The closest thing to religion that I ever experience is room tone. There is the closing of eyes, the time-bounded secession from intercourse with my fellow humans. Still, all the emotions are echoing in my head: all the noises and excitement, all the rituals, the catch-phrases, the rules of the secret club. The mighty presence of the entire film-the collaborative unity of the artistic spirits of several hundred people dead and presently alive–silently breathing quieter and quieter till I gasp at its passage out of existence after 60 seconds. Room tone is where my life is lived without holding back any impulse; it is a crystallization of a perfectly realized life. After any room tone, the whole film could simply stop shooting; yet the film would forever remain branded into my brain as if it had been a complete and fully experienced entity.