The birds in Brazil have their own song.
They sing about summer and love and the wind about to come; blending with the sounds of the ocean, the saws and the hammers of distant carpenters, a dog barking. Even the temple has its own sounds, creaking and wailing in the wind, stretching and yawning in the sun.
We have taken all our sounds and words, all our song inside, and given ourselves to silence.
And when we are silent we can hear the song the master is singing for us.
It is there, in the silence between his words.