I am alone in a room playing harmonics on a cello and I never want to leave. With calculating fingers and a delicate touch I mute the fundamental tones, pulling forth impossible hums and rings. What starts in my hand I give to the bow and what the bow has been shown it blesses the string and what the string has been blessed with it breathes into the air and what the air is alive with it invigorates the walls and the walls tremble and shake and emit their bliss and it bursts back to me and I let the accord sing it’s graceful song and I savor it’s elegant life until it’s poise is refined back into an invisible point and when the sound does finally vanish from my ears I share my hand again and again because as long as I am in this room everything is in harmony. As long as I am in this room everything I give will be given back. And it will be beautiful, and it will be beautiful.