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Staring into the dark emptiness at the back of my eyelids, I discern the sounds around me. I hear the water splash as I sit cross-legged on the moss-covered boulder in the middle of Bald Hill Stream. A raindrop falls somewhere to my left and merges itself with its brothers. I hear more droplets fall onto my island rock of contemplation. Each sound is distinct. The gurgling of the water, the trickling of the raindrops, each sounds differently. I can hear the wind sweeping through the limbs and rustling the leaves. As the wind picks up and the rain falls harder, the ensemble of sounds begins to overwhelm my ears. Transporting me into a new state of consciousness, the sounds continue to swarm in the air and fill it with the richness of melody. The droplets fall even harder than before, and no individual sound stands alone anymore. Instead, the smashing of raindrops forms harmonies with the rolling of the river, and the screaming winds add to the symphony. As I listen, the once individual sounds now combine to create an orchestrated ensemble… a meaning behind the sound.
Entering the room, a discord of noise greeted me. I could hear the flutists tuning their instruments, violinists practicing difficult passages, and percussionists...
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