Played in the rain today. The Tempe Arts Festival. Under a huge canopy, yes, but rain has a funny way of going horizontal sometimes.o_O
Had some hummus with Emilio after the gig at a new place on University and we somehow found our way into a deep conversation with a complete stranger named Manuel (un Salvadoreño que sabe mucho de mucho) who talked and talked while random fireworks resounded overhead from time to time, announcing some nearby touchdown (I was told it was the day of THE game between the ancient rivalry between ASU and UºA.). We must have been pretty loud. The cook, a wild-hearted young Navajo, at one point came out to ask us a question: Do we ever think about what it would feel like to be standing before God someday?
Manuel answered in language that the kid was too young to grasp, I think, buddhist-like exhortations to submission and suchlike. Denial of mind.
Emilio told the kid to stop being afraid.
Me . . . I just looked at the guy (I think he said his name was — ¿ maybe Nebbet ... ?) and told him that the day that we will stand before god has always been (and always is) right now. He smiled and said that he liked that.
Who knew that a passing comment about Castro would set us off on such an existential flurry of words? The proverbial butterfly effect.
Altogether a strange day.
Enlightenement? or simply caffeine delirium . . .