Category: Uncategorized

On staying with what’s here when we really don’t want to

When I started writing this, I didn’t really want to write.
It took a lot just to sit down and begin, so it already felt like a small success just to get the first sentence out.
Some of the best lines come when you don’t want to write at all, and I think that’s true of almost anything — some of the most surprising experiences arrive when we’re not looking for them.

The alternative to doing is to stay — to not do the thing that takes you away.

But how do we stay?
Often it feels pointless, like there’s nowhere to go and nothing to change.
Like now: I don’t want to write because I’m not comfortable with the state I’m in.
It’s hard to stay with what’s here.
But something in me says: what if you could?
What if you could stay with this, exactly as it is?

What if even this was okay — that you could let it in,
and the world would still be the same?
What if nothing fell apart, and the ground beneath you grew even firmer still?

There has to be some real, felt benefit to letting go, otherwise we won’t do it.
It’s easy to say “stay with what’s bothering you,”
but quite another thing to actually do it.

Without guidance, we default to coping — trying to fix, avoid, or analyse.
But what if the task isn’t to figure it out,
but to make space for a different kind of intelligence?
Not one that originates in the mind,
but in the deeper self —
the one that knows how to guide us beyond the polarity of fear and desire.

That intelligence is its own medicine.
It carries a quiet sense that things are somehow in their right place,
even when the personality is screaming otherwise.

I once saw an image in a card deck of a person floating down a river on their back,
completely at ease in the current.
The card’s message was simple: Go with the flow.
To trust something beyond our thinking intelligence.

That life force can be terrifying to our parts,
because it isn’t predictable.
It moves where it wants, and it will take us in new directions.

When I was in my twenties, a teacher of metaphysics once said to me,
“Ryan, you’re afraid of the ground floor.”
He was right.
I was clinging to the banks of the river for dear life —
trying to control what couldn’t be controlled.

We forget there’s a kind of mystery at work
that can’t operate while we’re clutching the sides.
It asks for a leap of faith —
not in a naïve way,
but in the way of someone who’s gatvol (Afrikaans for “more than enough”)
of pushing upstream.

Beyond all the unfairness, the resentment, and the striving,
there comes a moment where we say:
Alright life, do with me what you will.

That’s not giving up —
that’s surrendering into participation.

The river doesn’t always turn your life upside down.
Sometimes it just changes how you show up.
It helps you break small patterns —
the ways you withhold care from yourself,
or move too fast to notice what’s already trying to happen.

This life energy is responsive to the moment.
It doesn’t argue with what life is presenting.
Like water, it finds its way —
not through effort, but through surrender.
It lives in the present,
unbound by the past, yet informed by its lessons.

That force is powerful and, yes, scary — because it’s ours.
Many of us were taught not to trust it.
But what if the storm you imagine would never come?

It’s like opening a tap.
You don’t have to open it all at once.
Just enough to let life in —
and give yourself a chance to acclimatise.
It can feel overwhelming to open too fast,
so we learn to sense how much we can handle.

Opening the tap is the medicine.
Because as frightening as it can be,
it also feels deeply good to be connected again.

It’s a twofold process.

Let life in.
Work with the parts that can’t or won’t.

Those parts are usually the ones most longing to trust again —
to believe that something good is possible.

A question I find helpful is:
What would you do if you weren’t afraid?

That thing you really want to do, but are afraid to —
that’s probably the thing you should.

🌿
Maybe this week, notice where you’re still trying to push the river.
What would it mean to soften, even a little —
to stay with what’s here,
and to trust that life, in its own way, knows exactly where to go?

It’s been an unusually busy year for me—taking on a full year of both study and work. Feels like I’ve been mastering the art of juggling tasks and life. But even though, objectively, there are more things to get done, it’s not like I don’t have the time to do them. It’s my relationship with time that counts—the story I’m telling myself about how much of it I actually have.

The story often goes something like: “I don’t have enough time.” or “there is too much to do”. But stories like these carries weight. It blinds me to the fact that I can often get done in ten minutes what, on another day, might take me an hour. What is that? It’s not hyper-productivity. It’s just… doing the thing in front of me, without resistance. Just doing it—without obsessing over how it turns out.

It’s exactly like this writing. I could easily say, “I have no time for it,” with all the deadlines stacked up around me—but that’s not really true. When I’m just in it, it gets done in its own way. Not because I forced it, not because I nailed it, but because I didn’t get in the way of it. What I think I’m starting to learn is not to worry so much about the outcomes. There will be failures and shortcomings. Doing the thing that’s yours to do doesn’t insulate you from imperfection. But maybe those imperfections are something to celebrate. They’re proof we’re alive. That we’re actually in the business of living.

And that’s not so much about getting somewhere—though sure, there are many places to get to. It’s more about being here. Its receptive, its listening, receiving and allowing that to move something in us. What wants to move beyond our thinking of things .. what if we did more of that ?

But some parts of us just don’t know how to not be in fast gear. Those parts are carrying beliefs that might not even be ours. We inherit them—from ancestry, from culture, from the world. The idea that we need to keep doing, being busy to prove our worth. We often carry these beliefs without even knowing it. And for those parts of us that are trying to hold it all together, slowing down can feel like dying.

“Busyness is not a proxy for productivity. It’s a sign that your time is being used carelessly.”
— Cal Newport, Slow Productivity

The big misconception is that slowing down means moving slower. Not true. You might even find yourself moving faster. It’s a state of mind.

Daniel Levitin, a neuroscientist and musician, has long explored the deep connections between music and the brain. His work suggests that music is more than entertainment—it is medicine. Just as pharmaceuticals interact with neurochemistry to heal the body and mind, music influences neural pathways, reducing stress, enhancing mood, and even alleviating pain. Levitin’s research highlights how rhythm, harmony, and melody engage the brain’s reward system, promoting the release of dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin—key neurotransmitters linked to well-being.

Levitin’s books, including This Is Your Brain on Music and The Organised Mind, emphasise that music is fundamental to human cognition and emotional regulation. He explains that our brains evolved to process music as a survival tool, enhancing social cohesion, memory, and emotional processing. One of his key insights is the role of predictive coding in music—our brains anticipate patterns in melody and rhythm, creating a sense of pleasure when those expectations are met or creatively subverted. Additionally, he underscores how different musical structures can induce specific states, such as relaxation through slow tempos and syncopation or alertness through fast, rhythmic beats.

In therapeutic settings, music has been shown to be particularly effective in managing anxiety, depression, and neurodegenerative diseases. Its structured yet emotionally rich nature provides a framework for cognitive and emotional processing, much like a well-balanced medicinal compound. This idea has taken on new significance in the realm of psychedelic-assisted therapy, where music serves as a guide through altered states of consciousness. Carefully curated soundscapes in psilocybin, MDMA, and ketamine therapy sessions help patients navigate profound emotional and psychological landscapes. Music in this context is not background noise but an active agent, shaping experiences, anchoring insights, and fostering deep healing.

Levitin’s perspective encourages us to see music not just as art, but as a fundamental component of human health. As research continues to illuminate its therapeutic power, we move closer to a future where medicine is not only prescribed in pills but also in melodies, harmonies, and rhythms—soundscapes that heal from the inside out.

Where music is different from speech is that it is a whole-brain activity.

Speech activates a speech network, but music activates every area of the brain we know of—it’s a whole-brain activity. That’s according to a study undertaken by Daniel Levitin.

Music connects parts of the brain that may not otherwise be connected, making it a great unifier of the brain. Music with a beat and rhythm naturally makes you want to move—babies do it instinctively before they even understand it.

Infants go through speech babbling, which is well-known, but they also go through a kind of musical babbling, which often precedes speech babbling. They naturally play with song and sound. Levitin believes this is because music is hardwired in us; we are a musical species. Infants are doing what other species have always done—birds and whales had song long before humans existed. The idea is that music is innate and fundamental.

What’s crucial here is that children respond to music even before they know it means anything. That’s the power of music—it doesn’t have a specific meaning. Composers and lyricists can have an intent, but good music contains the kind of ambiguity that good poetry does. Music is intentionally non-referential—there is no melody that will tell you to open the door, for instance. Music, by its nature, allows us to map our own experience onto this canvas of sound. Depending on our mood, we experience music differently.

The mammalian brain is a pattern detector; it is a prediction device—anticipating what will happen next to avoid harm. Music is a wonderful exercise and play for the brain because it is highly structured. The essence of music is that it engages the brain in a giant game of expectation and prediction. That’s why it can be so engaging—it moves us to make meaning, and each of us does so in our own unique way.

How might you develop music appreciation ?

1. Create Personalised Playlists
   • Build playlists for different emotional states—calmness, focus, joy, or release. These can be your go-to when you need them.
   • Use music with steady rhythms for relaxation and high-energy beats for motivation.
2. Use Music to Regulate Emotions
   • Turn to music consciously when feeling overwhelmed or low.
   • Experiment with different genres to discover what best soothes or energises you.
3. Develop a Daily Music Habit
   • Start and end your day with intentional listening.
   • Incorporate background music into activities like cooking, reading, or working out.
4. Engage Actively with Music
   • Sing, hum, or play an instrument to enhance the therapeutic effects.
5. Curate Music for Deep Experiences
   • Use binaural beats or nature sounds to deepen relaxation and introspection.

Suggested Composers and Musical Scores

Levitin often highlights the importance of developing musical appreciation through exposure to a variety of styles. For those looking to deepen their engagement with music, he suggests exploring:

• Johann Sebastian Bach – Known for mathematical precision and emotional depth, Bach’s compositions, such as Goldberg Variations and Cello Suites, are excellent for focus and relaxation.
• Ludwig van Beethoven – His symphonies, particularly Symphony No. 6 (Pastoral) and Moonlight Sonata, can be deeply moving and meditative.
• Brian Eno – A pioneer in ambient music, his albums like Music for Airports and Apollo are widely used in therapeutic settings.
• Max Richter – His album Sleep is specifically designed to promote deep rest and relaxation.
• Philip Glass – His minimalist compositions, such as Glassworks, create a hypnotic effect that can aid in meditation and emotional processing.
• Alice Coltrane – Combining jazz with spiritual depth, albums like Journey in Satchidananda are excellent for contemplative states.
• Ravi Shankar – His classical Indian sitar compositions are known for their meditative and trance-inducing qualities.
• Gustav Mahler – His symphonies, particularly Symphony No. 2 (Resurrection), Symphony No. 5, and Symphony No. 9, are known for their vast emotional range and introspective depth, making them powerful for catharsis and reflection.

Peter Levine’s Sound-Based Regulation Techniques

Peter Levine, known for his work in Somatic Experiencing, uses sound and vocalisation to regulate the nervous system. Two key techniques include:

1. Sound of Enonation – This involves humming or vocalising sounds such as “Ahh,” “Ooo,” or “Mmm,” allowing the vibrations to resonate through the body. This helps release tension, regulate emotions, and calm the nervous system.
2. Voo Sound Technique – A powerful grounding method where one takes a deep breath and exhales while making a deep “Voooooo” sound. This vibrates the diaphragm and vagus nerve, promoting relaxation and a sense of safety.

Joni Mitchell’s Story: Music as Recovery

Joni Mitchell, the legendary singer-songwriter, experienced a life-altering health crisis when she suffered a brain aneurysm in 2015. The condition left her unable to walk or speak, and her recovery seemed uncertain. However, music played a vital role in her healing process. Daniel Levitin played an integral part of her recovery.

As part of her rehabilitation, Mitchell re-engaged with music by listening to her own songs and playing the guitar again. The act of strumming and singing helped rebuild her neural connections and restore her motor skills. She also immersed herself in jazz and classical music, which she had long admired. Over time, the rhythm, melody, and engagement with music contributed to her physical and emotional recovery, allowing her to regain her strength and even return to performing live in 2022.

Joni Mitchell’s journey illustrates how music can be an essential tool for healing—supporting brain plasticity, emotional resilience, and the restoration of lost abilities. Her story reinforces the power of sound and rhythm in recovery.

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By integrating these musical habits into daily life (in a playful way) and exploring masterful compositions, music becomes a reliable therapeutic tool—offering a means to regulate emotions, deepen experiences, and enhance overall well-being.

Practice suggestion – Take a moment to reflect on the role music has played in your life. What songs or compositions do you turn to when you’re going through a hard time? Consider making a personal playlist of music that soothes, energises, or brings you comfort. By intentionally curating a selection of tracks that truly resonate with you, you create a powerful resource—one that becomes a source of comfort and healing during those times when music really is the only medicine.