The Night of Inti-illimani

The purpose of music is to express what is too beautiful for words. It communicates to the parts of our souls that no language can. Music comes closest of all communication to speaking the language we lost in the fall. Our tongues were not made to speak the language of the angels, but we can attempt to imitate those glorious sounds with song.

‘How was the show?’ you ask me.
To try to describe it would cheapen the experience.
Nevertheless, I will share some of my thought.

Soaring high on currents of inspiration the notes plunge down and pierce my chest where they quiver in perfect harmony with the vibration of my soul.
The beat sneaks behind my ribcage urging me up and round and round. The drums sing of movement and my body moves to obey the call.

If plants were made from notes, sunsets of melodies, and animals were made from rhythms; Inti-illimani would have just recreated Eden in each atom of my frame. They have struck my stone and bright water springs forth and I will never want or thirst for inspiration as long as their notes resonate in my memory.