THE QUEST FOR THE ARIZONA FLYING CIRCUS
- Matt Shields
- Jul 29
- 2 min read
You did not choose this path.
The path chose you.
It began, as all great quests do, with a sign from above. Not a burning bush. Not a bolt of lightning. A social media post. Shared by a random person on the internet. And yet — something stirred.
You must go.
The quest will not be easy. The Oracle of Google Maps will lead you astray. Ignore her. The sacred texts say: Do not follow the GPS. Those who have followed the GPS have been lost. Some are still out there.
You will pass through the Realm of Mobile. You will cross the Valley of the Vekol. You will turn left at the sign that looks wrong but is actually right. Thirty miles from civilization, the road turns to dirt. This is not a mistake. This is the threshold.
You are close.
You will begin to wonder if you have made a terrible mistake. The desert will offer no reassurance. There is nothing out here. There has never been anything out here.
And then — rising from the desert like a fever dream — a cabin. Built from stones pulled from the desert floor by hands unknown, for reasons lost to time. The Rock House does not acknowledge your presence. It has outlasted everyone who has ever questioned it, and it will outlast you too.
You are not lost. You are exactly where the quest requires you to be.
Keep driving
Finally, you will see it: self-propelled lodgings, cloth dwellings, and billowing smoke. Silken chariots ascending into the morning sky, propelled by a vessel of controlled explosions. An ordained combustionist in the distance doing something with fire that raises questions.
The quest is complete.
Except it isn't. Because now you must contribute firewood, food, drudgery, or whatever strange talent you've been hiding. The Arizona Flying Circus is not built by its organizers. It is built by the people who show up.
You were always meant to show up.
February 11th-14th. MoTown Airport. Maricopa, AZ.
30 miles from anywhere. Exactly where you need to be.
🌵✈️🔥
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