running with the bulls

A few nights ago as I thumbed through the pages of my poorly organized, horribly written performance studies text book I turned the page and fixed my eyes on this:

the lascaux caves in the south of France

Two years ago I stood in these caves accompanied by nine of my closest friends. In the cold cave I looked at the first art to ever exist and my hands shook at the sight of the advanced perspective and technique used. The caves made me so emotional I remember little Scotty grabbing my hand. I remember not being able to look at him because on the tears rolling down my cheeks.
I didn't cry.

I let out a sort of high pitched squeak as I flipped the book around showing the room my discovery. As I began to recount my experience to the group I was sitting with not really using words.
It took me back, back to the cave and what happened there.