I weave your name on the loom of my mind To clean and soften ten thousand threads And to comb the twists and knots of my thoughts. No more shall I weave a garment of pain. For you have come to me, drawn by my weaving, Ceaselessly weaving your name on the loom of my mind.
The monk made the bamboo come alive, capturing the sounfds of the universe and bringing them into the room. Long, deep, haunting tones vibrated in my chest. The notest demanded introspection. The noise of the rain somehow accentuated the silence between each phrase, adding an inconceivable dimension to the music.
