There's sex

and strange music pulsing through the near total darkness.

Stick close to me so you don't get lost in the chambers.

I thought I saw Todd pass by,

or maybe I just dreamed it.

You don't know who or what you'll meet,

or how they will greet you,

or when you'll find your way back out to the light.

The Festival of the Sacred and the Profane is an annual tradition on Peaks Island, and I was thrilled that we were able to attend it today.  As you could tell from the photos, it was pouring rain, but that didn't stop anyone from going.  It's a strange blend of heartwarming community (think Steampunk Saturday bean supper) and very dark, often edgy or eerie art installations and performances--a complete blast.