The beauty that is

a collection of moments, standing amidst an undulating crowd, your body compelled to move by sound and the feeling of music vibrating through the air and the floor. A single violinist, with the look of a street performer, stood under a spotlight. A cloud of steam and smoke curling into each other rose slowly above his head. In the light, the column of opaque moving white gestured to the thickness of the air and the transitive quality of music as it is played. The lights go dark elsewhere and dozens rise from their seats to stand before him on the dance floor as he begins to play a tune that is both beautiful and upbeat, but with the edge of an awareness of its own passing, and with that, the passing of life itself. He plays passionately and fervently music that feels like it is from another place, a different time, a dream about the world had from another world. Other instruments join him and together all the black silhouettes move and join with them in the energetic release, the act of creation! The crowd jumps up and down and suddenly I can’t tell when I’m in the air or on the floor, the floors throws us back up as we alight with our toes. There is nothing but movement, sound, hunger and togetherness.

At the end of the show, the crowd joins the band on the stage the lights come up, and everyone covered in sweat, joyous, and with bodies shaking and exuberant, look at each other and cheer, with heartened vitality, purely alive together.

On a golden hilltop, in another time that exists in parallel, we two sit drinking wine and mulling what is, what has been, what could be, and laughter, and beauty that makes the word beauty seem trite. Mmm mmm mmm.

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