Gratitude for us all...

[pkern]

The first time it hit me was one night last year – I think it was some time in February. I was standing in the middle of Twilo’s dance floor, two hours deep into a set by David Seaman when the bass dropped to silence, the crowd slowed to a stop, the lights ceased flashing and then, we all looked up toward the deejay booth, waiting to see what David would do. I didn’t know anyone there, other than the one person I had gone with. Yet all night it seemed like the crowd had drawn closer and closer to me. Maybe it was the shared experience of travelling through David’s exceptionally crafted set – the journey it was taking us on - or maybe it was a camaraderie born from making it all the way to 6 a.m. with at least three more hours to go when we knew the rest of the city was readying for bed. But as close as these strangers had all felt to me, once that silence hit, and we all watched like anxious children as David’s hand release the next track, that place became a church, and I became part of an infinite collective, a beautiful congregation on the very edge of rapture. Suddenly, the silence was severed: “I had a dream…” the words rang out in that unmistakable, undeniable voice of Dr. King. In unison, we lifted our hands – to David, to the night, to the words and what they meant. “I had a dream, that one day…” and a lilting oboe ached behind his voice. “…this nation would rise up…” and a gunning snare drum lifted too “and live out the true meaning of its creed. I had a dream today.” I looked around me: to my left, a gay couple, in front, a drag queen with bangled arms outstretched. Behind, a group of Asians, to my right, a Spanish girl. “…my children will be judged not by the color of their skin but by the content of their character…I had a dream today” And the bass returned like a heartbeat, the pulse gradually building until the room felt like a womb – warm, wet and loving – and I felt like a child again – innocent and powerful, safe and courageous. “…the words of that old Negro spiritual, free at last free at last, thank God almighty, we are free at last!” And the crescendo hit like an awakening, the snare now racing over the once-solitary oboe, we all began to jump, cheer, squealing in thanks to a God I had never intended on believing in. For in this place, this moment, this music I had found, I felt no distinction in myself, no distance between what I was and what anyone else was. For the first time, I understood - what it all meant, what David was trying to say from behind those tables: that it wasn’t about drugs – it wasn’t about partying: it was about truth and beauty and most importantly, community. It was about humility at the feet of all that is larger than us, and responsibility for all that is within our power to change. I understood why I loved this scene - that as long as there was night and music and people who flocked to both for comfort and relief, I was not alone. This is the gift. This is the dream.

And then, again, on Saturday, standing beneath the painted dome of the Hammerstein Ballroom in Manhattan, listening to Spacegirl build anthems from nothing, the feeling returned. Strangers became friends, dancing became worship, a labor of meditation and triumph, and the room became an altar upon which I sacrificed every inhibition and preconception and judgement for the chance to feel free, and safe, and beautiful, and young, and just like everyone else.

This is what each night out should leave us with – an awareness of being alive, vital and inextricably connected to each individual we encounter. “I had a dream…” and once and a while, on the perfect night, it becomes real. It stays with me even after the sun has come up and I’ve retreated back through the tunnel to where I came from. The night is short, and the deejay eventually leaves the deck, the speakers sink into silence and the doors close behind us. The strangers disperse, lost again into an even larger sea of anonymous faces that bear the marks of strain and weight. Let this music be a metaphor of what we can become, of how we can handle one another, of how we can live our lives and regard the world. Let this music harmonize us the way it harmonizes the most seemingly disparate elements into seamless symmetrical song. Let these magic nights blend into day, until there is no separation and even the sunlight offers shelter to us all.

Peace.