It is not the story that really matters, nor the movement of molecules and atoms, of time and space, or any other gauge of human activity. Even though all of these occurred to make this a remarkable morning, it all pales in comparison to the transition from spectator to participant.
He had parked far north of the great city and biked south along its shoreline. It was early on a Sunday morning, and he was spending it like many other summer Sundays, back then. Paperbacks and the tribune stuffed in the pack, alongside a thermos of Joe.
The landscape was a fabric of people, truly a patch quilt of activities. Every race, religion, culture, and fan of life played and laid in the grasses, perennials, and worn out ball fields. As his vision lifted from the spandex bottoms to the building tops, he breathed in the smells, sounds, and sights of humid humanity.
He could hear one sound that stood out and drew him closer. There in the center of Grant Park, flush up against the concrete power of a city, sitting in a tight but relaxed circle, Indian style we used to say, and from first appearances, a band of gypsies, all eyes drawn closed, were methodically drumming to the sound of “his” soul. The rhythms were individual and sporadic at first, causing many to pass by after only a glance. He stood perfectly still and shut his eyes also, while his body rapidly filled with weight. Then he mentally stepped away from it and in his mind he was dancing with Greek woman, for some reason.
Startled, he felt a hand on his shoulder and it was connected to a dude drummer. “Want to give it a try”, he said as he gestured to the use of his drum. “No dude, just watching, er, listening.” As he sat down and pinched the drum between his legs, no one seemed to pay him any mind. Looking up at the building tops, and out to the big body east, feeling the fresh air blowing in, he began to slowly hit the skin. Awkward at first, self conscious as well, he continued to try to match the others and make sense of it. But that was not the idea, and certainly the mind has nothing to do with it.
Finally, after the building shadows had shifted some, he felt a transition occurring. Then, in his soul he felt the Greek woman come to him again, and away he went.
