hall. The largest of them all, the framed portrait of the Guru,
was placed on a white antique settee. More fresh flowers in tall
vases were proudly guarding the Guru’s altar, standing
symmetrically at both sides. The garland of red and white
roses was strung together with folded green leaves, and was
placed over the portrait. A poignant smell of sandalwood was
layered with a delicate scent of roses. The scents, the
shimmering darkness, and the sounds of the room were
melting into each other, and I inhaled this fusion deeply, again
and again.
After a few minutes, the music started. People began to
chant the verse of a mantra - a special phrase offered to the
seekers of the tradition to calm the mind. Soon, I found myself
joining the chorus of voices. The melody was smooth and
almost sleepy in the beginning, but after a while, it was rolling
up and down, floating to the left, diving to the right, and
twirling in circles. The words of the chant repeated
themselves, yet the melody was telling a captivating story,
taking the listener on a dramatic journey. As the chant
unfolded, the melody became buoyant. My heart began to beat
faster, as if it couldn’t contain all the joyful sounds within its
boundaries. The chanting reached its intense and bouncing