GONG

It has always been my belief that if you want to hear things you’ll hear things. Resonance is something that we all experience, but there are the fewest who realize it. It has always been my belief that if you want to hear another person’s heart beat or the blood streaming through their veins, you’ll hear it. It’s all in the breath. I like to bang on things. To create resonating sounds. To envelop myself in the force of the sound. In such moments, listening to my supersonic self is not only a way of getting in touch with the higher ground, but also a way of perfecting listening itself. Banging on the gong sweeps you off your feet. Your strongest desire materializes. You’re beyond hope. Beyond good and evil. You are quite beyond. Spaced-out. Gong masters will tell you that no one plays the gong. The gong plays you. There’s no skill involved. No mastering. No years of discipline. No self-effort. No morality. No sermonizing. Only listening. When the gong plays you, it rips your core open. The listening intensifies and you melt. The bluest ice inside you greets your light. Your fingers sparkle, and your eyes dance. The gong lets you know how you know things and you move with that through space. Others follow. You behold their souls. And you think to yourself: you are here now, and you hear.