Behind the wondrous noise,
Sits the instrument, crafted with care by many,
Now not dormant,
But spilling notes in unison with others,
In a way which can be practiced,
But not perfected.
The perfection is the mixing of others,
Of those willing to hear a message,
An open mind perhaps,
But an open heart for sure,
Ready to receive.
And those sacred noisemakers,
Where, for the moments they rejoice together,
They ascend beyond themselves,
Into some sacred space, reserved for the gift,
A gift only exposed when heard.
Here then it happens. Hear and rejoice.