Thank you to all who came, who helped, who tried to come, and who wished they could be there.
I still have not been imbued with any ability to create an official report or summary of what happened Saturday night. However, the next morning, as the others slumbered, I perched myself on a bar stool, looked out across the ruins of the bar and loft, grabbed a menu, and wrote these recollections with my penny pencil...
Everything you remember exists just as you recall, except perhaps you forgot how the love radiated amber. And it's possible you overlooked the village in the shady valley, where orange blossoms rained from the planets...or the one precious place without corners, where secrets were shared and eyelashes blew kisses in the air. If you concentrate, you can recollect all these jewels, like an architect putting rail cars to rest. You can burst eternity into a corrected, altered, accurate, true, and real story of your past. And everyone and everything you ever dreamed or envisioned will come see you tonight for a taste of this sweet, sweet wine.
I had a dream about Le Mixeur last night...
A divine light shone down to reveal a glorious path...there was a congregation of old women on the path...it was all love...they opened their shawls before us and we entered through the thinnest of veils into a blessed womb...a place where no one was bad, no one was ugly, no one was damaged, maimed, fractured, or lost...We all looked inward, and there we found each other, and we witnessed one another for the first time. And we appeared to one another as if babies...we searched for one another as if mothers...we caressed and consoled one another as if planets, moons, atoms, and dust. We wept puddles of joy onto the earth beneath us, and splashed each other with the water we made. And the mist from our play touched the fibers of each leaf on each tree above us, and they all erupted in the most beautiful song...and the knots in our throats pulsated electric, becoming motors, propelling us outward into the atmosphere, forming iconic streaks of clouds that stretched across the night blue sky...and as the symphony wound down, we all wished, with every hope we had, that none of this transcendent essence would ever leave us...and so, it doesn't.
I still have not been imbued with any ability to create an official report or summary of what happened Saturday night. However, the next morning, as the others slumbered, I perched myself on a bar stool, looked out across the ruins of the bar and loft, grabbed a menu, and wrote these recollections with my penny pencil...
Everything you remember exists just as you recall, except perhaps you forgot how the love radiated amber. And it's possible you overlooked the village in the shady valley, where orange blossoms rained from the planets...or the one precious place without corners, where secrets were shared and eyelashes blew kisses in the air. If you concentrate, you can recollect all these jewels, like an architect putting rail cars to rest. You can burst eternity into a corrected, altered, accurate, true, and real story of your past. And everyone and everything you ever dreamed or envisioned will come see you tonight for a taste of this sweet, sweet wine.
I had a dream about Le Mixeur last night...
A divine light shone down to reveal a glorious path...there was a congregation of old women on the path...it was all love...they opened their shawls before us and we entered through the thinnest of veils into a blessed womb...a place where no one was bad, no one was ugly, no one was damaged, maimed, fractured, or lost...We all looked inward, and there we found each other, and we witnessed one another for the first time. And we appeared to one another as if babies...we searched for one another as if mothers...we caressed and consoled one another as if planets, moons, atoms, and dust. We wept puddles of joy onto the earth beneath us, and splashed each other with the water we made. And the mist from our play touched the fibers of each leaf on each tree above us, and they all erupted in the most beautiful song...and the knots in our throats pulsated electric, becoming motors, propelling us outward into the atmosphere, forming iconic streaks of clouds that stretched across the night blue sky...and as the symphony wound down, we all wished, with every hope we had, that none of this transcendent essence would ever leave us...and so, it doesn't.
Comments
Thanks for coming Stevi. It was great seeing you for the three seconds I had available.