I am following a path carved in stone, specifically the granite along the peaks of a mountain range. I have one of those toys which will create music as you wave it, and I do that, worrying that perhaps the train of monks whose trail my own will shortly intersect might be disturbed. We are all seekers in these hills.
My mechanical chime looks like a lantern and it’s at the end of my staff and I wave it and wailing results. The file of Hindu pilgrims makes not a sound, even of footsteps. They merely trudge forward as if through cloud, each of them like the others. I see them slightly below my own rut carved in stone perpendicular to theirs, from slightly above.
I walk and I wave my lantern chime and the wail is all the sound there is.