tempo

It is dark in this little corner of the world. I stand on stage amidst 20,000 fans, all screaming for us. But then the music starts. The beat rises through my veins, my pulse matching its tempo. And then I sing. I sing of rebellion and love, jade and the color green. My head slumps down as the words pour through my lips, my knuckles white from clutching the microphone. The drums quicken my pulse, my head swings with the guitar’s melody. The beat pauses and I open my eyes. Lights of blue and red flash behind me, blue then red then green then white, filling the stage. I am suddenly more aware of where I am than when I first stepped foot on the stage’s floor. I crouch down and look in front of me at the masses of people milling before us. I look at our fans. And then I look up and find the seats are full to the ceiling. A faster, more rebellious song starts and I sing the words as loud as my throat will allow. I rock back and forth, my head against the microphone. And then I am aware that it is simply magical. For magic could not be explained as the emotion I felt couldn’t.

In between every song, I looked back at the people cheering and screaming for us, and said, “Thank you so much.” For in that moment I realized that while war raged in distant countries and the death tolls rose in our own, there was love in this room at that moment. And we were the reason for it. I almost cry at that moment when we sit down to sing an acoustic. This song had special meaning for me, it was important to me. And it is the hardest song to sing without crying. My foot measures the beat, my forehead leans against my white-knuckled hand. Although I don’t cry, the emotion pours like a waterfall, something I’d been holding in for such a long time. I wonder if they see it, I thought. The lights behind us are calm, as is the air. The crowd is silent, as mesmerized as I am. The music keeps going, and I begin to feel the beat with my bongo drum instead of my basketball-shoed feet. Despite the fact that I’m hot and sweating from the lights beating down on my head, I still say my “thank you” after each song. My body tilts with the emotions of the song, jumping then swaying, my voice screaming then whispering, but never silent.

And when I think I can’t go on, I look up once more at those people in the stands and see hundreds of little dancing flames. I see these tiny firefly dots glowing everywhere, even forty feet above me. At that moment it seems as if everything begins to stop. Time slows, the music slurs, my mind is no longer racing but incredibly calm and clear. Thought stops. For a second I know what I felt, and then that second is gone, lost amid seconds gone from centuries past. But this time, instead of my “thank you”, I say, “We love you Philly. We love you all so much.” I know that made them happier than anything else in the world.

We leave the stage and come back, combing our way through the dark a few minutes later. No one left-- everyone stands howling for our return. We come back as we promised and sing our last two songs. “I’m floating down a river/Oars freed from their holes long ago/Lying face up on the floor of my vessel/I marvel at the stars and feel my heart overflow.” I almost choke on the last words and I crouch down on the elevated platform behind us. I sit in its center with my head bowed, and by this time I don’t even know if I’m the one singing. The words come automatically and it feels as though I’m not in my own body. It feels as if something’s taken over, something I don’t understand, while random thoughts skip through my mind. Something tells me the song is closing and it’s time for me to leave. I gently put down my microphone, run to the front, and bow. Then I’m gone.

They come not only to see us, but also to forget about their lives for a few hours. They swing with the music as I do, their heads nodding the beat. One day I need to tell them to close their eyes and see the music blind. They say that blind people can hear better than normal people can, and for that reason I close my eyes on my favorite songs and listen to the people singing with me instead of singing it myself. Then they will be the music.