Went to kirtan this evening.
There was a fire in the fireplace: chunks of dry wood produced radiant coals. I longed to poke the coals, rein in stray ends, and artfully stack the pyre. Alas, was too far from the scene, too shy.
There was a most delicious birthday cake. Vanilla, surprisingly not airy and not sickeningly sweet. Oh it was dense moist deliciousness, like a pound cake. Topped with cream cheese frosting. Wow, so good. I rarely eat store cake. This was a worthy exception. "From a European bakery," the host said. It was his birthday.
There were friendly, smiling people. Maybe 70? Maybe 100? We sought companionship, spiritual satisfaction, or maybe just cake.
There was a keg of scalding hot chai. It was milky, sweet, and filling. Thank you, Jewel of India.
There was one beautiful child. She said she was 6 years old. She had wavy, almost kinky, white-blond hair down her back. She wore an embroidered red velvet dress and red tights. She scampered, cavorted, and crawled: drawing our eyes and smiles.
There was sound. Sound healing from the inside and out. Our own sounds and our community sound. Sound and music led us to spirit, love, and connection.
It was loud: I felt free to bellow. I could feel my own sound in my sternum. I was surrounded and enveloped in sound.
There were strings of colored lights. A conch, bells, and clapping. The fire flamed and glowed in the stone fireplace.
There was sacred music. The host sat down to his harmonium. We started with gentle chanting: sing and repeat. We Are All One. Then the drums started. There were startling, barely contained, explosions of sound and energy. Kirtan.
There was a fire in the fireplace: chunks of dry wood produced radiant coals. I longed to poke the coals, rein in stray ends, and artfully stack the pyre. Alas, was too far from the scene, too shy.
There was a most delicious birthday cake. Vanilla, surprisingly not airy and not sickeningly sweet. Oh it was dense moist deliciousness, like a pound cake. Topped with cream cheese frosting. Wow, so good. I rarely eat store cake. This was a worthy exception. "From a European bakery," the host said. It was his birthday.
There were friendly, smiling people. Maybe 70? Maybe 100? We sought companionship, spiritual satisfaction, or maybe just cake.
There was a keg of scalding hot chai. It was milky, sweet, and filling. Thank you, Jewel of India.
There was one beautiful child. She said she was 6 years old. She had wavy, almost kinky, white-blond hair down her back. She wore an embroidered red velvet dress and red tights. She scampered, cavorted, and crawled: drawing our eyes and smiles.
There was sound. Sound healing from the inside and out. Our own sounds and our community sound. Sound and music led us to spirit, love, and connection.
It was loud: I felt free to bellow. I could feel my own sound in my sternum. I was surrounded and enveloped in sound.
There were strings of colored lights. A conch, bells, and clapping. The fire flamed and glowed in the stone fireplace.
There was sacred music. The host sat down to his harmonium. We started with gentle chanting: sing and repeat. We Are All One. Then the drums started. There were startling, barely contained, explosions of sound and energy. Kirtan.
