Church
I went to church last night. To hear music. It was made by Walt Wilkins, with his wife Tina, and Bill Small and Ron Flynt. It was just what I hoped it would be. Church music. Or music in a church. Take your pick. I didn’t know anyone there, except the performers. So, it was a solitary evening. I sat in the back in a dimly lit corner. It was just me and the music. It flowed in, ran through my heart and soul, and filled in all the little cracks and broken bits. I was happy.
Most of the evening was spent in that teary state right before you really cry. Basically, my eyes stayed moist. I think the operative phrase is, “I was moved.” It’s sort of a trance I fall into when I listen to music I love, so that even though I’d heard most of the songs before, I’d never heard them like this, in this setting. It was like watching a painter do something nice with the color blue and even though he’d used blue in other paintings, this time it was just different. That’s how it was with these songs. Just right for the time and place and me.
I left when the show ended. No idle chit-chat tonight. I didn’t really have much to say. I just wanted to drive home with my mood, in the dark. And that happened. I like doing that. I’ve done it most of my life. It gives the music and the mood a chance to settle in, get internalized. Processed. And when I got home, I lit three candles in the fireplace that doesn’t work for burning wood, and just sat there and looked at them. I also made a piece of toast and a cup of hot chocolate. Then I went to bed. I think that was a nice way to end a good, solitary, musical evening.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale