epiphany
I had a sensory vision yesterday. Of course I was high, and at a Francophone music festival, watching a choir of elementary children humanize an orchestrial rock band. I was standing in a slim section of an otherwise sardinized blob of happy-to-be-there culture fans. I had two fingers wedged in my left pants pocket, obediently bobbing my head but thinking of other things. I tried, as I often do, to think my way into bliss. To attack my most contemporary daemons by reminding them that they have no claws. I was in a party of five, two of which were just happy to be alive and young. One, William, whom I had never met, took every opportunity to mock the impressiveness of the mob, waiving his right to clap. He would mime a scream in muted falsetto with crazy eyes as if he was trying to remind us this is no time for fun. He has just returned from Mongolia with stories much like mine, of silent starry nights, exotic animals, linguistic disasters and the charisma and bone structure to hold the gaze of any fair skinned girl who would listen to his tales of wild adventure. Perhaps I only notice it because I have felt it, but he seemed disappointed with life, as if he expected enlightenment, spirituality, a sudden peace with himself for a couple thousand dollars. This was only evident when he thought no one was watching him, and he unleashed his satire of the crowd that was truly enjoying the moment. (I could be wrong, and this could be projection of my thoughts and feelings, but even it is false, it’s important leading up to my moment.)
To William’s left, and my right, was the object of my desires, oh I wish I could pronounce her name properly. She danced easily, her arms had the carefree, rhythmic quality of dolphins leaping above the surface in time with the crashing of waves. She often looked in my direction, possibly with a motherlike quality, wanting me to feel safe and happy, although I sensed flirtation in her careless European smile. She spontaneously choreographed a set of motions that sent her bumping into me playfully. I know little of mating rituals, but this had Discovery Channel written all over it. I stood oblivious, watching one of the dancers on stage with a big smile on my face. I was happy. I tried to dance, to become one with her silliness, but it was not easy. I struggled like a gate on hinges that need to be oiled. This spectacle continued for a few more minutes until I tried to feign freedom. As I began, I had an out of body vision of my body being a dark blue vessel that quickly turned to sky blue from my feet up to my head. As each limb turned light, they began to swivel. My feet wormed, my tibia and fibulas softened. The wave of softness hesitated for a moment when it came above my neck, and when the tension of everything shot out of my head like the shuttle, I looked up and saw nothing. In that moment, my body was unlocked. All the stress of my past year died. I felt ready to embrace love, to hold it without dropping it. I noticed at that moment, my German friend to my left, who invited me was having a similar experience. His satisfaction with the moment seemed to supercede any inability to express himself caused by his language barrier. He will not return to Germany with any disgust in the sameness of people everywhere, fabricating tales to make Montreal something that it is not. I began to think of all my travels and my romantic efforts. They were all disappointing to me because I failed to appreciate my own fragility. The show ended with thousands of people in motion, screaming their love for the band from the bottom of their lungs. They were cheering their gratitude for creating a communal moment that will never be rivalled or reproduced, and everyone was okay with that.
To William’s left, and my right, was the object of my desires, oh I wish I could pronounce her name properly. She danced easily, her arms had the carefree, rhythmic quality of dolphins leaping above the surface in time with the crashing of waves. She often looked in my direction, possibly with a motherlike quality, wanting me to feel safe and happy, although I sensed flirtation in her careless European smile. She spontaneously choreographed a set of motions that sent her bumping into me playfully. I know little of mating rituals, but this had Discovery Channel written all over it. I stood oblivious, watching one of the dancers on stage with a big smile on my face. I was happy. I tried to dance, to become one with her silliness, but it was not easy. I struggled like a gate on hinges that need to be oiled. This spectacle continued for a few more minutes until I tried to feign freedom. As I began, I had an out of body vision of my body being a dark blue vessel that quickly turned to sky blue from my feet up to my head. As each limb turned light, they began to swivel. My feet wormed, my tibia and fibulas softened. The wave of softness hesitated for a moment when it came above my neck, and when the tension of everything shot out of my head like the shuttle, I looked up and saw nothing. In that moment, my body was unlocked. All the stress of my past year died. I felt ready to embrace love, to hold it without dropping it. I noticed at that moment, my German friend to my left, who invited me was having a similar experience. His satisfaction with the moment seemed to supercede any inability to express himself caused by his language barrier. He will not return to Germany with any disgust in the sameness of people everywhere, fabricating tales to make Montreal something that it is not. I began to think of all my travels and my romantic efforts. They were all disappointing to me because I failed to appreciate my own fragility. The show ended with thousands of people in motion, screaming their love for the band from the bottom of their lungs. They were cheering their gratitude for creating a communal moment that will never be rivalled or reproduced, and everyone was okay with that.