Communion

Created: 12/06/2009 12:20:57 PM

I awoke this morning to the sound of a quiet shuffle, spanning the hardwood floors of our house. Her footsteps approached the door, gently opened it, and kissed me good morning before she set out. My stomach was knotted from the drinking, but the few hours of sleep had served me better than expected. I put the quiet music on, the guitars chugging softly, painted a panorama of a cross country train slowly moving across the plains.

Barefoot, I meandered toward the kitchen, surprised to see the sunlight streaming in on a November morning. The smell of ground spices is always stronger in the morning--the nose well rested, the mind clear and attentive. Taking in some of the cool water, it seemed colder than even the weather outside. I waited for the tea to brew with a mix of cinnamon, cardamom, and freshly grated ginger.

I sat near the window, reflecting on the events of last night; of music, comedy; a liquid gallery of art flowing across the globe, groundwater transferring instantaneously to fill the cup of whomever should turn on the tap. Those nights, we drink the outpourings of the soul. This is our communion, our sacred ritual of twisting thoughts and emotion, weaving them together, all of us gathered separately around electrified looms of light and static. We thread each other, over and under, one through the other, publicly, secretly, dancing while stationary, singing a song of some invisible eternal regress.

My dear Brothers and Sisters, this is the drink of rejuvenation. Our blood flows freely, coaxed only by want of recognition, understanding, the hope that a sibling can help us to draw a map from this unknown place we have awakened to. May these maps always be incomplete, always changing, crossed out, lost, revised, reinvented. Thus we change, we watch, and we change again...