the universal language

Music is so freakishly universal that it must be part of our DNA. There is a survival instinct to it. There is no culture that doesn't have it (I majored in communication, not English, and therefore I will use double negatives to my heart's content). It's used to mourn. It's used to celebrate. It's used to communicate in myriad ways. It soothes. It energizes. It is art, but in a league of its own, because it's so accessible and so essential. We have music playing in the car, at parties, even in stores. We can go without reading literature. We can go without sculpture. But music is integral to our being, whether we can create it or not.

I love to dance. Dancing is like my religion. I feel closest to God when I'm dancing my ass off at a club, sweating like crazy, eyes closed, nothing but me and music and movement. I was at a volunteer event where I had shoveled mulch for about 6 hours straight on about 2 hours of sleep. I was exhausted, sore, dehydrated, and more than a little cranky. And then the DJ at the happy hour put on "Groove is in the Heart" by Dee-Lite. And the empty dance floor (which was really just where some tables had been moved away) beckoned me. I told the person to whom I was speaking, "I'll be right back." And I danced. For over 5 minutes (it was a true DJ, spinning vinyl, and he had a dancer, so it was on), I wasn't tired, I wasn't sore, and I wasn't cranky. I danced until the final echoes of the mix were done, and then I came back and resumed my conversation. The guy I'd been talking to said something like, what the heck? Where did that energy come from? How did you even do that, we're all so beat? And I said, "I like to dance."

Blues originated out of slavery. Hymns originated out of persecution. Rap originated out of the ghetto. Art comes from suffering, but only in music does it truly heal. It's an ointment, a salve. It is aloe on the burn.

I got to see a great band last night. It was one of those, "my friend's friend's band is playing- wanna go see them?" kind of things where it might be great or it might be the worst experience of your life. When this guy took out a cigar box banjo and plugged it into the amp, I knew it was going to be great. In the little parlor area of a smoky bar in northern Kentucky, we slid the tables out of the way, put down the whiskey and beers, and danced.

I'll go to church tomorrow, but I'm not going to get any closer to God than I did last night.