We are like instruments.  I always read “instrument” in the St. Francis prayer as a musical instruments.  All musical instruments are hollow..  For the sound of an instrument to ring pure, it needs a hollow center, that allows the materials of the instrument to vibrate and resonate with the sound vibrations sent by string, breath, or percussion.

In the same way, we need an empty space at our own center to ring true to our unique sound, for our being to resonate with the breath of existence.  When empty we are free to give ourselves to the sound so that it reaches other’s ears.  We cannot vibrate with peace, or joy, if we are carrying around all sorts of things inside of us.  We will give a muffled sound or distorted at best, if we can produce a sound at all.

The question is how do we empty out?  We are so full thoughts, memories, beliefs, judgements and so on, occupying the space in us that is meant to be hollow.

I know I am not hollow because my body tells me.  It feels solid, constrained, and heavy with emotions.  When I am aware I am not hollow, I reach inside to take out whatever is there.  I reach a hand inside and feel and touch the things in the darkness, so that I hold them and recognize them.  There is not really another way, we need to hold something in order to release it.

The more we have the experience of hollowness the more we begin to recognize and truly appreciate who we are, how we sound, the beautiful instrument we are.


The more hollow we are, the more we can listen to sound of life, expressed through others and the world around us and understand how all of us fit in this greater harmony.

When the world seems to fall apart, we are often left without knowing what is next, in a state of unpredictability and fear.

In those times of deep distress, it is natural to try to find our song again.  But it is not possible to do so, because what we thought as our song was created out of a particular circumstance, with certain harmonies that came together because of that unique situation. 

Whatever our song is, it will, as everything else, inevitably end.  We might experience an end of a relationship, the death of a loved one, the loss of a job or role we played.  It might be that we cannot sing that song anymore because we find the environment is different and the audience we thought we knew is gone.

In those moments it is easy to imagine that the music is ending.  Because we became so accustomed to that particular song.  So much so, we began to think of that song as who we are, and all we could possibly be. 

Once the musicians put away their instruments and the audience leaves, however, there remains a silence pregnant with new rhythms, new melodies, new creations to emerge.  You never know who will accompany you because the new song has not started yet.

The question is, can you be in that moment of not knowing, and listen in the silence for new possibilities?  Can you be in the silence by bringing honor and closure to the old song or will you keep chasing for what was or what could have been? ​

Today the light is clear outside and the birds are loud, as they are every morning. My meditation is simple and focused, and I am grateful for it. I am aware of myself and my particular past, however I don't find the need to dwell on the future, I am just not interested. I am reminded of a conversation I had earlier with my wife regarding a quote from the Bible, a letter from Paul to the Galatians. The letter is well known and it contains the "fruits of the Holy Spirit" referring to one of them as being self control. I am not a Christian scholar, but my understanding of self control as a "fruit" of the Holy Spirit resonated in me.

When I used to study classical guitar I spent many fruitless hours "making myself study" and having little or no results to show my teacher. I only tasted true discipline when I realized that the discipline did not involve me forcing myself to play, but it was the discipline of turning inside, of finding my emotions and my expression in the sound of the guitar. Once I was deeply connected to my own expression, I had no need to "make" myself study, but rather my practice became the fruit of my self connection. Similary, in relationships, if I react with anger I find that my discipline consists in turning inside, becoming aware of my feelings and contemplating my needs, and the perspective of the other person.   The fruit of this effort is self control. I find no need to act out or to have the last word once I connect to my own self. In my classes I often tell my students to take some space if they need to and leave the situation. However, I encourage them to then take that opportunity to connect with themselves, otherwise, once they are back in the situation nothing has changed, and they will find themselves trying to control themselves and not enjoying the fruit of their connection. No one will enjoy their music then, as they won't be expressing their authentic selves.