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Flamenco was about surrendering to the duende. It was about allowing your body to be taken over by something you couldn’t see, only feel. And when you were doing it well, it felt like a religious experience. Sacred and precious.
“Grief is living with someone who’s not there, who’s gone out of your life for one reason or another.”
Faith was not about facts or certainties; otherwise it wouldn’t be faith. Believing was what counted. Even when the odds seemed impossible.
