When a gong or "singing bowl" is struck in the silent stillness, a reverberating sound is suddenly born...it lingers briefly...decays and dies. The sound can represent the span of our life-experience, but never our Life. Our true self is not the perishable sound, but the imperishable, still silence from which the sound arose and resonated temporarily. Indeed, this truth has even greater depths for it may be understood, that in our essence, we are none other than That which strikes the gong, so to speak, and silently witnesses the resulting "sound."
Precious memories, unseen angels,
sent from somewhere to my soul;
how they linger, ever near me,
and the sacred past unfold.
Precious memories, how they linger,
how they ever flood my soul,
in the stillness of the midnight,
precious, sacred scenes unfold.