Tonight was marvelous.

If ever there was an art form that I have no blood connection with, but feel deeply tied to, it's flamenco.  And I can't be the only one who feels that way.  Cindy's words to me were of exactly that sentiment before I said a thing.

I remember hearing the Islamic call to prayer for the first time in high school.  I was totally mesmerized by it, and found it to be one of the most beautiful things I'd ever heard.  And when I started listening to flamenco, it was a remembrance to that sound that really grabbed my attention.  Even last night, when Arun played a most touching raga to end an evening of celebration, I was hypnotized.  If you look into it, you'll see where all of these art forms connect historically.  And why, when you hear gypsy music from totally separate regions, whether it be Turkey or Bulgaria, Hungary or Israel, there are common flavors.  This is music born and spread with religion, war, persecution, and expulsion.  Maybe that is why its pathos is so strong.

Whether you understand the words or not, the pain and strife is tacit, and there is no escape from the heavy spiritual embrace imposed upon you.  You are there; you are involved.  Even when there is no singing, no instrument, there is rhythm.  And in that rhythm: anxiety, tension, heartache, uncertainty, danger, volatility.  All of those things.  But passion is the underpinning of the entire form.  And you can feel it bubbling and bulging from within that methodically fixed, strongly enforced, rhythmic vault; seething and ready to explode.  And you completely expect your surroundings to burst into flames at any moment.  The surprise is when they don't, and instead, you catch yourself feeling your heart break.  It's not really clear why.  But then... there it goes.

Here we go, Day 203: https://ia600803.us.archive.org/19/items/Improv3412/20120304180534.mp3