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He comes on stage, folds his hands in greeting, sits down. The light shining on him is too bright, too harsh. It won’t allow his magic to take root, grow, flow. They have to be dimmed. There, that’s right. Just enough so we can discern his form in still motion, and the expressions that arise and ebb on his mercurial face.
Silence hovers over the crowd like a krishna-hued monsoon cloud, heavy with anticipation. It’s rumbling with thunder now, unable to contain its own fullness. As his voice, and his hands, move from the earth to the sky, the cloud bursts into warm flashes of rain, drenching us with the furious beauty, the momentous suddenness, of his music.
Somewhere deep within, a snake uncoils and frees itself, rising all the way to the crown chakra.
Somewhere in the universe, a sun implodes.
Somewhere in the ocean, a pearl forms.
Somewhere in our collective consciousness, love begins. Once again.
A thunderstorm blessed us last night. It woke me up from a restless, nightmare-punctuated sleep. The solitary window in my room was awash with raindrops, and rattled each time a bolt of thunder streaked across the night sky. I inhaled deep the perfume of wet earth, and tried to catch some drops of warm rain on my tongue.
Intoxicated, gleeful, I returned to my comfortless bed. The new dawn came kissed with the aftermath of the storm. The new dawn came cool and beautiful…
Summer’s fire is quelled for the day. Who knows what will happen tomorrow?
