Dreaming...

The air was filled with love and music. Candles, dreamy indian summer light streaming in through the steeple windows. The smell of fall through open panes of glass wafting together with incense.

Citar, beautiful, exotic carved wood, etched silver with strings placing animal organs in direct path to heaven.

She was so elegant, the qualities I wish for my own artistic mothers. In her native country she'd have surely been surrounded by great riches of gold and silk tapestries. In this moment she could only conjure these riches with her great presence. Green silk and gold - I imagine these to be her gift to a daughter on her wedding day.

Seated on a modest carpet next to her was the drummer, confident enough in his drumming to complement - not overpower her spirit.

I sat in my chair, content to live another Sunday in community. I was taken with the opportunity to live in the experience of a sound I'd never felt up close.

I was transported to an entirely different plane. I closed my eyes. The music filled me. I imagined the room cleared of 'onlookers'. Only those in a similar trance (those who 'understood') remained. Not as observers but as fellow travellers on this curious path.

She and I moved to the music as it filled our bodies and souls. Red and silver flowing silk chiffon scarves - the flags of our anthem. The bare skin of our pink bellies and heaving breasts the ultimate freedom of our waking dreaming dance.

I awoke from this very spiritual experience more deeply entrenched in this community of fellow travellers.