I use a small gong to begin and end my meditation. For me it is more than a simple ritual to identify a beginning and an end. The sound of the gong has for a long time been an audible voice “calling me home,” in the words of a Sangha member. My experience of that call has taken an interesting turn.
It begins with my touching the gong, feeling the cold and silent metal forged from brass. I lift the striker, feel its weight and hard handle. I touch the gong lightly with the striker then bring it to life with a sharp blow on the side. The metal sings out, flowing through my whole body. I feel its vibrations in my head, in my torso, in my hands and feet.
The gong is inviting me to a home that use to be tiny and inside of me. My home was confined to the space defined by my body. Now my gong invites me to a wide and spacious world, much larger than tiny me. I feel the summons to a limitless universe, an ocean of reality. I enter the timeless world of no time. The metal of my gong vibrates and I follow where it leads me.
The sound of my gong fills the room and carries me to a widening expanse beyond me and my room. When it is finally quiet, I have expanded beyond the limits of my tangible world. I find myself settled in a place far beyond my limited vision. This truly is my home, and I have been brought here by my gong.
My home extends to all that is, and I am carried there by the sound of my gong. This is where I belong. This is where I let go of everything I think sustains me, all the things I think I need to survive. Here I can abandon all my security, all my certainty. I can yield to the lack of assurances that shape my past and future.
My gong allows me to find joy. I love its sound and what it may bring.