It's like listening to ripples on water. There are high points, patterns and nodes, and I found myself listening to the silence as well as the sound.

  - Christina Williams, Boulder, CO

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Your concert with Amina was amazing! It was a transforming spiritual experience for me. Thank you!                            

- Natalya Barry, Boulder,CO

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If I stopped watching and just listened, I got all these wild acoustics, it was more powerful. It sounded like the movements you were making were huge! The repetitiveness bored my mind, and then the subtle power of the sound of the zills started to penetrate into my muscular system. I used to do a lot of work with Emily Conrad [Continuum]; it was sort of like that.                                

- Susan Norwood, Austin, TX

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It was a meditation in motion, a chance to experience zills in a trance way. I gained a whole new appreciation for the zills, because usually when you hear them it is in a very upbeat, sassy way. This was more grounded, and the repetition of sound after a while did become trance-like. I loved the way you two passed the energy back and forth. The repetitive sound became a doorway for me, so I felt like I was in another world for a while. It was very soothing, which I would not have expected, knowing the shriller noise that zills can make. I also was fascinated and impressed with all the different sounds that you two created out of them! Very cool and inspiring.

— Lyn Gregory, Boulder, CO

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First there are two women low to the ground; many shiny disks lie before them. The room has living breathing people sitting about. The women have modest, simple requests; basically, try to be quiet and pay attention. The women rise up, and ringing is in the air. The people adjust, some still arriving to sit, see, and hear. The zills have moving rhythm; they ask for keener attention to them, so my eyes close. There is a ringing zinging mayhem in my hair, but in my skull and bones there is a clear and steady rhythm. Then there is only water - falling water, spinning water, crashing water, smashing water - everywhere. For a while the water calms some, then it is gone. Only a forest remains, with daylight shining through. The trees are full of many, many, many different kinds of birds. Singing, chirping, taunting, cackling in chaos, then all in chorus; some leave and new ones fly in. In the madness and the racket they all seem to know exactly what each other is doing. They join together with powerful waves of sound, and then break. This suddenly appears as an attempt to communicate. There is, or seems to be anyway, a message. What message, I cannot say. Then there is an edge. A perfect edge. Then I am that edge. Not on edge, like when the dentist comes at you with the drill. Not like on the edge of a cliff and about to fall. Just being an edge, like perfectly balanced and incredibly sharp. I can hear every zill tone and every person around the room – the room itself, the cars outside, the wind outside, the sound of the air passing into and out of my lungs, all together, standing and singing on this samurai-like edge that I am. Then the women go quiet, and normal life sounds return. The group gathered eventually disperses. However, this edge still holds me, through the rest of the evening till I fall asleep.

— Zill Edge, March 3, 2006,

by Doug Knous, Lafayette,CO

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Jenna and Amina's music induces such a deep state of reflection that I found myself noticing many subtle responses in my body. I felt awash in a profound sense of connectedness, even with the parts of myself that feel the most disconnected. All of the audience sat immersed and held, long after the music was over.

— Dana Harden, Boulder, CO

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