The wave and the altar
Then the wave begins. Slow at first — a single pulse to enter through, feet finding the floor. The music deepens, opens, cracks. The room tips into a current nobody is steering. Staccato sharpens the edges; chaos scatters them. Somewhere in there, lyrical lifts, and you realize you have been moving without deciding to move for some minutes now. At the end, stillness. Not the absence of motion — the presence of something that was here the whole time. The DJ pulls the last thread gently. People sit, or lie, or kneel at the altar. No one applauds. The closing ritual holds the silence open long enough that you cannot pretend the dance was nothing.