Echoes of Krishna and the Last Samurai -

 Echoes of Krishna and the Last Samurai

Whenever I listen to the theme from The Last Samurai by Hans Zimmer, I feel a wave of melancholy—not the sorrowful kind, but a quiet sadness of loss, deep and moving. It reminds me of what powerful music can do to the emotions and the senses, especially when the composition is born from the heart and soul of a master conductor.

I can still play and sing a few oldies on the guitar. I used to play the flute—both metal and bamboo—as well as the recorder, which was my first instrument, and the harmonica too, last but not least. But most of all, I love to sing. Music and art have always soothed my soul, reeling it back into the still center of consciousness amidst the relentless pull and push of life’s emotions. Listening to a piece of great music in the silence of the mind feels like mounting my horse again, riding into the next battle renewed.

I once had a metal flute—my Krishna. It was a birthday gift from my lady friend in Green Bay, Wisconsin, where I was studying at the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay. She was the Director of the International Students Department and the Assistant Dean of Students. We lived together for two years and learned much from each other. Friends fondly called her “Barefoot Lizzy.”

The flute she gave me was second-hand, but to me, it was sacred. I named it Krishna and carried it wherever I went. I used to blow it with all my heart while wandering the Muir Valley at Green Gulch Farm and Zen Center, especially in the evenings when the sun was setting over the Pacific. At the dinner hall, people would ask, “Where were you? We could hear you echoing all over the hills!”

I played Krishna in the tunnels at Golden Gate Park when I took my two children for walks in a double stroller. The echo chamber effect was magical, and it brought me peace. That flute was more than an instrument—it was a voice, a companion, a spiritual anchor.

But I had to part ways with Krishna during a desperate moment. After hitching a long truck ride from Wisconsin, I landed at a truck stop in East LA. I had no money to my name and needed about $87 to get to my final destination: the Zen Center at Green Gulch Farm in San Francisco.

In a moment of pure trust, I walked into a bank and approached one of the employees. I told him my story. When I mentioned the Zen Center and the farm, something in him softened. He listened. Eventually, I sold my flute—my beloved Krishna—for the exact amount I needed. I felt as though I had lost a true friend that day. And in some strange, beautiful way, that flute may have saved my life.

This is the feeling that washes over me when I hear Hans Zimmer’s The Last Samurai. A remembrance of companionship, surrender, and the silent power of music that moves the soul.