The fire dances to the flute's music and the smoke carries my thoughts to higher and higher levels. I watch the shadow patterns flickering in the light reflected through the skin of my drum and lose myself in vibrations of my own making.
Meditations under the moonlight in the company of like minds has a power that I find nowhere else.
Chauncey lies beside me, silent in the grass. Uninterested in the fire, unperturbed by the drums, he lies motionless as a voice begins to weave itself in and out of the air, winding in and out between the warp and woof of a harmonica.
I would be hard pressed to put my finger on the pulse of this night. One moment it seems to surround me. The next I think it is coming from inside of me.
Whatever it is. Wherever it is. It is here and I am connected to it.
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