It's an interesting fact how many of the innocuous daily habits of existence are fundamentally rhythmic in nature. Almost everything we do follows a patterned flow through time. Our languages, our walking pace, our thoughts even, are ruled by rhythmic patterning. Think of just the simple act of picking up a pen and bringing it to paper. We do it smoothly and with control, we wouldn't even know how to go about it spasmodically if someone told us to. Music runs through our entire nervous system.  And yet, we hardly notice. It's when the rhythm is thrown off that we recognize something is wrong, that something has changed. But even then we don't immediately recognize what change has occurred.

What can we attribute this to? Is it just an inevitable occurrence born out of the spinning hands of a clock? Does time necessitate a dance like vehicle in which we travel? What would the universe look like if patterns didn't evolve out of empty space? Can we even contemplate?

Look close enough and the patterns are self-evident. Read through these lines out loud and try to divorce the words from their meaning. They are just sounds in space. Separated by silence. Read again and think only of their meaning. Think of how each word bends the time and space directly in front of it and aligns the upcoming transference for a triumphant accord. Music. We all play it all the time. We don't hear it because of the layering. But pull back far enough and there it will be, a single om, the same om that Hesse wrote of in Siddhartha:

 "When Siddhartha listened attentively to this river, to the song of a thousand voices; when he did not listen to the sorrow or laughter, when he did not bind his soul to any one particular voice and absorb it in his Self, but heard them all, the whole, the unity; then the great song of a thousand voices consisted of one word: Om — perfection."