At last today is here. The bags are packed, and I have only a quick (ha! metaphor) shift to go before we set off. Tonight we drive into the storm in order to make our way to the final citadel where dragons lie; they have awakened.
There is a night journey, feasting and a grand tournament to watch. Increasingly this weekend tingles with excitement and a distinctly medieval flavour. Thus this becomes a quest - if so what is our object?
We do not wish to slay any dragons - indeed we go to watch them roar and take flight - unleashed, unabashed, frolicking in their natural environment. Do we seek a holy grail - a panacea to end all ills and grant eternal life? If so I fear we are to be greatly disappointed. What then do we go for? Fr the occasion, for the memory, for the taste and flavour of the day - the city, the stadium, the game. To witness such a game in the midst of thousands, to become a part of that day in our own small way.
So our quest object is not tangible, it will not be what we bring back in the boot (though who knows what mementos we might obtain) - it cannot be grasped. No it will be what we bring back in our thoughts, our sense of the day(s) and our imaginations. For it is here the day will grow in the retelling, in the narrative of re-membering.
I look to the weekend, to what will take place and how that will be. I ache to be a part of it, to witness the elements and the masses first hand - sketchbook and pen in hand. I seek the tension of the build up and the release of kick off. But I also look for the excitement of human experience, for the sensation and memory of the day, the food of imagination - the bread of heaven.