Old chords, new instruments.

Time passes.  I ponder like a Yaksha banished to a fortress in the clouds – yearning… but what for?

Change comes to us all, eventually. It is both fierce and gentle, like a mother throwing a clean, crisp sheet over our childhood heads; bellowing with the weight of its transformation before settling down into a new normal. From beneath that bright sky descending, what kind of a man should emerge?

Once, I followed the passing of time at a British hop farm. Years seemed to pass as a flash of sunlight on water. Amidst the transformations, unexpectedly, some traditions remained. Tradition is such a long word, encompassing all the habits and rituals that define who we are and where we come from.