Kneeling on my knees, I hold the bowl out with one hand, while placing the other hand on the wooden floor, crawling from one side of the chair to another.
Who cares how I look? I’m having too much fun bringing so much pleasure to another person by creating sound after sound from a Tibetan singing bowl, moving the wooden “handle” or “clacker” closer to the rim, and then further away. Each producing a slightly different variation, and a harmony with the others”singing” with two other bowls of different shapes and sizes.
Frances, the African-American woman seated in the metal chair, never closes her eyes during the five minutes we circle her, raising and lowering the bowls, getting closer to various parts of her body. I brave a slap in the face by moving the bowl closer and closer to some private areas, but not only do I feel I’ve got permission to enter such a close “space,” but feel “encouraged” by some “primordial” pull towards such intimacy.
I am“transported” to another time, into a cave lit by many torches. I’m transformed into one of the “spirit” men and women cleansing, healing and protecting this woman, of whom I had never met, but sense a close kinship towards. I feel the energy emanating, a power coming from this bowl consisting of seven different metals, hand-made by some Buddhist monk using an ancient instrument shaped liked a hammer. The lip of the bowl is like porcelain, almost marble-like, my fingertips glide smoothly along the edge, and I swear I can feel a certain amount of warmth by simply holding one of the metal bowls in the palm of my hand.
I fall in love with the rich harmony the three bowls produce, feeling like a teenager again, singing on the street corner in my old “Doo Wop’ a capella group, reaching those elusive notes that cause “stupid-happy” grins on our faces, recognizing years later the gift God gave to man through music, through the harmony of sounds. When you feel it, you’ll know it. That “perfect” sound sends a chill down your spine.
I’m in a “flow” of sorts, moving from the left side of Frances to the rear, bringing the bowl to her feet, her legs and her rump.
Then moving on — still on my knees — to get to the right side, slowly producing one sound after another, tracing the lower section of the arm to the higher part, and then to the head. Starting at the jaw, then the ear, and next the temple, before reaching that area directly above her and toward the front of the skull where someone says the “crown chakra” resides. I don’t know what a chakra is, but I “feel” something that tells me I’m right on target.
I kneel in front of her, tracing the singing bowl up one leg and then the other, moving in closer to her thighs and onto the belly and then the chest, while she’s looking directly in my eyes, possibly into my soul, appearing like the “goddess” she now becomes, granting me approval and permission to “anoint” her, to “bless” her,” to “ritualize” her.
I comply. I feel humble, and I bow before her.
When finished, Frances tells the instructor of our two-hour class that she feels a “protective” shield around her. (The instructor is Katryn Lavanture, of “Eco Libra.” [See Info@PeaceJoyLove.Us, and www.PeaceJoyLove.Us.]
Frances looks “invincible” to me. And, I feel “stupid happy” having had so much fun in “doing” her.