In my quest to facilitate teamwork and to discover new ways to generate a passion for excellence I met with a phenomenon called Bruce Copley. Bruce introduced me to, amongst other things, a new musical instrument called the Hang (pronounced “Hung”). Maybe the story I am about to share will explain the strangeness of it all.
During 2001 I was working with a dear friend, Michelle Groenewald, on ways to make the work experience of our team of scientists and engineers more vibrant and integrative. We were trying to help people understand the linked nature of everything in our lives. The idea was for all of us to discover for ourselves how our actions can never be seen in isolation and that we all do things that vibrate through time, almost like the notes of a song on a cold and quiet evening.
After some experience of Bruce’s work, we decided that some individuals in the team might benefit from the experience that Bruce delivers during his events. We caught a plane down to Cape Town and arrived on a cold and stormy night, driving over the mountain to Bruce’s place. There we met in a Teepee, with Bruce playing away on his didgeridoo. He also invited a drummer and maker of African drums. I promptly bought a drum that evening. Not any old drum, but rather a drum that still to this day ring true with my moods. Michelle went on and procured a Hang from Bruce some time after that, and through a twist of fate, she sold it to me after a short while. As with the drum, the specific instrument just spoke to me when I heard its first few sounds.
I still have not managed to master the Hang, but I am not too concerned. Whenever I sit and tap away at it I know that my soul is sending a message into time and years later, with only a few successes at making the workplace a better space, I have come to believe that few things matter as much as allowing your soul’s voice to be heard. Write a Haiku, play a drum, sing or whistle, but be heard. Like the inventors of the Hang did, and how even they have to modify what is seemingly a prefect design to take into account learning, new materials and the demands of our times. Thanks again Michelle and Bruce!
During 2001 I was working with a dear friend, Michelle Groenewald, on ways to make the work experience of our team of scientists and engineers more vibrant and integrative. We were trying to help people understand the linked nature of everything in our lives. The idea was for all of us to discover for ourselves how our actions can never be seen in isolation and that we all do things that vibrate through time, almost like the notes of a song on a cold and quiet evening.
After some experience of Bruce’s work, we decided that some individuals in the team might benefit from the experience that Bruce delivers during his events. We caught a plane down to Cape Town and arrived on a cold and stormy night, driving over the mountain to Bruce’s place. There we met in a Teepee, with Bruce playing away on his didgeridoo. He also invited a drummer and maker of African drums. I promptly bought a drum that evening. Not any old drum, but rather a drum that still to this day ring true with my moods. Michelle went on and procured a Hang from Bruce some time after that, and through a twist of fate, she sold it to me after a short while. As with the drum, the specific instrument just spoke to me when I heard its first few sounds.
I still have not managed to master the Hang, but I am not too concerned. Whenever I sit and tap away at it I know that my soul is sending a message into time and years later, with only a few successes at making the workplace a better space, I have come to believe that few things matter as much as allowing your soul’s voice to be heard. Write a Haiku, play a drum, sing or whistle, but be heard. Like the inventors of the Hang did, and how even they have to modify what is seemingly a prefect design to take into account learning, new materials and the demands of our times. Thanks again Michelle and Bruce!
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