My new singing bowl came today. I’m making friends with it, learning its voice, hearing its song. It’s old. It’s been hammered and cooked in and been through many hands. This last journey lasted 1500 miles, from the Rocky Mountains of Boulder, Colorado to its new home in Oregon, a long. long way from the mountains of India and Tibet. It’s come from the high peaks to rest here at sea level, from the thin air of mountains to the salt air of the Pacific Ocean.
I’ve been in love with singing bowls for many years. I can’t even remember when and how I discovered them. Sound, meditation and healing are so closely intertwined, at least in my experience. I love holding the bowl in the palm of my hand, feeling the vibration, listening to the voice of the bowl, the main tone and the rim tone. I can get lost in the sound. I can see the energy moving out of the bowl, wave after wave.
My new bowl is a utilitarian bowl. It lacks carvings and ornamentation of any type. You can see the years of use in it. But its voice is still strong. I like that. It’s a reflection of my life, and I like that.