Epiphanies From the Epiphany Café
The Jam Band
The musicians stayed on pulse.
Then things bubbled up.
The fiddler had a thought
And made a decision.
She pulled the band a new direction.
It was the moment everyone knows.
When you move over and make room for an uninvited guest.
You never know what to expect when people come together:
Sometimes magic results,
Other times, an explosion,
Often, a fizzle.
Like a chemistry experiment.
It’s Intentional chaos.
We’re really a jam band.
From a rhythm of greeting and parting,
Question and answer,
Statement and response,
Hug and kiss,
Fondle and stroke,
A tune emerges.
To varying degrees, or not, we make room,
Share the stage,
And surrender the lead.
Perhaps because he had a thing for the fiddle player,
The guitarist was the first to pick up on her idea.
The organ followed, and soon the whole band had fallen in line,
Although it was not like a line of soldiers,
Marching a fascist goosestep, eyes right, saluting their leader.
It was like a procession of cows,
All facing the same direction,
But swatting their…
