Brahmi Amla Oil Comments

[eternity]

Like blue note, the perfect moment in which everything is exactly the place it deserves in the universe * . The least of your particles * up the vastness of the distance between planets.

The trombone slide, while that on the bass drum, the hammer strikes the drum skin violently in intimate rhythm of blood inside your veins. Their beats overlap and intersect * .

This time with only the duration of an instant, a fraction of eternity, levied on all living things.

As the drum skin vibrates * long as the striking of the mallet. Something in secret stretches of the air, beyond the visible. Movement like clockwork, the tendons of the wrist, fingers, knuckles blanched at the effort, that little uprising, at the corner of the lip * musician.

Then slide the bow along the strings of the violin. The flesh of the fingers * sinking under the pressure, horsehair resumed its advance. At the other end of the rhythm, the arm of the virtuoso, the thumb and index linked highlighting the movement.

Your breath itself begins to stir, one enters the dance between the instruments. The heart learns the melody, the temple breathes in harmony, the hand opens and stretches. It's time for a trumpet player. Cheeks swollen * under the pressure, the lips cracked at the corners as the language gradually comes wet with saliva.

Support Instrument mucosa deforms while stirring the metal, gives rise to the final note. Slowly, she climbs, she twirls and arches and rears. The fingers are accelerating pistons * , burst or release air. Any overlap gently. Tiny mechanical agitated one after the other while the drum skin stretched his low vibrato.

Your neck will bend and suddenly you're more than music that yearns between inside and Outside, more than the breaststroke * a sweet note to the arrival of the next. Your spirit is diluted and concentrated, your range is huge, everything is exactly the place it deserves in the universe ...

The original is here *