On a recent weeknight, I headed to a breathing meditation and wellness studio for a sound bath. During the drive, I was grumpy as I saw the clock ticking towards 8pm. But as I walked through the studio, my frustration disappeared. This place was strange in every sense of the word.
Founded by Jen Mouleson in February 2020, Breathe offers wellness treatments and meditation classes. Reiki, yoga, massage, etc. are some of the things you would expect at a place like this. Others are more witcherish, such as “intuitive readings” like tarot cards and “oracle circle” meditations that promise to “awaken your spirit to the magic that surrounds you.”
There was a glass-walled room that looked like a shower, and the neon green lights of Disney villains glowed. In a room that glows in ultraviolet blue, there is a reclining chair called “Magnesphere” surrounded by a mechanical hoop. The receptionist said this machine uses “magnetic resonance therapy” to help with mental health. Apparently it is also effective for migraines.
While the studio offers a lot of these new-age treatments, I came there for a good old-fashioned sound bath. Communities around the world have been using sound in spiritual settings for thousands of years. In recent years, modern practitioners have touted the health benefits of ASMR-like sessions. Sound baths help with relaxation, stress relief, and sleep. Some sources claim that it lowers body tension and blood pressure.
During these sessions, instructors play a variety of instruments and singing bowls (bronze, metal, crystal bowls, etc.). If you hit them or run a mallet along the edge, they will sound like a siren. The key is to manipulate sound frequencies and vibrations to calm the mind, much like musicians play handbells to get specific echoes and sounds at holiday concerts. Or, if you are standing under the bell tower at noon, you can feel the big bell overhead ringing the gong and shaking it.
I first heard about sound baths a few years ago when a bunch of Los Angeles-based influencers professed their love for singing bowls and their meditative powers. They posted a video of themselves sitting cross-legged on the back porch of their mansion, surrounded by crystal bowls worth thousands of dollars. As trends inevitably do, sound baths eventually landed in Dallas.
At the end of a candlelight yoga class at Dallas Yoga Center late last year, my instructor started playing singing bowls. The sound was reminiscent of a choir concert, with the singer’s voice echoing throughout the auditorium. It was very interesting, even if the sounds were a little harsh at times. It pulled me out of my thoughts and focused only on the noise. I started to see what was so appealing about these influencers.
Sound baths have become popular as bookends to yoga classes. In Breathe, he dedicates 30 minutes to just sound.
Five minutes before class, people lay down on mats scattered around the room. Some were wrapped in fleece blankets. The instructor was sitting at the front, surrounded by bowls, and was speaking in such a low voice that I couldn’t make out his words.
A jumble of psychedelic colors was projected onto the ceiling, looking like a NASA nebula photo or the aurora borealis spinning in a halo of primary colors.
Once everyone participated, the instructor explained how the meditation worked, using phrases like “sacred geometry” and “singing bowls.” His voice had the lilt of a preacher delivering a sermon from the pulpit, but his tone was like that of a narrator in a movie trailer. He emphasized the need to focus on his breathing and keep his mind awake. This is not a class you can fall asleep in. (And if someone starts snoring, give them a pat on the shoulder.)
After that, the instructor started playing the bowl in earnest and the class began. he whistled. He sounded like an owl or a bird. He struck the bowl with a slow, repeated gong that echoed throughout the town, like the bell of a clock tower. I could hear a familiar, cacophonous, circulating sound, like the electricity of someone vacuuming, coming from another floor.
Like every other sound bath I’ve experienced, the bowl’s vibrato echoed in a loop throughout the room. The hum got so loud I could feel my eardrums rattling. My brain couldn’t even register the sound anymore, just the vibrations penetrating my body. The other sound started so low and quiet that my mind knew it was happening before I technically heard it. It could easily be a distant air conditioner or a plane flying over the building from Love Field.
The sound wasn’t always pleasant. But they were powerful like waves. I found myself thinking about film music and how composers used sound to evoke emotion.
But some were completely relaxed. I heard a deep breath. And unfortunately one person started snoring. Later, as the instructor calmly debriefed us, I thought I heard his breathy laughter as the participants continued to snore.
Finally, the 30 minutes were over. Most of us just lie there and process for a minute before getting up and heading back to the real world. What on earth happened to me? I thought. As I was driving home, I felt a little calmer. I wanted to try the class again, maybe earlier in the evening.
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katherine wendlandt
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Catherine Wendlandt is Deputy Online Editor. D MagazineWith her Living and Home and Garden blog, she covers everything…
