against the sky tonight – 21 of 365

Standard

sunny.  melting.  temperature at 9pm, 24°

in which she dances

This is joy. This is straight up unabashed joy. This is a picture that in my vainer moments I wouldn’t share, but that an old friend dragged out and posted last week.  This is me at 23. I am in-between everything.  I’m just eight weeks from moving  to Boston.  I am 8 weeks beyond  graduating college, and just 6 weeks out of a break-up from someone who’d been part of my life since 17.  I am three months from a new job, and three years from moving to the valley. I am in the middle.  I am soaking music in -I am bathing in it – because the night before, I found out what church is really supposed to sound like.

A childhood/high school/ life buddy led me down to a late-night show at the festival.  We were with his brother and his brother’s friend. It was late. It was dark. There were hippies everywhere, the show was in a ski lodge.  An insulated ski lodge.  In August.  There was a film of  sweat on everyone.  There were few women to be seen – there were boys everywhere –  My friend gave me a nod, and a wink, like he was Santa Clause about to fill a stocking.  And then- it started. It was the deepest groove, It was the darkest base, it was the guitar on top, it was Funk.  There was nothing in that room but a beat and the motion of hundred of bodies finding their groove.  I had no choice but to dance, but to work off the testosterone and pheromones in that room.  No choice but to find my feet grounded to the floor, my heart attached to the down beat, and find that my ass needed to get down.  This is what church is supposed to sound like, feel like, be like.  God should be found in the organ, it’s just there should be a film of sweat on everyone, a preacher man with a guitar, and a drummer finding the groove.

Tonight, in a three song radio set, I found a little bit of that joy. Between dinner and the dishes, between bath-time and bedtime. Heavy things were falling down on me, and Ani was reminding me that between the politics and the earthquakes the little plastic castle is a surpise every-time.  Sweet boys tucked into bed,  and i’m feeling so small against  the sky tonight.

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