Written During a David Sancious Treehouse Concert in His Home
The hieroglyphic message of this moment can never be translated no matter how hard I try. Or don't. It feels like walking into a room where the most beautiful woman in the world is slowly undressing and, in her own time, glances over her shoulder in my direction, me not having a clue whether or not she is looking at me or simply seeing something far off in the distance. A blue jay? The moon? The wind? There is absolutely no density here, no plan, nothing cut in stone, no ground -- just the perfume of this perfect moment beyond time -- the place where Rumi dwelled... and Mozart... the space between molecules... the pause between breath... where we all exist when there is nowhere else to go. Freedom, my friends! Freedom! Somersaulting into endless space without going anywhere. Kind of like Chuck Berry walking into a guitar store before he ever understood what music was.
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