The music is their instrument to assert control. The reverberating air carries the commands. They turn up the heat and ice cube starts melting slowly. They know what they’re doing, they are turning us into water, for the rill is our destiny.
Before long, they succeed. We are one with the rill. We flow, we dance, we are euphoric. We fall and rise. Sun rays kissing us, dancing along. It is the metamorphosis accomplished!
We are transformed to the extreme. We hear crows cawing and wind wailing. We are lost, there is no ice cube left. We are abandoned, the Master Musicians have left us. There is no control, there is no direction, what will become of us? The dark dream has swallowed us.
Like the gentle touch of flower on a girl’s cheeks, a guitar note wakes us up. They have not left us! Through sheer magic, they have kept control. We were not lost, but willed into feeling lost. They didn’t just have control over the heat source, they were puppeteering the rill. They had absolute will on the very rays of the Sun reflecting and dancing on the rill! We are caressed back to our natural state of calm and relaxation.
Echoes is where time seems to stand still, and the boundaries between musician, listener, and the music itself dissolve into pure harmony.