The experience of Gong baths in an article by journalist Mamerto

Morescalchi:

"a UNIVERSE MORE understandable ... .and more OUR"

is one of those moments where I feel within me the desire to

express my innermost thoughts, my feelings more real, that have
nothing to do with the normal proceeding of days, nor with the
eagerness to overcome those obstacles that life continues I will go
....
I would urge you to try the experience of being touched, caressed,
almost beautifully invaded by the presence of planets, their vibrant
voices that sound of the Gong takes us inside.
Gong: timeless musical instrument, out of time, a key, a port to get
closer to lost size but not impossible to be achieved.
After six millennia of vibrant scan fatal moments, forty years ago, on
the threshold of the 1980s, an astronomer, Hans Cousto and a
musician, Don Conreaux, with Gong, uncovered the mysterious
voices of individual planets, and Mohammad by encoding their gait
in measureless space around us.
Of different sizes, and with different frequencies, Gong, percussion
musical instruments have become creatures, companions,
inseparable friends of Gong Masters, men and women who are
dedicated to the Mission of disseminating their messages to all
people who want to hear and that they want to get closer, the
municipality join cosmic consciousness that, in the mists of time, all
generated.
A return to an ancestral common sense and unbounded closeness,
sounds slightly but unmistakably, we dig in, I suggest questions,
answers, you realign with a live more harmonious and less
egocentric.
A few nights ago, after a session of placido listening, in contact with
the peaceful vibration that cradled Gongs scattered in the room, and
all this is called Gong bath, because the sounds you permeate,
pervade you wash you, cleanse you as if they were immersed in a
cool mountain stream, in the quiet of my study I wanted to
externalize the inner feelings that the voices of the planets I had
whispered: KNOCK AT THE DOOR OF THE SENSES AT THE
DOOR OF THE SENSES, OR THE SPIRIT, OR SOUL; BUT,
AFTER ALL, WHY TRY TO SPLIT ITEMS, BECAUSE PICCARSI,
MANIACALLY, STUPIDLY, TO DELIMIT THE LIVING UNIVERSE
AROUND US, AND THAT LITTLE SNIPPET THAT HE GOT THERE
AND WE INHABIT?

TONIGHT THE SKY WHISPERING KNOCKED ON OUR DOOR,

OUR RESTLESS THINKING, THE GREED OF OUR DREAMS, TO
CRAZY TO BELIEVE SELFISHNESS OF BEING UNIQUE.
NOT ONLY ARE WE SIMPLY JUST IN SAPPHIRE BLUE THAT
SCRUTINIZES WITH SPARKLING EYES.

YET WE MAY BE ABLE, WE CAN BE PART OF THE FIRMAMENT,

AND FEEL HAPPY TO DONATE TO THE UNIVERSE ONE DROP
OF OUR SWEAT, A TEAR OF THE INTENSE EMOTION THAT
THIS JOY GIVES US EVERY DAY.

TONIGHT THE RUSTLE OF THE PLANETS HAS LULLED, HE

WHISPERED, SENT SKYWARD THE PRAYERS THAT WE FEAR
TO INTONE, HAS DISPELLED THAT INHUMAN EGO THAT WE
TRANSFIGURED AS DOGS THAT MORDANO FOR FEAR.

A RAINDROP STARTS GLAD ITS WAY TO THE OCEAN AND

FOAMS, CALMLY, SINGS ALL HIS PRIDE OF BEING PART;
MYRIADS OF HIS SISTERS DID RISE AND RISTORANO, LIKE
SMALL STARS, WHICH EVERY NIGHT WATCHING, ARE
FATHERS, MOTHERS OF IMMENSITY.

Forgive my license, and thanks for making me read "