The hungry ones
It starts at the table
I have been of the opinion for half a lifetime that culture begins at the table. To sit around it with food, drink, good friends and family is to share wisdoms; some of which we don’t even know we have. The evening is a validation of love in all its intricate forms.
It’s loud with stories and laughter. A cacophony of humanity as it should be and can be. Explorations bubble to the top like a newly opened bottle of champagne.
Creativity, if the recipe calls for a mixture of art, music, literature, and science - a soup of the mind is in the making. Leave politics and religion under the table. Feed them to the dog. Leave the meal to 2 artists, 2 writers, 2 musicians and 2 professionals of science.
Prepare the broth. The pot will soon be ready for sustenance. Food for the mind, body and heart is added in generous proportions. Let it stew while open corks set free the wine. Discussions intertwine. Jazz flies in the formless form of ideas. Abstraction congeals. The soup of thoughts and words sits in the middle of the table; ready to serve.
None can be satiated. In the end, and there never really is one. The table is strewn with a creative mess. Leave it until tomorrow; now is the hour for dreams.
Still At The Table