He sat in the audience with a smile that lit up his face like the candles on his seventh birthday cake. His tears were flowing down his cheeks like a waterfall in early spring.
A new music had rejuvenated his spirit like the rain to the thirsty gardens. It moved into his being and sweetened the taste of what mainstream mediocrity had left him with. The old music tried to dull his senses and become the high priest that rules the void where passion had once reigned, but all it did was increase the desire to hear this new music again. Mainstream’s influence, the plague that attacts the spirit’s intensity, had failed to take him prisoner in all these years.
Like a curse, his spirit rejected what the masses accepted. It made it difficult for music to flow through its sacred channels and avail itself to him. After all, the music that comes not of this form is a false messiah that puts it up for sale. Music is born from the Holy Spirit and nourished by the devotion to it. It is a form of worship, as heaven comes down and sanctifies his heart.
His spirit caused him to become a rebel. It was like his soul forced him to become enamored with a certain sound that mainstream had nothing to do with. It was in his own private form of worship that exhilarated him.