I realized I should've asked you to stay late. Much too late. What use are words in this endless-gaping cemetery?
Stai.
Stai, mă.
Cineva să mă tragă înapoi înainte de momentul critic nu s-a găsit. Stai. S-ar fi cuvenit să stai. S-ar fi cuvenit să ştii deja s-asculţi. Dar eu, da. Eu ar fi trebuit să da. Ce faci, mă, ai băut gaz? Suflă şi priveşte-n flăcări. Haz de necaz între doi ochi închişi şi timoraţi. M-ascund mult. Prea. Am încercat a explica de câteva ori, dar s-au făcut că nu pricep. E greu să-nţelegi când n-ai simţit cum te cufunzi şi nu te mai ridici.
I think about it, often, the tremendous strength it takes to be a fucking rock, and stand in somebody's way. To say simply "stai". Stay. Don't. It is by miles the worst horizon I've looked towards. I understand why you would prefer to stay put.
If you look, you'll find that when someone rises, they have inside them the strength and energy to lift up others, also.
I sat stunned, minutes elapsed in silence, then later, finally, asked somebody. Did it strike you too, the tremendous beauty of what's been said? And was it true in settings outside the dancing studio?
The secret's in steady footing, but not just. Another secret's in intention. If you are to rise, be sure both feet are firm in the ground. You've got no room to hesitate or to wobble, you need the certainty, the intention of aiming upwards, of rising.
And then, yes, you may also be strong enough to lift others.
I wish there had been. I wish I had been. But there's no time like the past.
I thought about the phrase throughout the rest of the class. Selfishly, at first. I thought that's simply not true, sometimes it's hard enough to lift yourself without hangers-on. I don't know if that's a sin of intention or simply on account of wobbly feet. Unsteady footing isn't per se a crime, but neither is it a safe way to proceed. I must calm and hold myself so that I step forward with all four corners of my feet.
Dacă nu mă ridic, am încredere în tine că mă ridici?
And when no one's around, can I trust me to lift myself? Perhaps steady footing lies in asking when the person's still around. Mai stai. It's such a tremendous ask because ultimately, everyone wants to, but some of us really sometimes need a helping hand to tether us.
I realized, just now, I've been mistaken in my interpretations. It is, despite appearances, a song about love.
I realized the difference between "mai stai" and "don't leave", and how much room there is between the two for bargain. The utterly humbling asking of "mai stai", the telling people to stick around, the vulnerability of all that is living. The sense of being blind.
Asking for the gift of your presence isn't the same as being terrified by your absence, and I don't know, still, which was mine. I'm sorry. I took a song from you a couple months back and gave it to somebody else. You must've felt very miffed, or so I at first thought, except it wasn't an about you song, but an about me song, about the pitch black of your absence.
I gave it to somebody who needed it more and whom I don't know to save, but maybe somebody eventually will.
It wasn't your song. The first one might be, yes. Mai stai. But the second? It was an on the Cross song, not a suitable rhyme.
Maybe this is steady footing - thinking to ask while there's still the possibility of an answer.
I was struck by the way their music, without fail, manages to stop me in my tracks. It's a fantastic sensation, and it's so much more than mere atonement. At-onement, as one teacher so marvelously explained it to us.
I like the thought of reaching this sense of belonging in the vast canvas that is human suffering through the long journey or atonement, don't you?
But it's more, also. It's prayer, endlessly, a hope launched into the universe, its own at-Onement, even on days I by my lonesome don't feel whole. I don't think there will be anyone to have such a profound impact on my being and my soul.
The first song that inspired this write-up. A moment of closeness to God, unparalleled to me so far, the coming together over a multitude of people over this one song.
Song #2. The one I gave away. Another prayer, for healing of a different kind.
Finally, this. This increasing dissonance, brilliance, sheer audacity of a fucking song. Somehow, the fact that I'm alive and in this place to witness this miraculous composer-poet at work makes me think all the tragedy must be okay.
I felt this might belong here, in The Flame. I'm not entirely sure. I hope so. As always, hi to 
