glowing purple-indigo I thought for sure I’d remember everything. how it felt to be part of a collective, singing. how it felt to grow up with a piece of art wrapping around you – captive, surly, pillowing. what a magnificent world we live in that words can mean this much, that song and melody and creation can carry this many people towards the swell of the earth. that poetry can mean this much to people – the poetry of lyric, of song, of memory. and John Mayer said thank you to all those people who have told him his music has been the soundtrack of their life. and that miraculous thing – that creation – to give that to so many people, to have carried people up on the buoy of your words, of your songs. what a beautiful world, that we can create such understanding between ourselves. that we are a collective singing back the words that carry us up. that we glow in the satin-blue light. that madison square garden swells with the collective. with the worship of creation. with the post-post-modern gods and goddesses of creation that we lift up. that lift us up on the buoys of their creations. that creation pushes through them like a wave, and we sing it back. and the words curl around our spines like braces, form us like jagged corsets, teach us like sallow birds. that we all sing together, sway together, swell together. forget the reasoning, remember the radioactive radio-waves that cast personhood up on a wave of their own narrative. that we see each other in each other’s stories. in each other’s words. in each other’s songs. and that we sing back.
in celebration. in ecstasy. in gratitude. in creation.
in worship. of the many-fingered hands of creation, and the way they play.