Insatiable

I see an ever flickering production of lights, bursting forth in brilliant color, dimming into almost oblivion. Lithesome figures pirouetting around each other in graceful moves much to liquid to be heard, too powerful to be ignored.

Moving between mother and child in delicate clouds of lavender, between hulking teenagers and nubile idols in pulsing bursts. Flowing in great arcs between lovers and friends all over the world as they remember and project and imagine.

And it is real. Just as real as water flowing from the pitcher to the glass, only this pitcher has no bottom and this glass is never full.

Thirsty vessels who can never get enough, we are a race of vampires ardently reaching out in thought, word and deed to satisfy and satiate our need for this deeply personal and intrinsic necessity we so blandly call love.

It signals our creation, ameliorates our fear of death, splits families and drives countries to war. It becomes the call word for every charlatan who needs a cause behind a ruse and the building blocks for true charity.

It is a cosmic ballet of extraordinary proportions that falls from the stage and engages us all.