14.

radiohead - manchester, july 4th, 2017. #16

i was perched at the very top of a body of fans nearly fifty thousand strong for a show that quickly turned into the best singalong i've ever been a part of. even with the extra (security) space between the barrier and the stage, the band still managed to feel disproportionately close, pulled forward by our enthusiasm as much as we stretched our hearts forward every last inch. i got to share a nod with the guitarist, sing along with one of the drummers as we conducted each other in the repeated crescendos of a song, feel every chord of their world draw me in further. it was all so close, so vivid: each tender and virtuoso pick of the guitar strings, every vibrant shift of light, sway of body and limb. and it moved me in ways there will never be a way to string words together to do it justice. the singalong continued long after they left the stage as we collectively stretched out those final moments, a chorus of thousands repeating the final verse again and again, holding on to the last song like we'd never let it go.

hours later, standing alone in the quiet of the streets of manchester, forced by a deep restlessness to leave my concert friends (both old and new alike) at the bar, all i wanted to do was hold on tighter. all i could do was cry. they were tears of joy and full-ness strangely mingled with an abundant grief.

being submerged in a concert experience is to be suspended between two worlds -- on one hand the mundane and mortal world of the crowds, musicians, and instruments, on the other, the ethereal world of transcendent, heart-expanding beauty. while neither can exist without the other, they exist so far apart at times it makes it a disorienting process to come down from the best shows – my feet are never sure where to land. 

i should know better by now, but it's always a painful surprise to realize that there was never anything solid to stand on in the electric world of sound and light and color i've just passed through. the sky that opened up, whatever its geography or palette, is just a passing gift -- a transient, breathtaking place for the heart and spirit to soar around in for a few precious hours. 

the grief is the backlash of the severed worlds. it is the mourning of an artist not painting or writing or creating as i should. watching the artists before me living their own purposes so clearly, and to such great result, manifests the tension between this vibrant horizon of their work spreading out before me and this creative drought i feel so caught in already rushing back toward me, filling my vision again as the music and lights fade from view.

but even as i try to ignore it, i've always known these nights are just a borrowed ticket to the creative gods that so patiently wait for my full attention.

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a few nights before the show, i had a rare dream about the lead singer, thom yorke. i've known for years that these dreams are never about him as a person, but rather that he is a stand-in for my creative self, an embodiment of that deep, internal part of me i have often felt so distant and at odds with. something i have found i put at an unreachable distance from myself -- as untouchable as a celebrity on a pedestal.

in this dream we stood together at the rail for one of his shows watching the opening act. i was turned slightly away from the stage and toward him enjoying the fact that we were together so comfortably. after some unspecified amount of dream-time he reached out and took my left hand in both of his, cupping it in this incredible warmth – both tangible and emotional – just holding it there on the rail. 

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about a week ago i bought a journal during my travels for the purpose of daily 3 page non-stop free-association writing. a practice that i have long known opens the door for me creatively. i spent a few days ignoring it, a few others dragging myself to the paper. but it's a start. a good start.

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i'm sitting in the cologne airport right now watching the slow procession of fading light as a thunderstorm rolls in washing the world in a soft grey. sharp flashes break the spell. fog is on repeat.

some things will never wash away.

9.

tonight i give you episodes:

9a.

it almost felt like an accident for a second – a choice that neither of us necessarily made – a natural by-product of our camaraderie and maybe a little chemistry (perhaps...?). for suddenly we were in this textured measure of ecstatic time after we passed what our culture has decided is the normal span for eye contact. 

i'm not sure how long the moments afterwards lasted, but they rippled and danced, the ground following the shifting of our bodies which were moving out of astonishment and perhaps a little discomfort at being seen so suddenly, so unexpectedly, in a world of passing glances. 

then there was the moment of widening surprise as we both persisted in holding on to the other. next, a soft settling into ourselves, letting go of the restlessness, a stillness taking over the parallel vectors of our gaze. finally, gratitude and a small moment of grace as the finishing notes before we each tore ourselves free. 

for what greater gift is there than seeing and being seen? holding and being held? even for just a short while in the eyes of a near stranger...

9b.

i am still savoring the blissful groove of my photo shoot even as i can't exactly explain it beyond one of the most powerful out-of-head-fully-in-body experiences of my life. my brain, my self-criticism, usually so loud and authoritative, had no place in the day. it was pure joy, pure spontaneity, pure effortless confidence. i was flying, and they flew along with me, capturing each bold moment of the day. 

9c.

i want to push up against the understood boundaries of myself: full body contact, skin against skin, cheek pressed confidently but gently into cheek. this spring has delivered so many opportunities – so many damn fine mirrors – beautiful faces through glasses and lenses looking straight on giving me the opportunity not to shy away in shame (this time).

this time. that time. the other time that's just around the corner. they are increasing in frequency even if the purpose is just to ping me as they pass. opportunities to show me exactly how i can sometimes mislead with my stories, my confidences, my openness, creating an elaborate set of smoke and mirrors to camouflage the fact that i am, have been quite a lot of my life, hiding in plain sight.