Ever notice how much momentum is in the tendency to turn every considered statement into a sweeping generalization? For example, I was about to say, "The whole point of the drum circle is..." and then go on vouchsafing my little epiphany or whatever. But circles don't have only one point. I mean maybe if it's the base of a cone, you could be referring to the apex or— Wait! But seriously, I think constructions like "the whole point of..." are mostly rhetorical posturing. A way to present as inspired, maverick, bold. When thrown out indiscriminately, they're a form of bluster. People will be fooled. Including yourself. Which brings me back to the "whole point of" the drum circle. It's about listening and connecting (sounds obvious, but like a solid rhythm bears repeating). It's a physical, sensual, primitive Internet. Or at least intranet. Where loudest or fastest isn't always best. It invites questioning and conversation over pontification and declaration. When you really listen to the other drummers, you get self-evident ideas about where to go and what to say or not say next. It's a beautiful form of thinking with your whole body. You link up with people in the room, points on the circle; you link to each other's ongoing texts; a living spirograph evolves. The vulnerability of shared imperfections makes it more alive. You learn something about meditation. You make a mistake. You observe that that happened and you practice gently letting it flow away. The mistake becomes part of something else, and you respect its right to do that. Sometimes the mistake turns into something really cool, something with more precision or magic than whatever you were trying to do on purpose. Not always. You observe yourself thinking, "maybe I'm being too [fill in the blank]" and then you practice letting that thought exist. It flows away. It may be back. You don't panic. You experiment with giving yourself permission not to disappear. These experiments are so profound, you don't have to shout them. They make you feel like things can still grow in the half-abandoned garden of your self. Honeybees. Earthworms. Gratitude. Love.