Before the first note of "Thank You (Loka Samastha)" arrives, Edo and Jo are already doing what the song is about: standing in front of a camera in Samui, Thailand, and thanking the people who made their next recording possible. Posted to YouTube on December 28, 2013, the five-minute clip opens as a thank-you note to supporters of a Pozible campaign for a new CD, and then turns into a gift, the song itself, offered before the record exists. The unusual fact at the center of it is that the music was paid for by its listeners in advance, and the song is addressed to those same people. Its lyrics travel from a personal "thank you" to a blessing for everyone, and that movement is the design of the whole piece.
The clip is short and unpolished in the way of a community update. Edo and Jo open by speaking directly to viewers, and the description on the Mantrafy with Edo channel makes the purpose plain: the video thanks people for supporting the Pozible campaign and "making this new recording a possibility." The speaker says, near the start, that the team wanted to share "a song titled thank you" with the supporters.
"Okay, thank you everybody, from the bottom of our hearts for helping us and supporting us on our pledge." (Edo and Jo, opening remarks, 0:02)
That ordering matters. Most recordings reach the public after the work is finished, and the gratitude comes at the end, in liner notes or an acceptance speech. Here the gratitude is the first thing on screen, and the recording is still a promise. The duo says the material they are creating will arrive "next year," which means the song is a preview of a thing that does not yet exist in finished form, shared with the people who made it possible to begin.
It is worth being precise about what the video does and does not tell us. It confirms the campaign, the location, the song's title, and the timing of the new CD. It does not name the full track list or a release date beyond "next year." Those gaps are not a flaw in the video so much as a reminder of its purpose: this is a thank-you, not a press kit.
The spoken opening runs about seventeen seconds before the title is announced, and the title itself is the song's first line of intent. The song is called "Thank You," and the recording adds a second title in parentheses, "Loka Samastha," which the description attaches to the piece. The video does not stop to define that phrase, so this article will not guess at it. What the recording does make clear is how the phrase is used: the sung text moves from thanks offered to one "you" toward a wish for everyone.
The structure is easy to hear. The track opens on the repeated word "thank you," with a few bars of rhythmic instrumentation between phrases, then settles into lines addressed to a second person. This is the oldest trick in devotional music. Repetition lets a listener stop parsing meaning and start feeling it, and it gives a room full of people, or a single listener at home, something to hold. The recording uses that repetition as its engine.
The sung text in the transcript is auto-generated and sometimes garbled, so exact wording should be checked against the recording. Even allowing for that, the lines are clear in their intent. The first verse addresses a "you" directly:
"Thank you for the love you give me. I know you want the best for me." (sung, 0:33–0:38)
A few lines later the singer locates the thanks in time and place: "holding to the precious moments now," and a wondering whether the other person feels "my world around." The gratitude is intimate. It is not a generic thank-you to an audience; it is a thank-you to someone who wishes you well.
The middle of the song turns toward acceptance of hard things. One passage says that "change is here," that the singer knows "it's fine," and that the singer chooses to make the moment "a welcome ground." Then comes a line that is hard to read as anything but a deliberate image of upheaval: "the Earth may shake and seas may scream for love." The response is not to deny the storm but to "choose to flow in the sweetness of this surrender." The word "surrender" recurs, and it is the emotional hinge of the song. Gratitude here is not only what you feel when things go well. It is a decision to yield to love even when the ground moves.
"Surrender, surrender to this love." (sung, 1:51)
The song then pairs "remember" with the same vocabulary. The repeated lines, "remember, remember all this love," and "now I see that you remember me," treat gratitude as recognition. You thank someone because you finally see what they have been doing all along. That is a quieter idea than gratitude as obligation, and the melody lets it breathe.
Around the three-minute mark, the lyric dissolves into a chant that carries the song beyond its personal address. The line "may all beings be happy and free" begins at about 3:13 and is repeated, with variations. Listen for the widening: "may all these be happy and free," then "may all things be happy and free." The subject moves from "you" to "all beings" to "all things." The circle expands on each pass.
"May all beings be happy and free." (sung, 3:13)
This is the structural answer to the song's title. A thank-you that began as one listener's gift to one person ends as a wish for the whole field of life. The shift is not a change of subject so much as a change of scale. Gratitude, once it is felt deeply, tends to stop being private. The supporters who funded the recording become a single instance of something the song wants for everyone.
The track closes with "om shanti shanti" and a return to "thank you," repeated until the recording ends. The return matters. It refuses to let the blessing swallow the original gratitude. The last word the listener hears is still thanks.
Repetition in devotional singing is not padding. A line sung twenty times is different from a line sung once, because the body learns it. Listeners who sing along stop tracking the words and start breathing with them. The recording uses this deliberately: the chant sections are longer and slower, and the instrumental gaps give the voice space to return to the same phrase without sounding mechanical.
For anyone trying to use a song like this in their own practice, the lesson is simple. Pick one line, such as "thank you for the love you give me," and sing it slowly until the words feel like yours. Then let the line widen the way the recording does, from "you" to "all beings." You do not need a studio to try it.
Three things come through clearly. First, gratitude can be given before the thing it celebrates is finished; Edo and Jo thank their supporters for a recording that is still ahead of them. Second, gratitude can accept difficulty; the song's line about the Earth shaking is answered not with denial but with surrender. Third, gratitude can widen; the personal thank-you ends as a wish that all beings be happy and free.
The video is short, but it models a practice that is easy to forget. Thanking someone is often the first step toward wanting good things for everyone, and the song makes that connection audible.
Start with the video itself, then listen to the song without the speech, paying attention to where the chant begins and how each repetition changes the subject. If the piece moves you, the description points to the artists' site at edoandjo.com and to the Pozible campaign that funded the recording, both useful for following the new CD as it arrives. Then try the exercise above: sing one line of thanks slowly, and let it widen.
