When we follow to its extinction the sound of the gong, we find ourselves bathed in silence. The gift of this experience is the realization that no matter what happens, all is well.
In the pre-dawn the father holds the infant. She is asleep. He examines the whorl of hair at the top of her head. From it emerges a thousand-petalled lotus. In the stillness of the concentricity, this: “Do nothing. You are perfect. All is well.”