Awaken Engage

This Saturday in March is a special day for Noah (my son), Austin (my brother-in-law), and me. It signifies a full day of watching Idaho High School Basketball Championships. We meet early for breakfast and then head to the Idaho Center where we watch 6 different divisions play for a championship.

That means over 12 hours of spending time together watching basketball, eating over-priced food, and loving being with one another in an atmosphere full of dramatic stories unfolding before our very eyes.

At the end of the night each year, the Idaho High School Activities Association honors a team from the past in a “Legends of the Game” ceremony.

Up until this year, all of the teams being honored have been well before my time.

But not tonight. Tonight, a team was honored that I remember very well. In fact, one of the players was hugely inspirational in my development as a player and I spent many hours trying to emulate not only his skills, but his very way of being on the court. He was smooth and stealthy like a cat. Never rattled. Always under control. Measured and yet passionate. His ball-handling skills were so advanced that they looked effortless and were always purposeful. He found ways to put his teammates in positions to succeed, and he was never not leading by example.

I admired him.

Earlier this morning, when I realized that his team was going to be honored, I was excited to see him walk out onto that court.

But when the time came, and his team did walk out on the court, I turned to my brother-in-law and said something like, “This can’t be their team. These guys look so old. Do I look that old? They’re only a year or so older than I am.”

He assured me that the team I was looking at was the right team and then I set to finding the player that had inspired me so much.

I couldn’t find him.

When they finally called his name, I felt my stomach sink.

Not because he wasn’t there, but because he was there and he looked so, so different.

I could never have picked him out of a crowd and any cat-like movements were distant echoes of the past.

I felt a wave of sadness come over me.

I was surprised by it.

I know we are all getting older and I like how I am aging and how I am with this process. I am friends with death and have made my peace with it whenever and however it takes this body.

But there was something that caught me off-guard tonight.

That player still existed in my mind as his 17 year old self. He had never ceased existing as such.

Until tonight.

And there was the sense of time having passed us by without us really noticing it.

What a strange phrase that is.

Time passing us by.

The more I sat with this phrase and the feelings that were coming and going, the more I began to see that time is a thing like other things.

And it passes.

It passes us.

It passes us by.

Here in this common phrase of our vernacular arises a truth that I keep finding everywhere I go: I am unchanging loving awareness in which the ever-changing flow of life (including time) arises and passes by.

Time passes us by.

Time passes by us.

And, sure, these bodies age, but who is noticing?

Who is time passing by?

Who is time passing by?

Peace.

49 - 49 at the end of regulation. That was the score of tonight’s Idaho 5A Boys Basketball state semi-final game between the Timberline Wolves and the Couer d’Alene Vikings.

Obviously, it wasn’t the final score, because someone has to win and someone has to lose. Not being tied to either one of these schools, I didn’t want either team to have to lose. It was one of those games where the players made all the plays to win and very few mistakes.

Timberline was down by three with the clock under 10 seconds left in regulation. They gave the ball to #1 who had rolled his ankle twice and had not taken a 3-point shot all night. He was the last person I thought would jack up a shot. But he did anyway. I told my son, “Oh no. Not him.” as the ball left his hand. Only to watch it go in with 2 seconds left. The Vikings desperation heave was no-good and the game went to overtime.

In overtime, it was a back-and-forth affair, with Timberline eventually getting the ball, down one, with less than 10 seconds left and making a 3 to win the game by 2.

To win a chance to play for a state championship on the biggest stage tomorrow night. And to hand Couer d’Alene a loss that sends them to another gym in front of a smaller crowd for a consolation prize.

Emotionally, I love watching sports because of the opportunity it gives me to work with opposites. Working with opposites is one of the most powerful practices that we have available to us to learn how to be with life as it is as we are and to learn and grow and heal.

As we sat waiting for the overtime period to begin and I looked at the score tied at 49-49, I found myself thinking about how in less than 20 minutes one of these groups of teenagers would be filled with elation, excitement, joy, happiness, and all that comes from accomplishing a big goal.

And the other group of teenagers would be on the opposite side of that emotional spectrum, filled with disappointment, anger, jealousy, sadness, regret, remorse, longing, and disbelief.

And we, as sort of neutral spectators, were getting ready to witness these pairs of opposites played out in front of us, in our minds, in our hearts, and in this shared space.

It is really quite an incredible scene and perhaps what draws us to it has quite little to do with just the game and quite a lot to do with the stakes of the game.

There is something about raising the stakes, about having a prize, about having a worthy competitor, that connects us to meaning and brings us face to face with the Law of Opposites “in which all that is seen as positive is held captive by its opposite. Darkness cannot exist without light, or good without evil. Pain cannot exist without pleasure, or conflict without its opposite, peace. [Winning cannot exist without losing]…Opposites are always paired, and our suffering is sustained by our inability to experience and transcend any pair of opposites” (Miller, 71).

Playing in this field of opposites is a liberating experience. At these state basketball games, I can enjoy working with the opposites of emotions, beliefs, sensations, and thoughts in a fairly low-key environment.

I am the neutral spectator, watching it all pass by, loving the drama, loving the winning, loving the losing, loving the chance to be with it all.

Perhaps who I really am is always the neutral spectator.

Peace.

I awoke this morning and felt something in the air. A primal sort of energy that I know to be the energy of spring, of new life, of beginnings, of growth - an electrical buzz inside that is industrious, mischievous, and adventurous.

As I dropped the kids off at school, it was obvious I wasn’t the only one feeling it. You could just feel that other people were feeling it. And you could see it.

In front of us, stopped at a stop sign, was a small car that suddenly had a couple of young high schoolers’ attention. I don’t know the context; I just know that we then saw a young man riding on top of the car down the street, hooting and hollering, being cheered on by his buddy who was watching in a bit of joyous disbelief.

We haven’t seen teenagers riding on top of moving vehicles since…well, since last spring.

I wonder at times how aware we are in these days of the effects of the changing of seasons, of earth literally coming back to life under our feet and in front of our faces? Do we really not notice the effects of natural forces like the moon, that reflective orb that causes the tides in our oceans. And we are about 60% water. Hmmmm…

This winter, I gave myself lots of permission to rest, to enjoy the darkness, to go to bed earlier, to hibernate.

This spring, I’m more ready than ever to let the vibrance of life light me up and shine all around as much as it wants.

And I feel a growing buzzing inside and I am now giving myself permission to be young and playful and childlike and innocent.

In addition to the feeling in the air, today marks the end of this month’s challenge of writing a daily essay and podcasting it. I’ve enjoyed it immensely. I have learned a lot. I am enjoying it. I am learning.

I never stopped doing ice baths. Today was 60-something in a row. Maybe I’ll just keep writing and podcasting, too. We’ll see. I’ll see.

What’s the next month-long challenge?

I’m not sure, yet.

I’ve thought about running (I really don’t enjoy running unless it is part of a sport).

I’ve thought about creating a screen play that evolves each day and is shaped, in part, by feedback from readers.

I’ve thought about writing and playing a new handpan song every day.

I’ve thought about…nothing else, actually.

That’s it.

Not a great list.

Any ideas?

The criteria: It has to be something that requires willpower and includes resistance, it needs to be daily, and I have to do it.

I’ll keep thinking about it. It will come. Something will show up that will be just as it needs to be when it needs to be.

Thanks for reading these short essays, for listening to the podcast, and for following along. I’m not a great social media person because I spend very little time on social media except to post things and, sometimes, respond to comments. I’d say I’d do better, but it’s not where I want to spend any more of my time. I’ll keep on creating, writing, speaking, sharing, and documenting the process. It’s a great journal. If it’s anything more than that, well, what a bonus.

Time.

Let’s see how this goes and whether or not I like it enough to stick with the idea that was implanted into my beautiful brain when I was at University studying linguistics and writing and found out about things like the density of prose and writing styles where writers create circuitous and hypnotic effects on their readers’ brains by unpacking and unveiling and uncovering one idea after another, showing how they are interconnected and never quite separate even though it appears so on the surface of the seen being seen by the seer who is much deeper than the subjects passing by, noticing such depth only when they let go of holding on to the ways they think things are supposed to be and find that all those things that once caught their full attention are time-bound and just as temporary as a cloud crossing the sky and a wave rising, cresting, and falling back into the ocean of awareness where the seer begins to see that they reside and, once ceasing to attach solely to the experience of wave-ing, knows that they simply are, for brief moments at first, and then more and more as they spend more time at home and less time trying to find home in places and times and situations and things that ultimately point them back to where they are now, soaking in the deep ocean of awareness only to rise as a wave for a time experiencing all that there is to see and feel and hear and taste and touch, until they return again and again, rising as a wave and living in the world and in the body from more awareness and less doing, less grabbing, less pulling, less pushing, less resisting the natural life cycle of wave-ness that is just what it is, even for these hands and fingers flying away at the keys on this computer to tell a story that is unfolding in a brain that is whole and full and beloved and loved and lovely and healing and healed and ready to accept more and more this wave of life that caught it up and broke left when it was expected to break right, but broke Right when it broke left and somehow never really broke at all except to be emptied and filled up with the ocean of life and love that is always waiting to fill the vessel, Love that enjoys mixed metaphors, laughs extravagantly, despairs openly, lets the fires of existence burn hotly, and just lets go and sees how this goes and goes and goes until the timer goes off and this wave is gone, but not gone, just resting in the ocean, again, like always. Time

My temporary crown came out a second time today. Most of the day, my head was throbbing.

After finishing teaching at BSU, I drove to the dentist to have the crown re-inserted. They poked and prodded a bunch and the throbbing increased.

They offered ibuprofen, but I figured I would just take some when I got home.


On the drive home, while thinking about something else, in the background I could hear a conversation happening in my body.

“What happens when we take ibuprofen?”

I’ve taken ibuprofen before. My body knows what it feels like.

I was vaguely aware that my body shifted within at that moment and the pain immediately stopped.

I honestly didn’t pay much attention to it. I was racing to pick up Sophia from school.

I haven’t had any pain whatsoever since that moment.


I can’t explain it. I can just share the experience for what it was as I experienced it.

Take this all with a grain of salt. Or, don’t.

If we can create ulcers and myriad other diseases in our bodies from worrying and being in an anxious state of being, what can we “create” in our bodies from using the power of our imagination in positive ways and living out our lives from a place of equanimity, spacious awareness, welcoming presence, love, and joy?

For that matter, what can we create in our world from such a shift in conscious living?


What world am I creating?

What world are you creating?

Hafiz, speak to us:

“You carry

All the ingredients

To turn your life into a nightmare —

Don’t mix them!”

You carry all the ingredients

To turn your existence into joy,

Mix them, mix

Them!” (The Gift, p. 48. 1999)

Time.

Today, I went to the dentist and found out that I had a tooth that needed to be drilled out for a crown. It’s my first crown - of any kind :-).

After the x-rays and all the prep work, it was time for all of the local anesthetics. The doctor poked me in just the right spot inside the left side of my mouth and said to wait a bit and I’d feel the tingling and numbing.

10 minutes went by and I could still feel my tongue and mouth and lips and cheeks as if nothing had happened.

He administered several more injections.

This time, I felt a strange burning sensation go up to my left ear.

And I noticed my body responding in a familiar way.

I felt the effects of the local anesthetic begin to numb the areas, and it was like a balloon filling with air, containing the air, holding the air. But then a wave of electrical energy swept through my body and into those areas and all the air went out of the balloon.

The sensation was that the area became very porous again and I felt my tongue and mouth and lips and cheeks as if nothing had happened.

Another 10 minutes or so.

Nothing.

Two more injections, and this time the doctor and his assistant were getting pretty interested in whatever was happening.

As soon as I felt the numbing sensation, another wave of electric, lively energy pulsed through my body and the area became porous and open and not at all numb.

By this time, I had a sense of what might be happening.

You see, one of the effects of my TBI was that I had a lot of neuropathy on my left side of my body, particularly the left side of my face and my left hand.

As someone who seems to get most of the side-effects in the small print on medications, I had to find other ways to deal with both the neuropathy and other pains and symptoms in the body.

One of the doors into healing was through yoga nidra, particularly iRest Yoga Nidra, where I learned how to welcome sensations and their opposites, how to become micro-attuned to the sensations of the body, and how to allow the healing light of Welcoming Presence into areas that were both numb and experiencing many levels of discomfort.

Later, when I learned Amrit Yoga Nidra, I found even deeper stores of energy waiting to shine their presence and healing power on areas that were dark and numb and unresponsive.

Gradually, during those years, as I moved awareness around the body, I began to experience the neuropathy lifting and, at any point in time, could notice something (I can’t really say what in words, but I feel it) that would send intense shock waves through the body, enlivening cells, loosening constriction, and lifting pressure. I learned how to “micro-dose” these waves of electrical impulses and this practice has been a significant part of my healing, particularly with the neuropathy in my left side of my face.

So, it is of little surprise, now that I think about it, that as soon as my body felt sensations of numbing, it moved into automaticity mode and neutralized whatever effects the local anesthetics were supposed to have.

As the sensation of numbness met the electrical impulses of light, the chemicals felt like they were dispersed throughout the body and ultimately ended up in my gut. That was the felt sensation.

After the fourth round of anesthetics, the doctor and I began to talk about what was happening and I asked him to explain how the local anesthetics were designed to work.

In addition to Yoga Nidra, I spent several years working with a very gifted neuropsychologist who is also an advanced practitioner of Eriksonian Hypnosis.

For my migraines, I would have him walk me through the anatomy of the brain, inviting the areas of the brain to work optimally, visualizing, and allowing the creative unconscious to come up with solutions beyond the abilities of the thinking mind.

Today, my sense was that if I knew what the physiological effects of the anesthetics were intended to be, I could work with my body to allow them, to relax into them, and to welcome the numbing.

I was blown away when the doctor explained how anesthetics like lidocaine work:

“Local anesthetics, such as lidocaine, block nerve transmission to pain centers in the central nervous system by binding to and inhibiting the function of an ion channel in the cell membrane of nerve cells known as the sodium channel.”

Binding. Inhibiting.

Wow.

My felt experience was that the body was automatically unbinding and un-inhibiting the agents as soon as it noticed their presence and pressure, as evidenced with the balloon visualization.

So, with this information, we decided to try more local anesthetic.

I spoke silently to my body: “I am safe with myself. I allow the anesthetic to temporarily numb this area. I relax and release. I am safe with myself.”

Two or three injections later, we decided to move on.

My mouth was numb, but nothing like what I used to experience from local anesthetics.

And, as soon as the drill got very deep, there was what you might call intense sensation.

The doctor checked in, realized that the nerve was still quite active, and we decided to just move on with the procedure.

As I noticed pain impulses from the nerve endings, I also noticed arising in the body sensations of ease and peace. In particular, the webbing between the big toe and second toe on my right foot was a very quiet, pain-less, peaceful, part of the body that I would soak my attention in while also noticing the sensations of pain pinging upstairs in the head.

Richard Miller, the founder of iRest Yoga Nidra, says, “Psychological, physical, and spiritual integration unfolds naturally when we cease trying to rid ourselves of our experience and instead open to the full spectrum of opposites.” (Yoga Nidra, p. 76. 2022).

Working with opposites, I would invite both sensations into awareness at the same time and then I would be daydreaming about something until my mind would come on and say, “Hey! Isn’t this supposed to be excruciating?”


To which the body would reply, “I’m not sure what you call it, but it is present. And, also present is such and such and such…Feel…Feel…Feel...”

As the doctor and his assistant were finishing, they remarked that my gums looked as though they had barely even been touched even though they had been worked over really hard. And, not only was there no hemorrhaging, they had not bled at all.

After we finished the procedure, I got into my vehicle and began the drive home. What anesthetic there was that remained in the mouth, dissipated quite quickly and the rest of the day has been spent noticing the intensity of the nerve ending that is hiding under the temporary crown.

The sensation is quite warm and, since I had a number of major dental procedures as a teen, there are some powerful stories connected to the sensation.

Tonight, on my walk, I noticed the past and future-oriented state of the mind and pointed my attention to simply feeling the sensation that was present. Moving into its center. Feeling its perimeter and boundaries. Noticing opposite sensations arising.

And, like so many times in the years and years of post-TBI recovery, I felt as though I were in an ocean of peace and ease, that all is well.

When the thinking mind is at work telling the stories, the pain saturates my attention in the same way a cup of salt saturates a glass of water.

When I move into feeling and being in the present, the pain is much more like that same cup of salt being poured into a giant body of the freshest water you can imagine.

It is present, but it is not dominating.

Even while writing, I have felt the vacillations of the sensation of pain in the body as I move from thinking about it and writing about it to feeling it and welcoming it as Welcoming Presence.

I cannot even begin to express how thankful I am for these practices, for my teachers, and that I get to pass them on to others.

They aren’t ways to get out of life.

In fact, they teach us how to be with life as it is as we are.

As Miller says, “Welcoming is an essential movement of your innate, nondual Essential Nature. While at first you may believe that ‘you’ are the one ‘doing’ welcoming, you eventually recognize that Welcoming is your Essential Nature” (p. 77).

Today was another day of experiencing this truth firsthand.

Peace.

Time.

One night, one of my teachers and I sat on a bridge above a river. We watched thoughts coming and going.

All through the night.

As the thoughts came and drifted closer and became clearer, my teacher would say,

"Well, are you going to go for a ride on this one? Or let it pass you by?”

Once in awhile I would jump off the bridge and go for a ride on a thought.

He would come with me and laugh, and say things like,

"Well, this is quite the little ride we're on, isn't it?! I wonder how long we'll hold on?"

He would laugh and I would laugh and we were lighthearted and curious.

As soon as I would notice I was going for a ride, we'd be sitting on the bridge again, watching and laughing and simply being together.

He also invited me to call into mind those who might be suffering and we visited them, interacted with them, and interceded for them as we were with them. As unchanging loving awareness, we held out hope and light for them that they might know peace and wholeness even in the midst of their struggles. That they might join us.

Perhaps this speaks to you. If not, watch it pass along on the waters beneath your feet as you sit on the bridge of awareness.

Time

Akin to the ideas of relax/release and noticing the opening/closing of the heart, the pause that refreshes is a staple of recovery and continual healing.

It’s a simple concept, but not an easy practice.

Tonight was my son’s final performance in their high school musical “Mean Girls.” I had been to all the performances thus far and we have had a full house and full schedules.

By late afternoon, I could feel a sense of pressure building up in my head and by the time we were sitting in the theater, my head had several intense pains piercing the left eye.

From many years of experience, I know where this kind of sensation leads and it isn’t to a place where I’d want to be sitting in a theater with loud music, singing, and dancing.

But, I caught it. I noticed it.

And, once I noticed it, I didn’t try to act like it wasn’t there.


I paused.

And I did whatever magic my body has learned to heal itself of these sorts of things.

My eyes closed, I let go of any holding whatsoever, and the intuitive body and creative unconscious did the rest.

20 seconds later, there was no trace and I was able to thoroughly enjoy the show with my family and spend time congratulating my son and his fellow cast members for the hard work they did to produce the best high school musical production any of us had seen.

I had several of these pauses that refresh throughout the day. Neurologically, they are my way of interrupting old and often trauma-based wiring that excites my nervous system and sets off a cascade of symptoms.

But I have been developing a new relationship with my nervous system and literally re-wiring my brain with many new connections that are grounded in a sense of being secure, grateful, and present with body/breath/sensation/emotion in meaningful and adaptive ways.

This morning, as I was sitting in the ice bath, I noticed pressure in the top part of my brain.

I paused.

And as I closed my eyes, I suddenly felt as though the top of my head was being sliced open and off like a cantaloupe. A hand with a spoon scraped the seeds of pressure out and I felt as though I was breathing the cool air through the top of my now-spacious skull.


I then noticed that the back of my neck near the brain stem was throbbing and all of a sudden a hand was pulling the tissues as you would pull taffy. Back and forth, stretching, lengthening, and working out any of the stress that was residing in the tissues.

It was exquisite. As good as though it “really” happened because it really happened.

The pause.

The refreshment.

The wisdom of the creative unconscious ready and waiting.

Not a cure-all. But available.

“Enter the space inside your head.

See it as already infinite,

Extending forever in all directions.

This spaciousness that you are

Is permeated by luminosity.

Know this radiance

As the soul of the world.”

(Radiance Sutras, p. 97)

Time.

15 minute writing timer. Ready. Set. Go.

“Just as a desire leaps up,

And you perceive the flash, the sparkle,

Quit from its play,

And maintain awareness

In that clear and shining place

From which all desire springs.” (Radiance Sutras, p. 108)

At the beginning of January, I didn’t set any resolutions, but I decided to begin doing things that required will power, to actually do them, and to do them every day.

That may feel redundant, but I think the three parts are 1) Intention; 2) Will; and 3) Action.

To be quite honest, I have stayed away from these kinds of “things” because they have always felt like predictable traps. It’s not that I don’t follow through. It’s that I get to a place where I “have to” follow through to feel like I’m okay.

I begin to rely on following through for a sense of satisfaction. I rely on doing what ever it is to experience a sense of peace.

In the past, I have often become rigid with these kinds of “things” and then, at some point, what was an avenue for strength and wisdom and growth becomes a cage.

A cage that I initially build to provide structure and to help me achieve goals, but then I outgrow the cage and resent its walls and their effect on my sense of peace and well-being.

To get rid of the cage, I get rid of the things. To mix metaphors, I throw the baby out with the bathwater.

It’s a predictable cycle.

When peace and well-being become contingent solely on doing, then they go away and are replaced by striving, trying to prove oneself, and who knows what else.

Again, it’s a predictable cycle.

And I don’t want to fear a predictable cycle or repeat it for the rest of my life.

The guiding question I have for this inquiry is as follows:

How can I remain seated in the center of peaceful, loving awareness while doing things that require daily discipline, keeping track, counting, measuring, comparing, etc.?

For example, I have a morning routine now that keeps growing in its depth and complexity. It began in January with daily ice baths, as many of you know because I posted video logs and podcasts of the process each day.

I then layered in silent sitting meditation, stretching, horse stance holds, breath retention exercises, physical exercises, trampoline routines, and asanas.

So far, I am enjoying the physical, emotional, psychological, and spiritual benefits of these practices. I am “healthier” than I ever have been. I am also growing immensely by facing the fears of these practices becoming cages.

I am also feeling the tension connected with my commitment to do these practices every day.

Right now, I’m just living in the tension of these two polarities and enjoying the show a bit.

I’m ridiculously tired as I am writing this and I seriously thought about just putting it off and skipping a day.


But now I feel compelled to do it. 

And now I feel an old story coming up about getting caught in a cage and how this regimen is just choking the life out of me and how I just need to live free and without any of these commitments that end up weighing me down…

And now I take a few deep breaths and ask, “How do I feel right now?”

And when I feel through my body, I find a whole lot of light and wisdom arising.

Light and wisdom and strength to fulfill my commitment and not be too attached to doing so.

It’s feeling and being while thinking and doing.

Yeah. I like that.

Right now, I’m feeling and being while thinking and doing.

They’re not really two sides of a see-saw.

I don’t have to get off of one side and watch the other side plummet to the ground.

They are kind of inseparable while we live in these bodies.

I am feeling and being while I am thinking and doing.

“Just as a desire leaps up,

And you perceive the flash, the sparkle,

Quit from its play,

And maintain awareness

In that clear and shining place

From which all desire springs.” (Radiance Sutras, p. 108)

Time.

15 minute writing timer. Ready. Set. Go.

There were few things more important in my recovery than the handpan and to say that I went down the handpan rabbit hole would be a gross understatement.

I’ve chronicled that story before, though, and you can catch a wonderful version of it on The Handpan Podcast with Sylvain Paslier. That podcast episode is actually how I know a number of you!

Since late October of 2018, when the handpan physically entered our family’s life, I have experienced its soothing and healing frequencies and I have often shared them with others.

In the early days, I was still so deep in recovery that the handpan was a lifeline. I played all day sometimes and into the night. I played hours and hours a day at hospitals and in parks and in the streets and in surgery waiting rooms, and in front of our house, and at assisted living centers, and in rooms where people were passing on from their bodies.

I was almost always playing the handpan and almost always thinking about it when I wasn’t.

Over time, I became attracted to different timbres and resonances and textures of handpans, each having a singular and peculiar effect on one or more areas of my physical, emotional, cognitive, and spiritual being. It often felt like the universe was conspiring to bring rare and storied pans into my sphere for me to use and take care of for awhile before they continue their journey.

Knowing almost nothing about music before the handpan, I used the steep learning curve as a way to be with my symptoms and to focus my attention on positive feedback loops of rhythm, melody, dynamics, music theory, musical storytelling, and mindful musicianship.

I loved participating in challenges, getting to know other players who posted their music and gave/received feedback, and growing in my abilities to play more and more effortlessly that I may share the stories of life more fluidly, creatively, and intuitively.

Fast forward to today, February 23, 2024, and I no longer need the handpan like I used to need the handpan.

And that feels quite strange.

In fact, just yesterday, I was looking at the sacred steel vessels and wondered, “Why are these here? What is the next part of the story? What did I get myself into with all of these? What am I going to do with them?”

It doesn’t feel right or authentic to try to make the handpan be what it once was in my life.

That just makes me tired thinking about it.

I don’t have the ambition to be a famous or renowned player. I don’t have the symptoms I used to have that drove me toward it.

What do I have?

I was wondering this and as I just sat with the uncertainty, the one passion that was the beginning passion re-emerged: these are healing vessels to be used to facilitate the awakening and healing and comforting and transporting of self and others.

A warm smile moved across my whole being as I felt the deep resonance with my heartfelt desire to be with others as they wake up to who they are, why they are here, and what they long to do with their lives while on this wondrous orb we call Earth.

The handpan is just one of the tools.

This happened just yesterday.

Last night, my son could not sleep and was feeling more and more stressed about not sleeping. He is performing 4 more times in his high school musical production of “Mean Girls” and he is not feeling well. By 3 a.m., he was in a tough place. We lay next to each other and I stroked his arm, breathed with him, gave him an eye mask, and then went around to the handpans asking which one was ready.

The CFoulke Magic Voyager answered the call gently and quickly so I took it into his room and began playing in slow, hypnotizing sequences of 4 and then 3, the 3s giving a gentle swaying and rocking feel. Soon, his breath slowed and I could feel his whole body relax into deep and restful sleep.

I walked out of his room glowing, thankful, and once again so pleasantly surprised by the universe conspiring to speak to us and those we love in the times we need to hear it most.

Today, when I picked up my son from school, I asked him if the handpan helped him get to sleep.

“The handpan? Wait. You played the handpan last night?”

Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

My intention as I played was that the sound would invite him into that calm depth of the ocean of awareness where all is well, all is calm, and all is silent.

I disappeared as a player.

And the handpan played us to sweet sleep.

Time.