Fire

There is a fire burning. I have sensed it from afar for a long time. I am circling it, but still at a distance. I am drawn to it because I am cold; chilled through. I'm attracted to it with a force of absolute necessity; a force I can only compare to the kind of irresistible magnetism that occasionally exists between a man and a woman.

Sevilla is close, and it does have something, like the cute title I chose for this blog from the Sevillanas letra. But Jerez has what I am looking for.

I was right there, in it, the other night.

I saw Domingo Rubichi last summer several times, accompanying cante in the outdoor theatre. He comes from another place than I do - some different kind of universe that I don't understand but can feel. His playing is rooted to the ground. It is solid like something you can hang onto, because you need to. There is space in it - it is not rushed. It takes what is happening seriously and doesn't pretend to be cool or laugh things off. But Eva, I understand. She takes what I feel that only ever dares to come near the surface, and she brings it straight up and out, into the air. She wears it on her face and it comes out through her hands. And that is why the other Jerezanos listening yell out. Because they know this; they don't try to stifle the things that it is pointless to try to shut off. They are burning too and they are part of part of what I've come here for, just as are Eva and Domingo.