It's Bach's birthday. I always celebrate the master. But today it occurs to me that the very time I ever got really stoned on hashish, the only thing I wanted was to listen to Bach. I did. I dissolved into the oneness of all things. I heard every single note. I like to get stoned, but not without formulating an intent for it. So, tonight. Yes. I'm ready. My sister dearest is here too. She's one hell of a cognitive psychologist, and, as it happens, also a terrific necromancer. We'll get down some roots. Ask the plant to ally itself with our tones and tunes. Show us the sound. The extinct instrument, the cello da spalla, the one that scholars and musicologists speculate Bach used for his compositions, will lead the way to the underworld. It's a good place to be, also right now as we're under the influence of the vernal equinox. Here we come then. Let us hear the voice of the ancestors and Bach's. The sun in the anchor. The thought in the heart.