On the second day he presented us with fish. On a bus, hands extended and holding on to a bundle of newspaper wrapped meat, seasoned and sweet to the tongue. He said little, but the compassion and understanding in his eyes spoke volumes. His actions gave commands: “take this to your grill, cook it in accordance with the traditions of the Pacific Northwest, and we shall all convene at the end of the night at your tent to eat and commune together.
And so we did. The fish was grilled in the manner set forth by those at the Pike Place Fish Market, who are held in only the highest esteem, those peddlers of sea creature and seasoning. Heed their advice brethren, for the feast will be scrumptious!
And thus they came, the weary musicians, the worn down production staff, and they sat and ate. And it was good (so good in fact that he promised us another bountiful harvest, this time of sausage). The Frisbee and football were thrown to express the joy of community, the skateboard ridden to show appreciation of our freedom. Laughter was heard throughout the loading dock, and it was sweet as bells to the ear. He handed out fish and greeted fans, and he took great joy in the happiness it brought others. When the time came to rest our eyes and souls, he came to us, telling of the coming third day, the day of feasting and rejoicing, the day the grill would nearly buckle under the weight of food set to task on it. We had doubts as to whether it would ever be this good. But we had hope, and hope is a wonderful thing.
On the third day we found camp in a wooded grove, lights were hung by the trees so that the people could find their way. He came as promised, and presented us sausage of a bountiful sort. We lit the fires, and prepared for the joyous occasion. The meat was cooked in accordance to our western European forefathers, with mustard sauce, and BBQ, so that we would not forget our own, more recent heritage. And it was good.
The people came, for it was a feast, and the minstrels of our day serenaded the people with their ipods, and spirits rose. The gift of community, of life was upon us, and we rejoiced mightily. Just as the people thought that it could get no better, he showed why his life had taken the particular path it had, and channeled none other than the king himself, Elvis. So thorough was his movement, so convicted his impersonation, that all the people were left cheering. Perhaps they had never seen someone so committed emotionally, physically, and spiritually to recreating a past life. Perhaps the site of letting go with happiness, excitement, and reckless abandonment was just too beautiful. All were moved beyond words, only clapping and yelling could serve the purpose now. And it was good.
The people left. He left too with his small band of followers, for the rest of us could not go where he was going (home, I think). Three days were all he could give us. Three days to show how wonderful life and all its blessings are. And it was good. And it was great.