hopefully, you were aware and made time to behold, the earth eclipsing The Moon on Saturday evening. if you did, for a few minutes you may have felt as privileged as i did to be witness again to all these spectacular stellar events of late: mars, solar flares, auroras, and now this.
this morning there was an equally mesmerizing bosom of the full Moon looming like a calm matriarch in the clear blue sky. She was strangely positioned southwest where i had never seen Her before.
it occurred to me than that i likely owed a lot of gratitude to Her for the extra-giddy weekend.
She must have lightened the load with her counteracting pull of gravity which liberated me to enjoy a plethora of moments over the last two days.
the extensive list includes, but certainly was not limited to:
the kinky feel of rolling my bottom on the pellets inside a beanbag; my inaugural listen to Kristi Stassinpoulou, the Tilala Il-Nocturnal Ritual and Al Fraka Toure's the source; the smell of I-Hop's boysenberry syrup; massaging my teeth for 10 minutes with my new fancy Reach toothbrush—the raw and tingling feeling thereafter—the masochistic pleasure of swirling scotch whiskey about my freshly scraped gums—the tears I cried as it burned my flesh—holding the last swig till my mouth was completely numb; the icy-soft crunch of raspberry sorbretto; the sound-n-feel of the crunch-and-fold of autumn leaves beneath my feet; the magnificent translucent universe of pink jelly-fish contrasted against the dark deep blue of a million-million year old salt-water lake tucked away from civilization in the Palau islands; the pluck of the oud (an Egyptian string instrument which predates the lute) accompanying the spiritual voice of Hamza El Din chanting Anesigu; rediscovering the psychological infrastructure of guilt and manipulation astutely written into the script for Hard Eight; Najma's ethereal Pukar; a refreshing tall glass of young berry juice blended with Martinelli's sparkling apple cider and chilled with cracked ice— rapturously sipped through a bendable violet straw which matched the hue of the concoction; discovering how to slice off the bottom of an orange wedge to remove the membrane and extract the pulp; picking up and pressing leaves into my notebook; Sting's majestic contributions to the soundtrack of The Living Sea as heard in Dolby stereo; the magically soothing flute of Mektabi; dancing uninhibitedly to Fela's open & close album while making a fruit shake made of half-and-half, bananas, mango, freshly cut orange pulp, and frozen Georgia peaches; the cold firm feel of marble tile beneath my socked feet while looking out into the blue yonder; the smooth velvety cross of Ann-Margaret and Elvis in the duet "You're the Boss"; shamelessly indulging in Angelique Kidjo's Bahia; simply relaxing with my back atop half a beanbag and listening to music till I fell asleep dreaming of this living dream and then waking again to it.
the art of love
l.m