the organ concert. oh my God.

our final night in munich we went to the cathedral to hear the big pipes. i felt like a child anticipating disneyland, standing in the long line outside. it seems right to me, these numbers waiting for beautiful music. we filed in at the last moment, sat upright with hundreds of silent heads facing jesus on the cross. the music comes from behind, makes me jump with it's power.

there is a pause. i can't breathe for a moment, this chord resonating below my belly, past my shoes on marble floor. i close my eyes. it lingers, no expands for precious moments, this music like hands lifted. i want to drink it, for it to last forever. cringe as it dissolves against old walls and paintings on the ceiling. the cathedral holds all of this with ease, a capacity for so much beauty, i am weeping already. my insides move, shift, heal.

the people sit so still. i with them breathing together. they are women alone in trenchcoats and scarves. young men with backpacks. couples of every size, age, sitting shoulder to shoulder, they don't talk or turn their heads. it is a love for beauty i have missed all these years. i want to live here. speak german. take the train that tells you it's coming in 3 minutes. i want snow on the green metal roof and winter boots. i want beer for lunch and wool pants. i want concerts in the park and singing in choirs. it is that beautiful, this organ song.


and now back in la, i am holding dearly these pieces of another world. wanting to infuse life in this car driven city with the things of old and simple. i woke early this morning, in between time zones, but well rested with dreams i don't remember. i walk to the coffee on quiet streets. have no watch, no phone, no camera. i write and write. read and read. sit and sit. i drink sparkled water just because we did in europe. i go to the farmers' market. baby asparagus, tomatoes, flowers, a purple leaved plant. peaches, figs. i hand over dollars without counting. i want bread and cucumber too. i rejoice a little, at being home, at seeing things new. at the change i feel now, a gift of choice and pretending. of living with what is for now, without apology. it's a small turn like the hand of an old clock. but everything looks different from here.