We get it, everything dances.
Everything is vast, simple, unfathomable, a transcendent oneness emerging from all pairs of opposites, glimpsed at times through the burning blaze of the spectacle of the human spirit in all of its messy tortured glory.
We get it. The dust and the stars are remembered, forgotten. You’ve entered the noun of your choice, ruminated upon it with adjectives, and yes, it is illuminating, clever, insightful, heart-wrenching, life-vivifying. True for someone, somewhere, for us all.
We can relate to that bit about surgery, about something broken, something mended. And that middle stanza, especially, helps fulfill our longing to feel connected even as we maintain our illusion of separation.
We’re with you. We are so, so with you.
Tell us again how everything cycles, ripples, dreams of itself, contains something unexpected, possesses a sudden softness, an impartial hardness. Tell us again about the immigrants, the patients, lovers, neighbors. Tell us about the rising smoke, windowpanes, birds, seasons, positioning of planets, democracy.
What is sacred, broken, metamorphosed, alchemized? Who will remember your great grandfather, grandmother, and the way they were? What enters us, consumes us, abandons us, eludes us?
We trust that you will give us the answers to all this, and more, and that it will not be tiresome.
We’re prepared to embrace whatever you put before us, as long as it seems relatively extraordinary. We want to hear about the rain’s toothache, the collective consciousness of house keys. We want political shouts, spiritual hymns, soulful rants about things that mustn’t be forgotten.
We long to know better the depths of ourselves as audience to your light-shedding, enthralled in the predictability of our own fascination with what is – to you – just another day’s work.