Saturday, August 13, 2011



Sometimes I have these dreams, where I picture myself on a stage in Spain, surrounded by some serious gypsy flamenco artists. I don't know the exact location, nor the size of the stage, nor the actual context where I find myself. That doesn't seem to matter. All I know is what I feel. What I feel is the rush of the singer, what it does to my blood. His guttural cries calling the spirit of his ancestors. Anguish, remorse, universal themes of suffering...... and then............resolve. Joy, ecstasy, bountiful rejoice follows.  I feel the yearning as I lift my chest, entering the salida of the solea. In another dream, I see me pounce onto a fast-paced buleria, as if I had been dancing for years, as if I could momentarily jump into it like we jumped in with jumpropes back in my youth.  I feel the sky is the limit, in my dreams. I feel as if I was born into this, not just in this lifetime, but many lives that came before. It is a willingness of the soul, to feel as if one can fluidly, rhythmically catch on to the compas . My body is the last to comprehend, and it struggles. But the soul, the soul has already understood every remate, every llamada, every subida, starting, stopping on a dime...firing up each and every letra, stories told, and untold, transmitted throughout the centuries into the throats of these gifted cantaors, overcome at the first sound of "ayiayiiiii".....

No comments: