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Let me now write about this. This music is not of this time.
It is of a time long gone by. It was produced out of deep meditation, in a
state of disillusionment, renunciation. It was carved out of the mountains, not
merely played on a few strings. It was turned in an earthen pot over a low fire,
for ages. It was then moulded, like hot wax, to give shape to a figure so
magnetic and powerful that it needed an enormous temple, all to itself, where
it would sit, in the centre, for centuries, for eternity, its notes resounding
in the temple, vibrating upon its walls, emanating from it like smoke, to
cleanse the entire atmosphere with its purity.
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