(Inspired by a song of John Wubbenhorst)
My body rises to a bleak ray of sun that enters my chamber from a small gap. I sleep on a thin mat in this spacious hall with a thatched roof and bamboo walls. The floor is clean and the morning ambience is like that of a solitary hermitage.
I stay in this place not condemned to confinement but for the refinement of my mind. I have tried to sweep away the tinsel that filled my earlier rooms.
With the passage of time, bracing the atrocities of harsh weather, the bamboo has developed holes as the mark of cruelty. It feels as if multiple flutes have been strung together to make the walls.
Sometimes, the raindrops wet my floor giving different hues when the sun-rays fall on them.
The tyranny of time has given a new meaning to the slumber of the bamboo walls—it has turned them into musical instruments of various sizes and scales.
When the wind blows, multiple flutes start breathing the music that helps me meditate. As I close my eyes, my inner being starts dancing to a unique rhythm. I scale difficult and intricate steps that seem totally out of my range.
This unusual arrangement sets me free and I feel ‘simply happy’.