Awakened through music
1/21/17. Barcelona, Spain.
There’s a contradiction in listening to flamenco music inside a 14th century Catholic church.
A stone building so grey and dark, imposing with its impossibly high ceilings, the smell of humidity built up over the centuries. The ten-foot statue of Jesus hangs on a cross, his body frail and drooping with humanity’s sins. His gaunt, lifeless face, full of suffering, looking down on you.
And at the same time, the spirited sound of the Spanish guitar, like a thousand fluttering butterflies swirling around the room. The seductive bass line throbbing like a beating heart. Its melodies evoke images of heartbreak and passion, of love and fervor. The joys of life Catholicism told us to feel guilty about.
Each song takes my spirit dancing around the chapel. It leaps out of me and whirls above me, turning in circles, over and over and over, each time getting higher and closer to the moon on the other side of the ceiling.
When the song ends, it drops back down, bringing space and light and life with it. That thirst to want to see, feel, taste, laugh, cry. That rich, pulsing vitality that’s only awakened through music, the language of lovers who can’t find the right words.
