The church is the most beautiful church I've ever been in.  Open arches, probably 50' high ceilings, statuary that was there but didn't interfere with the majesty of the architecture.  The music was written a century before Bach lived.  It was fine, I was enjoying myself with my friends, and started to cough uncontrollably - shrinking feeling, oh no, I didn't bring anything - just about to get up and leave - and the people in the row in front of us start patting their pockets - the lady in front of me turns around with a smile - hands me two Ricola.  THANK you, I breathe.  And we all return to enjoying the music.  

Toward the end of intermission, they start flashing the lights, and people start dawdling back to their seats.  Then they FLASH, FLASH, FLASH the lights, and people start rushing back to their seats.  I'm sitting there, mellowed out, wondering what is going on - like, hey, this is San Francisco, like, hey, this is a church, take it easy with those lights!   

And folks get to their seats as the lights dim.  And the lights go out.  After a full minute of silence, a Tibetan bell chimes.  Once.  Another time.  A third time.  And the choir starts to return, single file, holding their music as they had all evening, and each of them has a candle.  They walk rapidly - a gliding movement - but the candles don't flicker.  And instead of going to the front of the church, they walk into the church, past us, around us, with the occasional chime, occasional stops in movement, occasional phrase sung.    

Now the choir completely surrounds the audiencecongregation.  The silence is complete.  And they begin to sing.  You can hear each voice individually, and you can hear the harmony.  It's Gregorian Chant-like, with melody floating up and down, weaving solo into harmony, just the most spellbinding moment of my life, I think.  Never before have I been so completely **within** the music. Breathed the music.    

I still feel I have not, cannot describe it.  Talking with my friend Mary this evening, something said about the uniqueness of this experience, I responded, "And I could do this again and again, and have as deep an experience."

The concert continues, ends to much applause, and we drive home, fairly speechless, without words to express the feeling, the experience we'd had.   
 Get home to my two guests, chat for a while, go to sleep.  This morning they go out to breakfast, I continue developing soups, Ben and Colette arrive around 10, guests return from breakfast and vacuum the apartment, and people start arriving.