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♫ Dreamtime Soother ♫
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I board the Korridorium bus and pay the fare to the driver. She has red hair and a Berlin accent. I don’t dare to ask if she might be Cory d’Or, the author of the Korridorium blog. Instead, I inquire whether there are texts from the blog available to listen to. She advises, “Dunno for sure. Let yourself be surprised.”
The bus is an old double-decker, traveling across the countryside, offering a “mobile meditative music journey” that is meant to last the entire night. Its windows are veiled, and I enter the partitioned passenger compartment from the driver’s cabin through a heavy curtain. At first, I see almost nothing. As the bus starts moving again, my eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. Soft ambient music mingles with the sounds of the journey.
“The number two, upstairs and the third one on the left,” the driver had told me. By now, I can discern the staircase and the individual bunks lining the aisle. The leaflets explained that this is a concert meant to be experienced lying down. I can’t make out how many of the bunks are occupied.
As I climb the stairs, I must be passing close to a loudspeaker, because a voice whispers in my left ear, “Who am I (and why not straight away)?” I can’t hear the brackets, of course, but that’s how it was written on the program sheet. This is what this nocturnal journey is about, so to speak, the title and the offering of the concert: meditating on it.
The bus takes a turn, and I have to hold on. In the dim light between the bunks, I encounter a woman who is the spitting image of the driver, and she offers me tea from a large thermos with a welcoming gesture. Are they twins? As I accept the cup from her, she whispers in my ear, “Who are you—and why not straight away?” I can’t think of a suitable answer. But the night is still young.