Material World

Welcome back to night town. We're so glad you're here. The moon is rising over material world, casting a warm glow over the river that runs outside the entrance of Mr. Singh's fabric shop. A light breeze is blowing through the large, wide windows flung open to let in the sounds of the calm summer evening. The crickets are just beginning their sweet night song. Before we explore the shop, let's pause for a brief wind down exercise. Tonight's exercise is a really simple breathing exercise. So when you're ready, let's begin. So first, get yourself comfortable. Now just bringing the attention to the breath, just noticing where you feel it in the nose, the throat, the chest, the diaphragm. You're nice and relaxed. We're going to be taking a deep breath in for four, holding it for four, and then breathing out for six. So, are you ready? Let's begin. In for four. Two, three, four. Hold it for four. Two, three, four. Now breathing out for six. Two, three, four, five, six. In for four. Two, three, four. Holding for four. Two, three, four. Out for six. Two, three, four, five, six. In for four. Two, three, four. Holding for four. Two, three, four. Out for six. Two, three, four, five, six. In for four. Two, three, four. Holding for four. Two, three, four. Out for six. Two, three, four, five, six. Great. Now returning the breath to normal. Mr. Singh's family lives above the shop. On the second floor, his wife pulls freshly washed sheets off the clothes line that extends from the back window to a tall tree in the back garden. She carries the clean sheets in a bundle through the flat past two bedrooms, a kitchen, a library, and a music room overlooking the river. She can hear her daughter, Meena, listening to music behind the door. Inside the music room, large tapestries hang from each wall. Meena spends most of her time in here. She is studying the music from her father's homeland and hopes one day to learn to play an instrument. She plays different records while she daydreams, gazing out the window at the night sky. Sounds of the flute, the tabla drum, and the pump organ echo out through the window where Sleeper Mountain rises behind satiny clouds. The stars gleam like sequins in the sky. Meena taps her foot along to the rhythms the long, deep notes. Rolls of multicolored rugs lean against the wall on the left-hand side of the store. There are handwoven rugs from Morocco and vivid Persian rugs from Iran. There are tapestries from Italy and Peru. There are big stacks of large rectangular rugs piled five feet high. A customer is leafing through them, lifting the heavy corners, considering the different patterns and colors. Each rug has its own handwoven motif. Mr. Singh has spread his personal favorites across the shop floor for display. These are not for sale, like this one: red and...