...and now I can't sleep. I'm thinking about dancing to rhythm and blues...I'm thinking about the guy on the stage in the Dragon print shirt and the old grey fedora, smoking a huge cigar when he wasn't cranking out soul on a sax that has long since lost its lacquer...and he was perfect. I'm thinking about the old black man in the red and black checkered hunting cap dancing and making me feel like I'd stepped back in time...if I could see with his closed eyes, I'd see a bayou and be inside a young boy many years ago...and he, too, was perfect.
Tomorrow, if I can wake up...I'll go to church, and I'll dance there, too. Maybe not as vigorously...more like swaying, but my soul will be just as much like a baby bird opening its mouth to be fed. And I'll see perfect ones there, too, and again not for the reasons other people see "perfect" in church, I'd expect.
How can it be that in both places so many people sit like lumps and stare at nothing and think about "other things" and receive nothing? How can it be that they show up for life more out of habit than for any other reason?
This is the thing that grieves me most. It is the one congruity between tonight and tomorrow that should not be...
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