The Twentieth Day of the Fourth Month

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I press the little blue and white globe on Facebook to see who’s listening. To see who’s Listening. There are many. They’re not listening to me but to the collective conversation. Seeing the here-to-fore unseen.  Around the huge globe the little icon represents and beyond, they’re listening. Amidst the appearance of chaos I recognize my ability to see perfection in that chaos. In a time like never before people are waking up to the lies of hate and to the power of Love.

Patrick is playing upstairs and the air-conditioning units on the building decide when and for how long I get to enjoy the music unperturbed by our clumsy intentions, our desire to make the air around us anything other than it is.

It’s a sin I’ll forgive and the song of the AC units is part of the New Orleans Jazz Symphony after all. Jazz is a gumbo of all the other kinds of music, all the tastes combining to build a lyrical latter into the divine.

People use AC in New Orleans to create for themselves brief respites from what can be an overwhelming energy, the Life of New Orleans. We retreat into our dry, cool enclaves when we need a break. The magic is inside too, just a different flavor.
After all; it’s the heat, not the humidity.


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