More old bowls arrive

Whenever my postal guy Duane says he has a box for me, I revert to memories of the Sears Christmas catalog  and I turn into a 6-year-old kid. I would scan the whole catalog for the toys I wanted and circle them  or fold down page corners. My two sisters would do the same. We would be dying for this game or that stuffed animal. We might get one of our choices and sometimes none given the prices and my Dad’s schoolteacher salary. Sometimes those boxes would arrive when we were home, but usually they came during the day when we were at school.

So when Duane says he has a “box,” it means singing bowls are here! And it’s holidays all over again.

While I see photos of the bowls I buy and hear clips of them, meeting them in person is another experience. Usually, they exceed my expectations. Sometimes, they are all cleaned up, sometimes a bit dirty from their age and sitting in a warehouse or the shipping crates. Then I play them to hear their voices, and they are transformed.

It’s like walking in a forest and wondering who else has seen this trail, this bowl? Who else has heard its voice? And then I start to wonder who will meet this bowl and fall in love with it?

People often ask me how they will know which bowl is right for them? Should they select it by note? Buy a new bowl, an old bowl, a manipuri or a thadobadi? I often laugh, because it’s unmistakable when you meet the bowl that is yours. As a friend says, “You don’t choose the bowl. The bowl chooses you.” 

Twelve bowls have arrived. Now the fun begins all over again.

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