The empty stage offers no evidence of how crowded it felt an hour ago.

An empty stage keeps no record of what filled it. The chairs, the noise, the concentration, the thing that happened between people: none of it leaves a mark on the room, which returns to being an ordinary space within minutes. Intensity is not stored in places, however much we expect it to be.

This is worth knowing when you revisit somewhere significant and feel nothing. The location was never holding the meaning; you were. If you want to return to something, return to the people or the practice rather than the room. And when a place does move you, notice that you brought that with you rather than found it there.