He felt that he had now completely learned the art of listening. He had often heard all this before, all these numerous voices in the river, but today they sounded different. He could no longer distinguish the different voices—the merry voice from the weeping voice, the childish voice from the manly voice. They all belonged to each other: the lament of those who yearn, the laughter of the wise, the cry of indignation, the groan of the dying. They were all interwoven and interlocked, entwined in a thousand ways. And all the voices, all the good and evil, all of them together was the world. All of the together [were] the streams of events, the music of life. When Siddhartha listened attentively to this river, to this song of a thousand voices, when he did not listen only to the sorrow or laughter, did not bind his soul to any one particular voice and absorb it in himself, but heard them all, the whole, the unity—then the great song of a thousand voices consisted of one word: OM—perfection.
Andrew Bird-Belles
On his new album: Break It Yourself





