The door is open, the apprentice faces an empty room. The absence, the solitud, is an illusion, the student is the master and the lesson and all masters and all lessons, he the recalling of lost knowledge. The percussions are the first entrapment to perception. The build up, the flutes cultivating the spellbinding effect to which we’re subject, are but the medium. The conjuration begins with the chant of the child, words of wise simplicity that escape my understanding yet captivate my senses, as a charm unavoidable. The room is empty yet the spirits are among us, so we’re not alone, we are the amulet added to the formula. The orchestrator is Traumer, austerity and hypnotizing spareness the vehicle.