If it doesn’t make me sound too arrogant, I’d like
to restate a little wisdom I’ve come to believe: As soon as a
person says he or she understands something, that person closes his or
her mind to further understanding.
It’s a journalistic pitfall, and media consumers see it in
every public issue from how dogs are caught to how recalcitrant
senators’ votes are bought. The future is unknowable and
unstateable, but journalists often forget this fact.
Last week, I wrote about a gong bath that was to take place at the
Unitarian Universalist Church. My reason was sound: If I waited until
this week to write about it, it would be over, and people who wanted to
attend might miss it. That belief was born out as the couple who were
matted next to Hunter and me at the gong bath read about it in this
paper and went because of the story, thinking it would be something
cool to do on the lady’s birthday.
It was. Cool, that is. But after having done some research and
conducting an interview on the topic, I thought I knew what to expect.
I thought I understood. But, as cool as it was, it was utterly
unlike what I expected.
For one, while I knew it was part of a winter solstice celebration,
I had no idea it was part of a pagan ritual. After the invocation by
the Unitarian Universalist pastor, Rev. Neal Anderson, the group joined
hands in a circle, and a pagan priestess led a prayer calling to the
four points on the compass. Not a problem for me, but I thought some
visitors who weren’t warned by my previous column might have
issues. The two gongmasters then spoke about what was going to happen
and said prayers, while those of us who came prepared with mats,
pillows and blankets assumed comfortable positions. The lights were
lowered, and the noise began.
After writing a whole column talking about the known benefits of
audio-therapy, and positing that the gong bath would happen while we 75
participants were in a meditative state, I expected a mellow,
contemplative experience. I expected long, tidal tolls on the gongs
that would enhance the depth of my meditation. In retrospect, I think
my Western mind expected some, “OK, this is a gong tone that
works to vibrate the organs in a healthful way; here’s another
tone that will salve another organ.” Scientific and plotted.
But what I got was cacophony, seemingly random sounds that were
utterly unconducive to meditation.
For one, it was not just gongs, but a variety of instruments and
body-made sounds. It was bells and horns and howls and tinkles. For the
first five-10 minutes there was this sound, I’m not sure if it
was real or out of my head, of crowds of people whispering below the
threshold of comprehension. It reminded me of that Nicole Kidman movie
The Others.
The bath was surreal. Primal. And for all the dissonance, every once
in a while, while I lay there wondering just what the hell I was doing
and what might be going through Hunter’s mind as he flicked the
edge of his Thermarest, a gong would toll a wavelength that was
perfectly attuned to my body, and my whole being would resonate with
the sound. Or it would be a bell or a horn that would play me.
As I say, totally cool, but unlike anything I expected or have
experienced. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that
despite my preconceptions, I learned a little something about myself in
that sanctuary. I’d hazard to say the next time a gong bath
opportunity comes around Reno, people who go in with an open mind may
learn a little something about themselves, too.
MUSIC
none
mellow
traditional
rockin’
SERMON
none
thought-provoking
informative
inspirational
FELLOWSHIP
cordial
friendly
welcoming