By Amanda Moreno

For me, this eclipse season has been a big tangle of all kinds of inertia, revving up some deep inner voice that loves to tell me I’m lazy, even after a full day’s work. I’ll admit, though, I found myself frequently sitting in my home office on a big, overstuffed chair, just scrolling through Facebook or looking for something mindless to watch — the act of deciding which show to choose being no match for my inertia bubble.

Photo by graywacke/A Landing a Day

Therefore, I decided to use this past weekend for deep spring equinox cleaning purposes. Time to liven up my space, clear it out, do my quarterly altar re-build, and make way for the moment when the inertia will lift (it will, won’t it?).

As part of my space-cleansing and blessing, I decided I wanted to play the music of Krishna Das through my three-day process. I needed something without words I can understand in order to enable a sense of devotional presence, and I love this music’s ability to allow for release at the same time as I’m filled with some kind of divine presence — a sense of complexity, life and hope.

Aside from being the ultimate form of medicine for my soul and an integral part of my spirituality, music is perhaps my primary memory-trigger. My relationships with certain songs and albums are some of the most long-standing in my life. I’m aware that I’m a very scent-oriented rememberer as well, but music plucks on my heartstrings in a way that makes me sigh or gasp audibly to process whatever strand of feeling is moving through.

As I pushed ‘play’ on a Krishna Das album this weekend, a gasp did escape. Followed by a cringe. Suddenly, I was doubled over in pain. I realized, then, why I have been avoiding Krishna Das: it was the music that got me through the first half of last year. As I was going through major transformation — including the dissolution of an incredibly intense and important relationship, a plunge into deep, permeating doubt surrounding my place on the path of a healer, and an accompaniment of body woes to go with it all — I used this music as a cocoon of constant prayer.

I can remember days when I would be vigilant about having my earphones in before I left the house, knowing how acutely sensitive my whole being was to everything around me — most specifically other people’s energy — and how painful half-hour bus rides had become because of it. I was learning about energetic boundaries because I absolutely had to, rather than out of the curiosity that had fueled my previous studies.

I was being asked to let it all move through me, rather than shielding against it or allowing it to become lodged within, and I was constantly over-stimulated. As I walked to the bus stop, I would begin to visualize whatever mantra the music was putting forth (this one specifically comes to mind) as words swirling around my field. I would change the colors and the speed according to my intuition. This practice gave me something to focus on, to learn from, and cushioned me enough to gather my composure for whatever job or event I was headed to.

In the past few days, as I’ve let that music back in, I’ve been fascinated with just how powerfully it takes me back to that time in my life in visceral, full-body memory. It’s not painful anymore, but I am so intrigued by the way it feels. It feels as if whispers of joy and pain and sorrow are funneling through my veins, out of my heart, and into my body in a loosening process, hopefully facilitating more letting go. It feels healing, but also totally shocking.

This process has also reminded me of just how enchanted and magical that period of my life felt. Of all the things I’ve gone through in my life, it was one of the most painful and challenging, but there was a constant sense of the sacred — even when I wanted to give up on it. The music played a large part in that; but there was also so much ritual and ceremony, so much focusing on astrology as a tool of guidance and timing, and such a strong group of healers and mentors around me.

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Looking back on it now, I think I can attribute to that period of time what I’m experiencing lately as a return to trusting the universe.

I remember doing a ritual at the ocean about a year ago. I left the house where I was staying with a Krishna Das song in my head, allowing the mantra to repeat over and over, and walked out onto the beach, towards the ocean, surrounded by guides. I performed the ritual I’d created from within that container, and at the end had a quick little conversation with Grandmother Ocean.

I pretty much just gave my gratitude for her constant healing presence in my life, and let her know I was going to leave in a few minutes, adding that although I wasn’t expecting any sign or recognition, if she wanted to send one to let me know she’d heard, that would be great.

I immediately looked over and saw three deer playing in the surf. Tears and laughter ensued.

There were other times, with other animal friends sending clear and direct messages of recognition and support. As I’ve reflected on all of this, there is some sense of longing for that level of connection and meaning — although I’ve no desire to return to that state and am quite enjoying my current life. There will be time for more plunges, I’m sure.

This eclipse window has felt so intimately connected to the one that occurred around this time last year. It makes sense that these themes would arise, and that the memories feel like they come from ten years ago…or just yesterday. Whatever the case, I am forever humbled by the power of music to evoke memory, to heal and hold, and to remain a constant ally. It’s quite the blessing, and I need to remind myself more often what a potent form of medication it can be.