I really like the feeling and emotion of music.  I like to feel it flow through my shoulders in a heavy, but still pleasant, way.  Purely based on my love of music, I knew that last night was going to be fun and that I was going to have a great time, but there was an added layer of personal attachment, that I felt, as soon as he (I have regretably forgotten his name) pulled out this drum.  I mentioned in my last post that my step-grandfather is Native American, but I didn’t bring up just how much so the culture and belief system had been brought into my family’s life.  Not too long after my grandparents were married, they started going to Sundance together in Michigan.  After the first time they went, my grandmother pulled me aside and asked me if I could go with them next year.  She said that she had never had such a personal and intimate connection with her place in her life; she had found herself.  I was 13 at the time, and my entire identity had been shifting around me, so I longed for this certainty in myself that my grandmother seemed to have attained.  As soon as the artist brought out that drum last night, I was transported back to that period of wondering who I was and feeling uncomfortable with myself, but still being secure in knowing that everyone around me had my back, that it didn’t matter what I was so long as I was me (and not a murderer, of course).