Before the Sound, a Word
After church, my wife took me to a sound experience I never would have put on my own calendar. I usually go home after church. By then, I’ve spent enough of the day listening, playing, talking and being around people. I’m ready to let my ears—and the rest of me—settle down.
But my wife wanted me to come with her, so I went. I walked in a little apprehensive, aware that I was entering a room I wouldn’t have chosen for myself.
The gathering was called Soil to Soul Living: A SOUND Experience. Charles Thomas and Micaila-Ayorinde Milburn-Thomas welcomed us into a space they had prepared. Musician Derrick J. Hines, who performs as DJ Haych 4 Now, joined them.
I knew Micaila well enough to expect a thoughtful experience. She pays attention to the words, the art, where things are placed and how people are welcomed. What I didn’t expect was to feel the peace of the place before the experience began. It felt as though someone had considered what people might be carrying when they arrived—and what it might take for them to set some of it down.
Before there was music, there was a word. We were invited to write down an intention, something we wanted to call forward, and place it into a collective Seed Vessel. The experience would move from that word into sound, rhythm and nourishment.
“In the beginning was the Word.” I’ve heard that all my life, but that afternoon it stayed with me differently. I know what to do with a goal: Give me something to accomplish, and I’ll start thinking through the steps, the people, the timeline and the obstacles. An intention asks a different question. How do I want to enter this moment?
I had walked in wondering what the sound experience would be like. Now I was being asked what I was bringing to it. I chose my word, wrote it down and placed it with the others.
Then we settled in. Tones moved through the room as crystal singing bowls, percussion and music came together with affirmations and stretches of silence. The sound seemed to reach us from every direction. It felt less like the room was filled with it than like we were inside it.
As a musician, I expected to spend the time analyzing what I heard. For a while, that instinct was there. Then I stopped trying to understand the music and listened as a person who was allowed simply to be there. I didn’t know how much I needed that.
My mind is almost always working through businesses, people, ideas, problems and whatever needs an answer tomorrow. There is usually another tab open somewhere in my head. I’ve lived with that for so long that I don’t always recognize it as noise. Lying there, I noticed how much of it I had brought into the room.
For once, nobody needed anything from me. I didn’t have to lead, decide or produce. I didn’t even have to figure out what I was supposed to get from the experience. I could just be there.
I resisted that at first. Give me a moment, and I’ll look for the lesson. Give me an idea, and I’ll start building the strategy. I can turn almost anything into work. Eventually, I let that go. Somewhere between the word I had written, the sounds moving around me and the silence in between, I got still.
Later, drumming and shared expression brought us back together after that inward part of the experience. Afterward, there was time to ease into conversation rather than rush out the door. Someone had thought about how we would arrive and how we would leave.
I spend much of my life talking about movement: Make the decision. Build the thing. Stop putting it off. Execute. I believe in all of that. But I’m learning that knowing how to stop matters, too.
At the beginning, writing down a word felt like one part of the afternoon. By the end, I understood why it came first. I have goals, plans, calendars, deadlines, companies, ideas and people depending on me. I know how to ask, “What am I trying to accomplish?” I’m less practiced at asking, “Who am I going to be while I’m doing it?”
Am I present with the people beside me? Am I hearing what they’re saying? Can I enter a room without immediately deciding what needs to come out of it? That afternoon gave me time to sit with those questions.
I went expecting sound. I walked out thinking about silence. And I went because my wife asked me to. Otherwise, I probably would have gone home after church, or found something else that needed my attention—something I could finish and call productive. I would have missed this.
I’m 55 years old, and I’m glad there are still things I haven’t done. I’m glad I can walk into a room unsure of myself and come away having experienced something new.
I’m not going to tell everybody they need a sound bath. I can only say what this one was like for me: Charles, Micaila and Derrick created a place where I could step away from the noise long enough to notice what was underneath it.
Soil to Soul Living has another Charlotte gathering listed for October. If you’re curious, take a look at the upcoming event and decide whether it’s a room you’d like to enter.
Before there was sound, there was a word. I’m still thinking about mine.
Editor’s note: Any accompanying illustrations are generated images, not photographs of the event.
