Solstice

Last night's concert was rain on the roof in the middle of the night. Live music, live audience, live thunder punctuating wet extravaganza. From my onstage view, I could write a book of imagined stories about the listeners who entertained the entertainers. Instead, consider the rainbow that is Eric.

I can't say how we met; it happened via the radio, I the musical guest, Eric the regular listener. When he did eventually come to a concert, he struck me as shy, gently incapable of small talk. His thoughts run deep and unrelenting. Should you tap into Eric's underground, prepare for graceful candor.

After that concert Eric said, 'Susan, the only difference between you and a mega celebrity performer is that you don't know your music is in that league.' Eric has a way of challenging your wisdom, rewiring your expectations.

During the gabfest after last night's show, Eric the loquacious barely pauses to gather his thoughts. They spill over and into my own.

'Susan,' he says, 'when you talk to people you are completely present to them.'

'I guess it's just my thang,' equivocates Susan. 'I don't really know another way to be with people.'

Eric steps across to his next observation. 'Some can feel more free to communicate openly with you, a public persona, than to someone they might know better. This is a burden I'm not sure I could handle.'

Usually when you hear mega celebrities grouse about their lack of privacy, it's a litany of crude paparazzi maneuvers and obnoxious fans in the checkout line. You don't hear them say, 'people confide in me with more trust than I can handle.' Eric thinks I represent something to people because of what I sing and how I perform. I offer a mirror, a canvas, a challenge to conventional wisdom, a sharpening of the lens.

In this capacity, Eric the philosopher priest and Susan the singing mermaid are droplets in the self same sea.