Having sat and worshiped at the feet of a black goddess I find myself in the position to begin to listen to the words that are said and hear what they mean. Having listened to the teachings of histories teachers I find myself upon the beginning of a breath that might be warmth in the blood that pumps the muscles that drive the mind to begin to consider taking a step.
Even before the beginning, there was a start. Even before it began you had heard the voices that were whispering behind old forgotten presences. Their message had been misinterpreted as music and so bodies, inclined to act on the energy that they received from this message, began to move. Their feet pounded on the ground in smoky rooms and open fields. Their heads swayed like palm trees calling to the ocean “come, come, come.”
Bodies seeing bodies, becoming bodies, hearing bodies. What does it mean to commune? What is the community in a release, and what is release but a sharing of the self. How do we begin to imagine that the things we are saying are not the things that are being heard? How is it that we find the mystery behind the ghost that covered my face with several version of herself and a small part of earthenware found somewhere in the misty jungles that we walked through for several years before finally finding ourselves lying dead and distraught on the side of the road to hell? When did we become another set of good intentions?
Still their heads have been seen swaying to the pulse of his soul. The steady beating of the drum, like the heart of the universe has continued to show their power over others. As if somehow caught by the magic of the idea behind a descending octave and two beat break.
Still the release gets louder.
In science there is talking about a law that basically states that the more you do something the faster you can do it.
Still the release gets louder.
It’s called the law of accelerating returns. The human mind gets more efficient at doing things the more times it does it.
Still the release gets louder.
The beat beckons. The heart replies.
And she has been there. Her form becoming more a presence than a physical being. Her body itself transfixed, lost somewhere between space and time. Between here and now. Between what is and what could be. Between her and I.
Her and I
HerandI
Her eye
meets mine. And for a second there is everything.
And for a second there is nothing.
Still the release gets louder.
And then she is gone. And then I am gone.
And still, the beat goes on.
The perfect, delicate, crucial moment; the fleeting rightness of time and place that creates the opportune atmosphere for action, words or movement.