| 8 Apr 2008 @ 17:54, by David Bartholomew|
[excerpted from DoingIt!, November, 2005]
More and more I am looking into eyes that I recognize—familiar, diverse, joyous faces, notes from a distant (but yet not so) past, singing along with the words of tunes I’ve never heard before, stepping and swaying together through time that expands and contracts like the bellows of an accordion, always on the syncopated beat, playing my part, in cadence, on the instrument that is me.
More and more I sense the unseen Conductor carrying us like marionettes suspended from the tip of the baton, and leaving clues to follow, hiding there in the silent rests between phrases.
I see the Trickster behind the tune’s temptation, Pan behind the pain of the prelude, and feel refreshing cool counterpoint seeping through stanzas previously perceived as simmering over intense heat.
With the overture behind us I am more comfortable in my skin, in concert with my self and the world, as I uphold my end of the tender balance—individual expression within the temperment that is the goal of the group. On the way to entrainment.
Better and better am I able to chase the light, follow the lead, like an animated plant that continues to stretch toward the window, no matter how many times one twirls the pot in which it lives. This is my Fantasia.
In the mirror that is my part I begin to recognize myself. In the world of the score I am resonating with others.
We are awakening upon this, the appointed hour, the refrain. We are the star children of this symphony, soloists within the ensemble, each having been given time to shine and serve as support players, along the approach to the ordained destination— coda, finale, and hopefully, encore.