It was always difficult to focus so early in the morning. Having been summoned from your bed before sunrise, you found yourself somewhere between sleeping and waking, the mind dancing between trails of half-finished thoughts cloaked in wisps of memory as it tried, again and again, to anchor itself on the breath. This is why they used the soft songs of the singing bowls to help remind you of your focus. And then, gradually, the sound would swell like the sea, its waves seeming to emanate from the walls around you, penetrating your thoughts and rescuing you from the vague comforts of memory, erasing all those little tunes that got stuck in your ear, that threatened to take you away with them into the past.