Of a Sound Mind

So, now it’s official: She is off her hinges, irrevocably deranged, mentally unsound. Bu that’s where you are so wrong. Crazy, yes, can’t run away from that one, but unsound, no. I am so full of sound, saturated with it so to speak, that I wouldn’t have believed it possible if I hadn’t actually been there...

...lying on a monochord, for about twenty minutes actually being an integrated part of an instrument with fifty strings attached lengthwise beneath a wooden resonance chamber. On the floor are metal bowls of different sizes, along with a couple of padded mallets. I close my eyes, and softly, ever so softly the Sound Therapist or, as he prefers to describe himself, the Listener, squatting on the floor, start plucking the strings, occasionally gently striking a singing bowl. The sensation is vaguely strange, unfamiliar, but pleasant.



The sounds come and go in waves, swelling, decreasing; one minute subtle, creating the most miniscule sensations within me, the next forceful, heavy tones reverberate through my body and the rest of the room.


The vibrations swirl through me, my cells now resonating with the instrument. I find myself relaxing, my mind drifting. It feels as if the composition of atoms that is me, disintegrates; every particle lifting off, like a flock of butterflies off a bush. They linger for a while, float in synchronized unison about the room, and then, as on a cue, sweep out through the open window...


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