There is a region, unmapped, dimensionless, ageless and divine,
where the crystal moon reflects the light of a violet sky.
Suspended between one moment and the next, the silver stars shine
above and below us, inside and through us-we are this high.
I go there when Nusrat sings.

There is a memory of celestial sound, buried in our brains,
hidden by dreams in the instant of time. Some musicians can
hear it, but their instruments produce just the crudest remains.
The only way to express it is with the passion, the voice of Man.
I hear this when Nusrat sings.

There is a sensation that starts in the heart; subtle, profound, more
than orgasmic, that frightens and thrills me at the same time. When
I have courage enough to surrender and reach the climax, we’ll pour
the love of God over the earth until it touches all men.
I feel that when Nusrat sings.

There is a love, the essence of all that is and is not, without
end or limit, incomprehensible, the last mystery.
Frustration and failure meet those who try to study about
it, and yet some few souls by grace may enjoy its ecstasy.
I sense it when Nusrat sings.

There is a longing, an emptiness that won’t be denied, a loss
so magnificent it becomes the driving force of all life.
Saints and sinners alike must carry the weight of the same cross;
the wounds of all humanity are bleeding from the same knife.
I know why when Nusrat sings.