Three years ago, if you asked me what fire spinning was, I would have given you a blank look and shrugged. The first time I heard of fire spinning, a new found friend mentioned these "people who spin fire," and asked me if I wanted to go see what it was all about. At the time, I was a fairly shy person when it came to meeting new folks, but I threw caution to the wind, and stepped outside my little box called life. Apparently, there was no turning back.

The first time I saw spinning, I went to some guy's house, Brian. I didn't know him, or any of the people there. Actually, he wasn't even home yet, but other people were in his backyard, talking, socializing and spinning glow sticks on the ends of strings. It didn't take long for the show to turn from glow to fire, and I was amazed. Speechless. I mean, how do they do it?

The day after, though, I never thought about learning myself. The thought hadn't occurred to me. It was what *they* did, not me. However, I was mesmerized, so I went back, and met more of the group, including the elusive Brian and his then girlfriend, now wife Shannen. On my second visit, one of the spinners, Scott, looked at me and said, "Try it."

I declined, and conversation continued, and Shannen said, "Try it." I tried to decline, but she, and others said, "Well...if you are going to hang out with us, you have to try it at least once."

So I did.

I've been hooked ever since.

After about five months of practice, mostly on my own except for the Friday night get togethers, spinning at least an hour a night, I began to become what I'd call a decent spinner. In other words, I wasn't hitting myself ever two seconds, and had fewer bruises for my efforts. I decided it was time to try fire. I talked to those who'd watched me progress, and they concurred, I was ready.

I borrowed someone's poi, soaked, spun off, and lit up for the first time. WOW. There are not enough words in the English language to relay the experience. The sound, the smell, the sight of fire moving around me in great arcs....if I wasn't hooked already, the first burn grabbed me, hook, line and sinker.

Since my first burn, I continued to practice, learning new tricks, working on transitions, and watching those with more experience, learning. I noticed some moved with the music, and spun with it, increasing or decreasing their tempo at will, giving them a grace which left me awestruck. I wanted to get there, where they were, but...I wasn't a dancer, not really. Neither were they, it turns out. Moving is something that can be practiced, but it is also something that kind of happens. Like learning to spin, you have a learning curve, then you plateau, reach another curve, then plateau. It was in one of those moments when I hit a learning curve at a festival when I first learned how to move. The music was right, the people were right, and I just didn't think, I just spun. It was a magical moment.

I continue to work on form, new moves, transitions and moving, but I also try and lose myself in my spinning. Spinning without fire, when I am practicing, is like meditation for me. It centers me in ways I'd never experienced. The very thought of it calms me, and makes me smile....even when thinking about that ever-elusive move, whatever it might be for that point in time.

I began expanding my fire performing repetoir with other tools, like double batons, and staff. I also learned Fire Breathing and Fire Eating from Patrick Thomas, an amazing fire performer, and the best fire breather I've ever met. He also got me into theatrical sword fighting, specifically, fire sword fighting, though I've not done a scene lit, yet. I expect that to change in the near future.

I spin for myself, first and foremost, but I enjoy sharing my craft with others, either through teaching, or performing. One of the greatest moments is when Audience and Performer share their energy and the performance goes from just a performance to something magical. I treasure those moments, and appreciate how rare they are. As much as I do enjoy such experiences, it is not those moments that keep me spinning. It is the peace I get, the center I get when I spin, either alone, or in front of an audience that I cherish most. I spin for Zen, in a sense.