The Cricket

 I followed my instincts, and went into deepest, darkest Brunswick around lunchtime. I didn't want to, but something in me said it was necessary for my wellbeing. 

Brunswick and I have a strange relationship. I'm told that I belong there, but I don't think so. I do like that you can normally find a park there if you know what you're doing, unlike Carlton, which has the tendency to shit me to tears. Brunswick is filled with hipsters and delicatessens with food from hundreds of ethnicities. Brunswick feels like the Melbourne of the sixties. The shopfronts go unpainted, the citizenry doused in patchouli and whatever scent in in their vapes.  Brunswick is filled with hipsters. But these are the hipsters of all hipsters. I live in Richmond, at the North end, where the more moderate hipsters rub shoulders with the Vietnamese restaurants and the heroin dealers. Brunswick and Richmond both vote Green federally. The Brunswick mob are a little more militant. Richmond voters still hold a small candle to the Labor Party. Both areas are gentrified, just is different ways. Both are laid back. If anything, Richmond is a little less pretentious. 

Regardless of my trepidation, I followed my heart and pointed the car North, praying to the parking and traffic fairies to get me to my destination on time and with a safe place to plonk the car. If I wasn't coming from Caulfield I would have taken the train. 

I arrived with fifteen minutes to spare. My destination, Tempo Rubato for the monthly session of Drone, a sound meditation session. These are held monthly, hosted by my friend Anthony Artmann. One hour. One note, often with other instruments adding to the sound cloud. Today, there was a five-stringed bass guitar and the occasional note from the grand piano on stage.

And the cricket. 

After paying for my entry, and a quick bathroom stop. I took my place in an easy chair at the back corner of the room, finding another chair on which to place my feet. 

My view during Drone at Tempo Rubato, not that my eyes were open during the session. 

This was my hour to lie back and let the sound take me away. I closed my eyes and listen to the freeform music.

And the cricket. 

Georgie on the door gave the Acknowledgement of Country, and then an apology was made for the said cricket's constant chirping.

There was no need for this. It's intermittent twittering was a perfect foil for the synthesizer's modulations. It came and went as it pleased, at times providing a natural answer to a melodic question. 

Over the sessions, Anthony is known to mix it up, adding magpie calls, waterfalls and other sounds into the soundscape. He had no control over this tiny slice of nature. 

It also added to the intimacy of the set. Normally around fifteen to twenty people who attend these monthly sessions. Today, there was five of us. It was a glorious Indian Summer day - I blame nobody for doing something outside. 

My hour went quickly as the drone let my mind and spirit soar, finding myself walking in forests, along sandy beaches, in a maelstrom of blue light, and in bed with a man I should know better than to be with. Crises were averted and the world was put to right. 

And then it was over. 

I resonate with sound meditation. I have done for years after discovering Shervin Boolorian in Bali. Shervin is an earthbound angel with an incredible talent for healing. 

There's a huge difference between the natural instruments Shervin uses in his sessions and the electronic bent that Anthony takes at Drone, but they have a similar effect. 

Today, I came out refreshed and strangely replete. 

In my opinion, this was the best session I've attended. I loved the stripped back nature of the sound, mixed in with the occasional call from nature. It was just perfect. 

I told this to Georgie on the way out. 

"Oh, I caught the cricket," she said. 

"But it was helping."

"It won't be appreciated at tonight's classical recital."

"But this was just magical. You should have come in."

"One day."

"The cricket made it very special indeed."

She looked me up and down. "He's better off in the garden."

"Okay. Alright then. Anyway, I had better fuck off back to Richmond."

She smiled at this. Every time I turn up for turn up for Drone, she knows I'm not in my natural environment. 

I wanted a drink, only to find the Sydney Road IGA shut after a fire. I'd find my kombucha elsewhere. And off I stalked to find my car in the side street where I'd left it. 

Thankfully, in a sound bath, there are no territorial borders, no suburb biases or worries about where to park. It's just you and the singular tone. 

And the cricket. 

Today's song: