Remembering our ancestors: Music and drums

The streets were crowded, and although it was difficult to walk, there was a shared happiness in our closeness, at least, I felt it. The night was hot and humid. It was August, after all, making a cold beer, unusual for a wine drinker, more than welcome.Holding my beer, I moved through narrow alleys, following something I could not yet name. Something was calling me, and without realising it, I followed. It took me a few moments to  understand that I was instinctively following the music.The drums.

“I moved through narrow alleys, following something I could not yet name”

Photo in Nakano, Tokyo - Yoneko Shiraishi (2018)

They hypnotised me.Their rhythm awakened my senses, drawing me back to the tribal origins of my humanity. I felt bewitched. Suddenly, I could no longer hear the people beside me, nor the laughter of the crowd. All I could feel was my body vibrating to the pulse of the drums, as if the ancestors of thousands of years before me, before us, were awakening, rising to reclaim their immutable place in our lives at that very moment.I could have sworn there were gods among us, binding us together with invisible threads, reminding us that no matter where we come from, we are one and the same, united by shared ancestors, a common beginning, and the same enduring spirit.*

• Originally published on 28th November 2018 on consult-culture, under the title: Remembering Summer: In Autumn.