Exuberance is Beauty sayeth William Blake

OPEN VOICES in Concert #2
By Michael Hurley

You feel the buzz
as you step out of your car
into the slipstream
of parking-lot revellers
bound for glory
and a good seat
in the Garden of Song.

You surf the buzz
as the lights dim,
the last folks in
braille their way
to some cozy spot,
group attention settles
into easy, relaxed, focus mode
and the Choir enters the haven
of the first enchanted song or two.

You are the Buzz
from that golden moment on …

The Good Times
they are a’ rollin’.
Welcome to the Cornucopia
of Blessings, Abundance, Fun-
the best slice
of spontaneous, home-grown, free-floating, radiant Joy
this side of the Buddha-fields.
It’s enough
to levitate the Parliament Buildings
and exorcize the ruling junta!
God Bless Us Every One !!
Singa songa freedom bruthersandsisters !!!

With 80 (!) odd folks plus
on stage
and the Surge opening ye olde heart chakra
’til everybody to the left, right, above and below
becomes Family
it takes a good 2 hours
just to recognize all the people
you actually do know
up there/down there/in here
wherever-it’s hardta say
once yer coordinates getta growing
this warm and fuzzy.
(The Zen of Community Choir is funny that way I eh.)

here you are
hummin’ or singin’ or blissin’ away
and all of a suddy the rhythms
lock you into-WOW!-Annie’s smiling face
-hey, it’s Annie!
And like flowers opening slo-mo
Clarke’s and Jim’s and Jane’s and Barb’s and Leslie’s
and Conrad’s and Tim’s and Wayne’s and Wendy’s features
magically swim into
the Visual Acuity Test Pattern
in yer euphoric rastapasta singalong brain
and it takes awhile
once over the rainbow
to gather the whole glowing Good Golly Miss Molly garland together.

It’s sorta like a homecoming
in Heaven.
A Celestial Rave!

And at some point
as Andy tai-chi’s the everlovin’ soundscape
or Gord holistically hunkers down
at the kosmic-keyboard
or as Craig Spidermans about
in mauve hose
or 3-headed Brent David Jason
ignite the ether
or Margo massages the piano
or Bruce revs up the banjo
you notice your toes is tappin’
like there’s no tomorrow
[IT-IS-FUTILE-TO-RESIST] Yup, it’s Mr. Happy-Toe
fuelled by a Party-Pak
of Distilled Essence of BLUE SKIES.
Meanwhile, back at the rest of your body
you’re swinging and swaying
like you’ve just channeled Satchmo
or morphed into some
Sufi whirling funkydoodle dervish
as the Taco Bell canons fire overhead
to ward off the blackwater rising
in the rivers of G-8 Hydro 1 Babylon

And then you discover
something really remarkable-
you discover
it’s no longer Audience/Performers, Me/Them
spectators spectating the Chosen Few
(or Many in this case)
from Bunker C
but us -it’s all us-
Glorious Taken-By-Surprise Tickled-Pink Self-Delighting US!-
here and now
all voices present
and accounted for
voices hearts spirit-treasure-chests
wide Wide Open
and giving the Gift outright
Put yer hands on the Choir K- Town
and H-E-A-L!
What a Wonderful World!
Whudda Rush!

By this point in “the program”
nobody has to reread the Vision Statement
in the concert notes-
you is the VISION, honey!
It don’t get much clearer, dearer and nearer
than this.
The bird is on the wing!
Set the controls for the Heart of the Sun!
Warp Factor Whudever, Mr. Rush.
Take Me Home
Bring Back The Love
Let’s Get Together
I’m Goin’ Up Yonder
We Come From The Fire-
Moon, Stars, Sun,
The Circle Unbroken
in the Healing Of The Heart.

Bring Back The Love.

With thanks to all.
May you be well and happy.

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