WEEK 18
I heard the term “sound bath” for the first time in late August. A friend of a friend who is a meditation specialist had recently been trained to guide these types of sessions, which are described as part meditation and part relaxation, with a teacher playing “instruments” like crystal bowls, gongs, chimes, tuning forks, even their own voice. As you experience the harmonic vibrations, the goal is to achieve a deep and peaceful state that calms your body and mind.
I’ve since come across pictures of divine-looking meditation studios with people blissed out – lying shoulder to shoulder on cushions, barefoot, in comfy clothing, eyes closed – and a sound guide sitting in the center brushing crystal bowls of various sizes. I’ve never gravitated to group rest and relaxation events – nor do I meditate. But given a particularly challenging period at work, I decided a “sound bath” would be the perfect next new thing for my 52×52 project.
So, on a warm Wednesday evening, I arrived at MNDFL in Greenwich Village for my first session. The studio itself is a calming space with white-washed brick walls and wonderfully smelling candles. A group of about 20 of us — mostly women of all ages, shapes and sizes — put our shoes and devices in little cubby holes then made our way to the main room which had been set with gray floor cushions, each with a light wool blanket, soft head pillow and gold eye pillow. An adult slumber party with strangers.
Our teacher spoke in a lovely, accented voice, and as we took our places, she asked us to consider our intention for the next hour. For those of us first-timers, she especially encouraged us to use the session to be good to ourselves, be present and get whatever we needed individually in this moment. She explained that the sounds are designed to transport us to a deeply restful and meditative state, and from this might come thoughts of self, or things that need to heal.
We donned our little eye pillows so we could be fully focused on the sounds and took a few minutes for deep breathing. And then I heard the first tones. The sound hit right at my brow between my eyes. It was intense, but I let myself be supported by the vibration and kept breathing deeply. A bit later, I experienced a new sound that connected only to my belly, like somehow the vibration from the bowl the teacher was playing had jumped across the room to land in my core. At one point, the chimes she sounded were in my toes.
The teacher introduced so many different sounds. Sounds I’d never heard before and couldn’t place. I wanted so badly to remove my eye pillow, sit up and watch her (I resisted the urge!). To know how she was producing these tones, the mastery it took to build a crescendo of other-worldly sound that filled every inch of the space around me and all of us.
I felt fully present throughout the experience, but the sounds and frequencies and vibrations themselves often were not pleasant – at least for me. It’s not that they were unpleasant, but I was expecting more soothing sounds given the focus of this type of practice on relaxation. I found many of the sounds low and dissonant, like a magnetic resonant hum, if that makes any sense. And dare I say it, I felt a tiny bit anxious in some moments. Yet near what turned out to be the end of the session (I’d lost all sense of time), there were some brighter sounds like a xylophone or dulcimer (honestly, I have no idea) that warmed me. The teacher walked the room with these instruments – at least I think she was walking between us, because the sounds would envelop me in a consistent ebb and flow. But who knows, it could have been how the vibrations traveled. This part I loved.
There was also something about the combined personal and collective experience that intrigued me. Although I had no interaction with my fellow “bathers,” I can envision a different type of sound practice with people you know, or people who are at least familiar, where the togetherness of the experience could be profound.
Will I do another sound bath? Yes. I will give it one more try with a different teacher and studio. Just to know. But as I’ve been reflecting on the experience, I wonder if it’s silence that invites the most restful state for my introverted self.