Mussorgsky’s Great Gate of…uh…China

I can’t think of a good way to describe the scene we saw that day. I guess the closest would be that we were staring at a solid sea of heads and sound. Either side of the parade route was overflowing with outstretched arms reaching toward something unseen. Most of the folks looked like locals, but the crowds were notably diverse. I couldn’t help but wonder just how far some of these people came to see these sights. We were so far back in the crowd that our line of sight was completely obscured. What were these people reaching for? What powerful force would drive them wild like this? Somewhere in the deafening commotion, they called some name over and over, made indistinguishable by all the background noise of explosions and constant screaming.

The four of us retreated behind the whole scene, away from all the people. The masses knew something we did not. Who was this star coming our way, drawing this deluge of love and admiration from the commoners? Brad? Barack? Or even MICHAEL? (Oh no wait, it can’t be because he’s dead TOO SOON? okay sorry retract statement.)

The peristalsis of shrieks of adoration told us how far away this person or thing was. We could feel the energy slowly approaching, not unlike the anticipation of waiting one’s turn to do the wave at a sporting event. I estimated that the center of all this attention was about a football field’s length away.

“Let’s try to get up front. I really want to see what on Earth is going on.”

“Are you serious? There’s no way we can squeeze through all these people.”

“It’s not like we’re dainty little girls. A little shoving goes a long way. Come on.”

The four of us, with the presence of musketeers but really no more courageous than mere mice, approached the back of the crowd and began the long journey up front. We screamed “EXCUSE ME” every two seconds while nudging our way through, leading with our shoulders, afraid that if we used our hands to forcibly relocate people, our arms might be snatched away from whatever toothed demons hid within the shadows of the crowd. The air was suffocating. We kept our heads down and powered through.
Daylight, at long last. We craned our necks forward, hoping to see up the street far enough to finally discover what all the hubbub was about.
 
“Oh my god. It can’t be.”
 
“I…I thought he died years ago.”

“IT’S HIM. IT’S REALLY, REALLY HIM.”

Immediately, all in the same moment, the four of us understood why this was such a big deal. Instantly, we traded in our skepticism and curiosity for sheer, mindless giddiness and joyous screams. We melded with the energy of the crowds.

At least, the other three did, anyway. In the midst of all the chaos, I took a step back and talked to myself about this situation and the consequences of our observations.

I stopped believing in Him ten years ago. I mean, I think I only believed because my friends believed; I don’t think I was ever really a true believer. I think I might have even hated Him for a while. But He hasn’t even crossed my mind in the past couple years until this moment. And you know what? Oddly enough, I don’t feel conflicted at all. I don’t feel hate or betrayal. I feel absolute adoration. I feel so warm and comfortable in His loving gaze right now. The way He waves His arm, the way that delicious smile radiates across us – I totally understand why I loved Him so. Hell, some of these people traveled MILES to come see this guy. And I now know why. His power is too incredible to ignore.

A big shove from some jerk behind me knocked me back to Earth. All my senses came rushing back to me at once, almost too quickly. The noise from cheap Chinese firecrackers all around me suddenly made my ears hurt. Then I actually took in the sights: the parade led up Powell by some talented Chinese dragon dancers, red and gold confetti showering them, and the recognizable San Francisco landmark buildings rising above me like the small but mighty city we so know and love.

“Hey! He’s coming! You got your camera ready?”

“Yup. I’m going to remember this moment for the rest of my life.”

We only took one picture that entire day, but boy, was it an important picture. This one picture might as well have been the sole reason we came all the way across the Bay to this damn thing in the first place.

I don’t care what Morgan Spurlock says. I will always be His child.





(Photo courtesy of my roommate, BetterThanViolin.)