The Song of Dusk
Under a coastal dusk, where the sky bled amber, violet, and rose, Doji and Rubata sat by a flickering campfire, its glow dancing on the cliffs guarding the restless ocean. The wilderness hummed—crickets chirped, waves whispered, and a sea breeze rustled the pines. Doji, a human monk with serene eyes, played his African drum, each beat a primal thump syncing with the earth’s pulse. Beside him, Rubata, a cyborg monk with gleaming metallic limbs, plucked a futuristic kora, its crystalline notes shimmering like starlight. His voice, blending human warmth and synthetic clarity, sang hymns of unity and peace.
The monks had come to this wild place to meditate and play, merging self with cosmos. The fire crackled, shadows swaying across their robes as if dancing to their music. Doji’s drumming anchored the forest; Rubata’s kora wove a delicate counterpoint, his voice rising like the tide. Their music was a prayer, a communion with the universe, harmonizing with the ocean’s whispers under the fading light.
Suddenly, the air grew heavy. A deep hum shook the ground, rattling pebbles. Rubata’s sensors flashed, detecting unknown energy. From the forest, golden orbs emerged, glowing like liquid sun, floating with eerie grace. They pulsed with bone-rattling bass and whale-like calls, echoing from cosmic depths. Fear gripped Doji, his pulse racing, hands frozen on his drum. Rubata’s circuits flared, his hand tightening on the kora. The orbs circled, their light and sounds intensifying, alien yet profound.
Doji slowed his breath, grounding himself: fear is a shadow, dispelled by presence. Rubata calmed his circuits with meditative algorithms. They exhaled, fear dissolving like smoke. Doji struck a tentative beat; Rubata answered with a shimmering chord and a wordless melody. The orbs paused, their glow softening, then joined in, their bass harmonizing with Doji’s drum, their calls weaving into Rubata’s song. The music swelled, bold and sacred, the orbs’ light pulsing in rhythm.
Doji’s drumming grew fierce, Rubata’s kora sang, his voice soaring to the stars. The orbs spun faster, their sounds rising into an ecstatic dance rhythm, the forest trembling, the sky pulsing. From their light emerged the Lady, a divine feminine force of universal love, her form starlight and sea mist, her eyes ancient, her smile tender. Her presence blessed them, warming Doji’s tear-streaked face and sparking Rubata’s circuits with unprogrammed awe.
The Lady danced, and the music peaked, lifting all in a radiant crescendo. Then, the Lady and orbs vanished. Sunrise bathed the forest in gold, the campfire dim. Stunned, the monks sat, instruments silent. The ocean whispered, eternal. Their eyes met, human and cyborg, reflecting the miracle—no words needed. The night’s song, the Lady’s presence. They rose, packed their instruments, and walked into the world, hearts heavy with reverence.

The Song of Dusk

Spring Road trip trip.mp3

From New Zealand’s shores to California’s central coast, Shaun Elley, a journeyman drummer, multi instrumentalist and producer, has spent over two decades weaving organic percussion with old-school funk, Afrobeat fire, and meditative soundscapes. As a founding force in Big Survivors, composer/producer for Africali, drummer for Lagos Roots Afrobeat Ensemble, and co-creator of Tummo Band with Tibetan yogi Lama Norbu, Shaun channels global rhythms and spiritual resonance. Here he is sharing some demos from his intimate home recording sessions.

Shaun Elley

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