Silence is sound. Raises Zen stick over head, then hits table with stick. No sound, no silence. Raises Zen stick over head, then hits table with stick. Sound is sound.
Silence is silence.
Hear the moktak hitting and the women chanting in the ceremony hall. This story is about sounds, music and voices I have heard in my life. My good old friend Zoli and I loved drumming. We got congas when we were eighteen and drove the neighbors through the roof with our rhythm. We were completely crazy about it, and had great parties where instead of some commercial tape a group of youth drummed, danced and loved each other very much.