(A conversation from Auditionees afterwards at Old C's in Lodo, Denver, CO, Oct. 5th, 2010)
A woman asked
Just on the basis
Of what I emanated.
If I could describe
“Home”
To the redheaded woman
She was speaking to.
She had no words
Only memories
She couldn't
Explain.
So I spoke
Of a place
Constructed out
Of the dreams
Of how we wished
People could be
Towards one another
Everyone taking responsibility
For the whole
Of society.
Of art and freedom
Of expression
And entering a space
For a month,
Where the politics
Of the outside world
Not only don't
Exist
But can't,
Because there
Is too much love.
There the drummers
Drum.
All of the village,
Each taking turns
So that they never
Cease…
Over the course
Of one moon cycle.
The rhythm of
The heart
Of a created village
Forever beating…
Singing you to sleep,
Greeting you in
The morning
Encouraging
The sun to shine,
The rain to fall…
Lulling the consciousness
Into an altered state
And space
Where hearts literally
Beat as one.
It is a place
Where Diversity
Is cherished,
Not just whom
Or how you love,
But in all ways
Human being
Can be,
By race, color,
Creed,
And culture…
All is Embraced
As One,
For each
Makes the tapestry
Divinely beautiful...
Here,
No one goes hungry.
Here,
No one goes unloved.
Every person
In the village
Brings value
Not expressed
By what they can spend
Or buy,
But by their
Contribution to
The village as a whole…
To clean up after a meal,
To show kindness
And acknowledgement
To everyone he meets,
To share her craftsmanship,
In a bottle of mead,
She lovingly brewed,
Milk, honey, and oranges.
Where when
People gather,
The things that are
Spoke of,
Are what deeply
Matters,
The creation of a world
Where love is the
Center around which
All actions flow,
That the clothes
We wear reflect
Our values
To preserve
The Earth,
That the food
We consume
Are prepared
With loving
Intention,
Herbs,
Devoid of
Poison…
And how we can
Taste
The air is fresh,
Away from
Urban machines…
But all good things
Comes to an end,
And on the last
Day…
They gather,
The drummers drum
Until all at once
Unspoken,
With words
The drums
Stop.
A silence
Enters,
And you can
Hear the Earth
BREATHE.
On the journey
Away from the gathering
Of the Rainbow tribe,
One realizes
As tears of love
And bitter sweetness
Roll down the cheeks
I just left
My true “Home”
And now
It only lives
In my heart
And memories.
So I told,
The redheaded woman
And the other
Woman cried
As I described
The impressions
Of her heart…
I found the words
That escaped her
And leapt
Into me.
