Three years ago, my life was shattered when my ancestor appeared to me on a lonely mountain top. Surrounded by the skeletons of trees, the beating of a drum and the mournful call of a flute began to greet me as a tribe surrounded me in rhythms and chanting. A white horse galloped at my side, my ancestor riding aloof, clothed for battle.
The chanting raised in volume until suddenly everything went black and I was overcome by a tapestry of sound. Rise and fall, rise and fall, melodies swirled around me as I wept, my reality collapsing around me. I stood stunned for hours.
Finally, the melodies fell away, and all that was left were two words hanging in the air: