1805 Geary Blvd.
The acolyte checks his credential, gives him permission to enter and he ascends the stairs,
Swept into the sacred temple with the flow of the crowd.
Services will begin shortly. He is enthralled, honored to be on such holy ground.
In his mind he genuflects to the spirit of all the celebrants who held services in this hall.
Janis, Jimi, the Dead who would never be dead inside these walls but have eternal life.
The iconography covering the wall with psychedelic reminders of days gone by.
Snapshots of the saints of the new old religion.
Hundreds of bands that have performed the sacrificial rite here in this very hall.
Captured in fleeting glimpses of their power to hold the people in thrall.
Red velvet drapes and a stage altar where the celebrants reign over the room.
The minister opens the service and the Wolves take the stage.
Performing an ancient rite, music as divine interaction, a celebration.
The instruments of divine madness begin their unearthly wail,
An up-tempo prayer that gets the congregation moving to the beat.
He could feel the bass in his gut and the pounding of the drums.
The lead guitar dancing around his mind with awe inspiring nimbleness,
Words become almost irrelevant as the music invaded his body, touched his soul.
Music as divine connection since time immemorial, given a modern sound by its new priests.
Music that has evolved over eons, changing in form but not necessity.
He saw her in the midst of the people swaying to the music,
Peasant skirt flowing in time to the music.
She was in thrall to the incantations the priests were casting over them.
The old hippie was contorting his body as only an old hippie could,
Movements honed from years of following his preferred priests from town to town.
Part of a wandering community dedicated, consecrated.
He moved toward her seeking connection. He entered her space and she consented.
They danced together for a while, connecting briefly in that space.
He of old age and memory, she of youth and hope.
They were part of the ancient ritual practiced across time.
One being for a moment but part of eternity, primal.
The prayer ended and they parted.
He watched the two as they left each other and a great sadness overtook him.
Their parting became personal. Their loss, his loss…
Their connection was ephemeral, illusory, and gone.
Then the service was over. The congregation filed out .
Down the stairs out into the warm night.
He would never again connect with those people, in that way.