Twitter is my habit, no doubt about it, and now even my iPad knows it. This morning when I turned it on it pointed out that Twitter is the website I go to most often, first thing, and did I want to go there?
I did. I checked out the political news first–mostly silly, often maddening, always frustrating. Why do I go there?
Because I must. Twitter may be my habit but politics is my addiction. I often need R&R, but there it is: I’m addicted.
Then this happened:
As I was scrolling I found a clip I couldn’t get past: a street musician was dancing in a beautiful courtyard, playing a black violin; silently, as it happened, since I had the sound turned off, but one look at his movements told me I needed to watch and listen.
OMG. I wanted it to go on and on. It reminded me of that time in Old Town Albuquerque years ago, when a Peruvian musician playing a pan flute wrung me out to damp dishrag status, sending me to the women’s bathroom where I sat in a stall and sobbed. I couldn’t stop crying and I couldn’t admit to the other women trying to console me when I finally came out that it was music–just music–that did this to me.
I know for a fact if I had been standing in that square when this happened, I would have been off somewhere, sobbing. Utterly destroyed. Live, gorgeous, spontaneous music performed with wild, exuberant joy will do that to me.