The song, or rather songs, that came from the instrument told a story. It seemed to be a story about a relaxing day in the life of a person. Even though there was no words to this song, the music found its way from the instrument to my ears and then to my heart. I could not move , as much as I wanted to, as much as the few things I actually needed to get done today beckoned me I was stuck.
What was planned as a quick respite from the sun turned into a cigarette break. That cigarette , in my opinion, seemed to befoul the mood so I put it out . There were other people smoking, no one gave me a dirty look, or even a curious one. But the universe at that moment was telling me that there was something so inherently pure about the moment that smoking would ruin it. Smoking was meant for the world outside of the pagoda and outside of the protection of the trees and the crickets.
I stopped thinking, a monumental occasion to be certain, and watched the scene unfold. Soon my mind stopped worrying about the tasks that I had to do and started listening. The music no longer content with settling in my heart started to tattoo itself in my soul. The rich sound called others, teenagers, the occasional park worker, children and elderly alike. They would stay for a moment maybe slightly longer and leave, knowing full well that if they stayed longer they may never leave.
At some point, when the music had finished making a chrysalis that would eventually become a beautiful memory, the spell was broken. I was reluctant to leave, but the same feeling that had compelled me to stay and listen was now beckoning me to get on with what I had to do. I promised myself, a special promise that I always fear I will not fulfill, to come back to this oasis again. Unaware that oasis’s, being the most transient and delicate parts of an eco system, probably would not be there a second time. I waited for the lion tamer to start another song, and slowly I moved on.