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We enter a huge canopy tent in the desert.
Lighted by silver sconces, a smoking urn in the center, blue aromatics wafting through the bedouin.
The floor is carpeted with Persian rugs. Around the perimeter are instruments; guitars, drums, cymbals, flutes, tambourines.
We are invited to play any instrument we wish.
We say a prayer and sup from a golden goblet.
We warm and tune our instruments.
A smile is shared through the group, we turn outward to enjoy the moment.
Your feet are bare and ankleted with silver bells.
The music begins.
The music is now.
The music is ours.
The music is triumph, Calvary, courage.
We are the music.
The music is over.
The night is through.
All I can think about is you.
Chansonettes de sa Facon. Intergalactic Finance Minister