Music as Mantra

All our lives, we listen. This can be hard. Sound, silence and all the subtle synchronicities in between are often not chosen. Some words delight us, especially those delivered with what the ancients considered Wise Speech (spoken at the right time, in truth, and with good-will). This style of communication is rare in contemporary culture. Daily, we may be bombarded by things we wish we never heard – criticism, arguments, insults, violence, pain, rage, lies, bad news. This, too, is life.

My worst news came from a young oncologist. Stage III breast cancer, the type that killed my mother when she was 56. I was ten years younger than my mom at the time, a mother of four children aged 10 to 18. Silence in the midst of this was deafening. Despite decades of meditation practice, fearful thoughts banged around my head. My throat would tighten, my stomach heave. During attempted moments of mindfulness, the inner voice moaned, Please, no. Help me! How will I…???

There were so many ways to try to mask it. News was out; I didn’t listen to it for an entire year (such a relief). My go-to was classic movies. When I had enough energy to concentrate, I read, had phone conversations with friends, chatted with neighbors on the back deck. As a fiction writer, I tried to revise stories or create something new, but the words refused to arrive. Instead, I wrote emails to the beloved community that supported my family and me, ending with music recommendations—songs that occasionally inspired me to dance in spite of it all. The first was Happy by Pharrell, and several friends responded that this choice felt brave. Cancer patients aren’t braver than anyone else. We’re just trying to survive a shitstorm in our own way, one breath at a time. 

After chemo, my body down to my ninth-grade weight of 117 pounds, I started daily radiation oncology. Lying on the cold metal table in a flimsy johnny, I’d close my eyes as the tech lined up the machine with the three pinhead tattoos on my chest and try to breathe slowly. Sometimes I’d startle at the sound of mechanical whirs and clicks, or the tech’s voice reminding me to stay still, asking the impossible question: Ready?

Eventually, I began to silently chant an invented mantra: cancer be gone, good cells stay strong. It helped for two weeks before tears slid down my motionless face. My mindful ways weren’t working. I did not want to Be there, and that truth became louder than any mantra.  

In the midst of this treatment, my younger son introduced me to the amazing collaborative musical artist, Kygo. This was long before the Norwegian EDM star had become a global Tropical House phenom with a billion plays on Spotify. His first hit that my son shared, Firestone, may have been about romantic connection, but I heard it differently.

Our hearts are like firestones

And when they strike, we feel the love

Sparks will fly, they ignite our bones

and when they strike, we light up the world

On that table, my heart felt like a firestone striking my sternum, long ago fractured in a motorcycle accident. The spark of radiation beams ignited my bones and tissue, blasting invasive cells. Somehow, these lyrics allowed me to reframe the experience and Be with my pounding heart, the sparks intended to save me, the love I wanted to feel and express, my deep yearning to stay alive and light up the world.

Not only did this experience get me through treatment, it inspired me to share mindful wellness practices with fellow patients in waiting rooms. Everyone agreed to listen. As I spoke words that had lived in my head for decades, I felt others relax. It became a regular exchange. I started sharing simple practices outside of the cancer center, with anyone open to it – in grocery lines, at the gas station, with my kids’ teachers. The sound of my voice became a song of sorts, one that I wanted to sing more widely. And so, Be Well Be Here was born.

Music, like mantras and meditation, connects us. Every ear, heart and body respond. We gravitate toward sounds that soothe or inspire, that align with our emotions or get us moving. We might avoid certain songs that jangle our nerves, but even this can inform us if we sit through the discomfort and have compassion for ourselves in the moment. I hope you’ll find your way there.

May you experiment with sound.

May you listen to what is near and far.

May you hear the steadiness of your own heartbeat.

May you discover a song that soothes your soul in the midst of it all. 

Always interested in your story or song, if you care to reach out. And if you want to groove this week, register to hear KYGO IN CONCERT online from a mountaintop in Norway on March 4 at 9:00 pm EST. I’ll Be with you!

Be Well,

Lara