It was midnight in the first week
of October
and we were driving,
Mark and I alone,
with the stereo at full blast,
playing an indistinct song
and suddenly the tears came.
A happy memory lost
in the back of my mind
only to be relived at that moment,
with the base rumbling
through my fingers on the steering wheel,
and the resonant highs
bringing goose bumps to my skin.
We were back at Zuma Beach
a club in Florida in 1997,
" Look up at that light ",
Markus said,and put his arms around me.
Andy was playing music,
the room was filled
with a wonderful sensory experience.
Someone took a picture,
it was a moment of pure friendship,
a rare moment sharing music,
and feeling surrounded
by love, people, and comfort.
The bond of that moment
being imprinted in my mind
as we watched Mark dance on the floor
standing out amidst hundreds of other people,
and glancing up at the light
that reflected into a thousand beams
off the silver shirt he was wearing.
![markdances_at_zuma[1].jpg - 17912 Bytes](markdances_at_zuma.jpg)
That was years ago,
but that memory was as vivid in the car,
as it was back then,
and it was then that
I realized I could let my hate and rage go.
I couldn't have found the energy
to hate Markus, or Andy
if I had not loved them in the first place.
It was the first feeling of animosity
and anger
I had let go,
one obstacle of many
I had finally surrendered.
Guillaume Apollinaire (1880-1918) Memories are hunting horns
whose sound dies on the wind.
French novelist, critic Cors de Chasse."
Copyright
© 2004 Maryanne & Mark F. Chisholm. All rights reserved.