Listening as Ritual

HOW MUSIC BECOMES A PORTAL

Drawing by Sean W. MacNeil

Listening as a Ritual

HOW MUSIC BECOMES A PORTAL

Written by Aisha

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Before music and language, there was vibration.

The universe itself began with sound — a hum so deep and vast it rippled space into form. Every pulse of rhythm and every twinkling melody still carries an echo of that first foundational resonance.

When we listen to music, we’re not just hearing — we’re remembering. Our cells recall the oscillations that once shaped us, when we were little more than primordial plasma adrift in space. It helps, perhaps, to redefine music. It isn’t limited to songs or instruments. Music is intentional vibration — arranged through breath, tone, or rhythm — capable of altering our state of being. Music isn’t just heard; it’s felt.

It is felt in the sacred recitations, the chants, the jingle you can’t forget, and even the hum of the subway or the wind in the trees. Simply put, music is any form of sonic devotion that speaks to us on levels we don’t need to explain. Have you ever been caught off guard by a song? You’re just casually living your life, and you come across a song that makes you drop everything and return to your body in ways you often neglect to. It opens a conversation between your mind and your body, your heart and your soul.

Drawing by Sean W. MacNeil

The last song that did this to me was “Stairway to Heaven”, performed as tribute to Led Zeppelin at The Kennedy Center Honors. I’m not much of a Led Zeppelin fan, but something about this particular version moved me to tears of catharsis.

It’s orchestral and cinematic in the most beautiful way. It sends chills through my torso, and because it lights me up — such a dynamic performance of an otherworldly song — by the end I feel like a completely different person. Some music doesn’t just play for you, it plays through you. It can turn your body into an instrument and play the joy, love, or grief out of you. Even the purring of a lovable cat can settle your cells into a musical silence. When grief or loss gets lodged in your chest or throat, only the right song or sound — at the exact frequency and at the perfect moment — can allow

the light to flood through the crack in your heart again.

Drawing by Sean W. MacNeil

It may be wise for me not to assume that you know precisely what I mean.
“What if your skin could listen?” might sound like stoner talk, but I assure you it’s not. If you’d like a glimpse of what it’s like to become the music, try this.

First, find silence. Find the quietest space you can, even if that includes headphones. Just don’t play anything through them yet.

Next, sit or lie in a comfortable position. For some that might be cross-legged
and with a straight back; for others, lying flat with cushion support. Relaxed
muscles are key here, particularly where you tend to hold tension.

Then just breathe. Notice the silence. And if there are still noises around you,
then just notice the space between the sounds. Let it all just be. No judgment. No criticism. Just listen to whatever silence there is.

As a bonus, if you can hear or feel your heart or pulse, pay attention. Feel into the micro-moments between the beats. If your brain won’t stop talking, let it.Watch it as it dances between monologues and waltzes between thoughts.

Next, play the song or sound that comes to you — birdsong, a 528Hz drone
frequency, “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, or Mongolian throat singing — whatever
you feel drawn to.

Once committed, listen. Listen with your body. Inhale. Hold. Listen. Exhale. Hold. Listen. Let the sounds and frequencies move to the rhythm of your being. You might feel chills, a rise of emotion, or nothingness. Accept it all — radically. Let your body receive, your mind dance, and the world dissolve as you drift along the sonic river to destinations unknown.

Drawing by Sean W. MacNeil

And here we are — in a place where music isn’t just sound anymore; it’s geometry. Where dancing isn’t just movement; it’s creation. Every note becomes a shape, every rhythm a map — and through it, we rediscover ourselves by allowing sound to shift the architecture of our awareness.

This is the shape of our remembering. And even when the world might feel like it’s on fire, I assure you that true listening can extinguish even the most all- consuming chaos. It’s here that the once-destructive fire alchemizes, and we are transformed.

Every song, every sound, every act of listening leaves an imprint on our cells —shaping the water we’re made of. Every time we ride the emotional wave of a song and let it cleanse us, we offer a small gesture of gratitude to the silence that follows. This pause tells our cells: we’ve received.

Listening, when done as ritual, returns us to that first primordial hum — the one that birthed the stars and still echoes gently beneath our skin. So next time you tune into your favorite sounds, remember: you’re not just listening. You’re remembering home.

Written by Aisha