Beyond Politics: Beltane with Washington’s Secret Weapons

by Fayeruz Regan 06.2025

My cousin Christina is a free spirit, so I felt inclined to warn her that many of her peers, as they enter middle age, will become boring. One minute they’re exploring an abandoned mental institution in the woods, and the next? They’re living in a treeless cul-de-sac and terrified of parallel parking in “the city.” 

Christina knew I needed to shake things up. I wanted to meet people interesting enough to bring up at the dinner table. She invited me to Beltane, a Celtic springtime celebration. It falls around May Day (May 1), right between the spring equinox and the summer solstice. At parties, fire is used to symbolize the warmth of winter’s end. Beltane is also a celebration of fertility, love, and purity. 

Christina told me to look Beltane for the history, and for what to wear. She had me at “what to wear.” This was better than a costume party. Attendees were free to express the theme however they wanted. Met Gala for makers and creatives? Yes, please!

This group doesn’t have a formal name or social media account, but are organized enough to throw epic gatherings around pagan holidays. A man named Shunka started the tradition during the COVID era, longing for community. He hosted an outdoor drum circle around Halloween, and 30-40 people came. From there, it steamrolled. The Washington, DC wellness community is alight with members. Some scored invitations through yoga class, breath work sessions, and “ecstatic dance” gatherings, which quite honestly deserves its own article. 

I arrived to see percussionists surrounding a large fire. A wooden effigy stood nearby. Interestingly, the gathering was multi-generational. People from their twenties to their sixties played everything from deerskin drums to maracas. Someone pulled out a saxophone. There was a harpist. 

The “bullshit” enclave had a small fire for those wanting a smoke and a chat. A maypole was erected, straight from a Medieval fairy tale. Revelers grabbed ribbons and danced around the pole, weaving past one another as the ribbons slowly braided downward. It was beautiful and fluid, until the ribbons grew short. It then became a concussion-prone game of Twister, and it was hilarious.

It’s worth noting that though there were refreshments, there was no bar, keg, or coolers. People could bring their own booze, but most were on their own journeys. There was a trampoline tucked into a corner of towering trees, and I stumbled upon a circle of women meditating there. In another area, people snuggled on hammocks. 

Anyone with friends in Washington has found themselves at parties packed with government employees or contractors. The indisputable male energy can feel like a pissing contest of sorts. Whether for security clearance levels or who got which multi-million government contract, “What do you do?” is a defining question. It’s blue blazers and golf memberships and it’s where I grew up. But this gathering was different. It was a gentle revolt, the antithesis to the beltway status quo. 

Culturally, it’s too easy to write off drum circle crowds. In Venice Beach, California, the scene was rife with privileged kids experimenting with a “strife” phase. Others came for the selfies, fabricating Coachella-esque adventures for social media. I came to this party with an open mind because every writer should, and I could immediately see the differences. Not a selfie in sight, and the guests were refreshingly authentic. One was a molecular scientist conducting cancer research at the National Institute for Health. There was a couple building a licensed ayahuasca retreat. A Johns Hopkins-educated man who just opened a ketamine clinic for those suffering trauma and PTSD.  Even my cousin Christina is an entrepreneur. She has a successful juice business, and just opened up a venue called Elysium Healing Oasis. She transformed an Alexandria property into a tranquil escape venue for yoga classes, sound baths, and other events. 

In a nutshell, I was surrounded by healers. The world is on fire, and Washington is the cauldron where the world’s biggest problems are cooked. Rather than retreating into escapism, this group is softly battling the fallout all week long. Dancing before the fire and howling at the moon was their release from fighting the good fight; these were Washington’s real secret weapons. It’s a community of empaths that became entrepreneurs. 

While this subculture may vary per city, curious Richmond folks may have options.  On Meetup.com, RVA Bembe is a drumming group 465 members strong. If you too find your peers in Richmond getting a little boring, I might start there.