I stood staring at the structure.
Packets of cold and warm streams of air,
Flow steadfastly against an elastic metallic fabric.
Expanding and contracting forms undulate along the draping surface,
Billowing like smoke with a design, a purpose.
Hauntingly like the bowing of a saw,
The sweet motion produces the most alluring music.
The longer it falls on the ear, the more it sounds like echoing voices.
This is the source that teaches choirs of angels to speak.
Soft, then loud. Dynamic.
It is in this world but not of it.
Divinity in the key of all and nothing, both tonal and atonal.
If seeing and hearing were not enough to tantalize the senses,
I could feel it.
I could smell it.
I could taste it.
The most perfect synesthesia.
Transfixed for hours, I stood from midnight until dawn
When the rays of the rising sun pierced the glass building in slow motion,
Illuminating the structure and overpowering its ambient glow.
The spell was broken.
But I rejoice. It resides inside me now without end.
Inspiring and sedating, I call upon it at will to charge my energy and sooth my spirit.
I walked away forever transformed.
A moment of sadness ensued.
For, who I was when I first arrived is no longer.
First, mourning an intangible and ineffable loss.
Then, letting go of attachment to who I thought I was.
Sublime freedom remains.
© 2018 Michael Armenia