Oliver Benjamin
We surged forward to join the frenzy on the dance floor, and
realized that it was seemingly inappropriate to dance in a group or
with any one person. No looked at anyone else, rather the entire mob
of people bobbed and coasted around the dance floor in their own
orbits like densely packed molecules. Miraculously, no two of these
molecules ever seemed to collide—individuals wove sinuously
around each other and created rivers of human initiative that
instantly filled any momentary void. Any feelings of wanting to be
intimate with my clan were replaced by the feeling that I was now a
part of something even bigger and more fundamental. The clan had
grown to include all the strangers on the dance floor. Gigantic
speakers beat out a synthesized tribal rhythm that joined together
with the drug to induce a state of subjugation to the collective will.
Bodies gyrated and churned, swaying as if driven directly by
electronic pulses rather than their own hearts.
Three large, beautifully painted support beams cut through the
middle of the packed dance floor. They gave off an odd majesty that
seemed a result of the fact that they were the only solid, immutable
elements on the frenzied, spinning dance floor. The tribal aspects of
the scenario and the music propelled me to whirl around one of the
beams in reverence, as if it were a mythical god. Slowly at first, I
directed my dance around the beam god, trying to judge correctly the
energy that seemed to radiate out of it. At first, no one took any
notice, but gradually the patterns of movement around me seemed to
align themselves with my own. Bodies began gravitating to the
sphere of the almighty beam god and instead of spinning in their own
momentum, now faced openly the imaginary glow that I thought I
had discovered. Within minutes an incredible transformation had
overcome the dance floor—scores of individual threads of movement
had unified around this massive common denominator, infused with
purpose. Hands were thrust in the air as eager bodies exposed
themselves to the illusory energies of the fluorescent-painted deity.
We had become triumphant victors in a battle that had no real
enemy, nor apparent purpose. The members of our beam-venerating
sect had stopped to listen to some prehistoric rumblings, leftovers
from a time and a purpose long since past. It was these rumblings
that once helped our earliest ancestors to persevere in the face of the
inexplicable, and under what we today would consider almost
unimaginable hardship.
We, in skipping over the urn, spilled the ashes and found
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