Mmmm…Cirque!

I once feared this solitary life I am leading but now I love it. I am never sad when a social engagement is over. And the pleasure of it comes, I think, from an absence of ambition. All my life I lived with ambition. Goals grew like naturalized bulbs in my imagination; each project designed to earn attention like a flower.

Plants flower for two reasons: Propagation and stress. But I don’t flower; I am a Bryophyte, thriving here where it is wet.

I idled through Wednesday like a leaf on a brook but my day ended with a waterfall. I went to see Cirque du Soleil’s Kooza and sat in the front row, close to all those shimmering muscles in spandex, glitter and feathers. I am giddy at any Cirque show, but sitting in the front row practically puts you in the show.

I went alone. And of course, the acts, the costumes, the original music presented live, the lights and above all… the spectacle is spectacularly overwhelming. There is nothing like it. But more than anything—anything—was the master of ceremonies (pictured above).

He is handsome, of course. And he is statuesque. He has to be. He does gymnastic moves that are not extraordinary, considered alone, but they are perfect fit in his choreography. The moves of his hands and fingers, how he holds himself, his poise … his majesty is a treat to behold.

So are his costumes. They are made of thick material that gives easily as it must for a gymnast. They are stunningly tailored and gorgeous in form, colour and execution. For me,  he is sex appeal incarnate, part dancer, part acrobat. Even his eyes are part of his character. He wears spooky contacts.

I will never miss Cirque, ever, and I don’t think I will ever miss sitting in the front row, either. There is no greater entertainment for me. None.