Sitting at the Evanston Symphony yesterday afternoon, after a day of teaching yoga, I was once struck by how listening to music can be a very enjoyable kind of meditation. Rather than listening in order to "understand" the music, I simply allow the sound to flow past, each note and shifting timbre heard clearly then released as the next note arrives. Like any meditation, the mind wanders off, thinking "Aren't I so sophisticated for liking classical music?" or "I should buy a high-end speaker system" or "What's for dinner?" But then a sudden shift in volume or rhythm naturally calls attention back. It's a practice of "not too tight, not too loose". The mind can't be so fixated on the music that it becomes rigid or exhausted, nor so expansive that it gets lost in reverie. The meditation lasts as long as a single piece, or may continue after the music finishes, listening to the more subtle, ambient soundscape.
Music Meditation
Music Meditation
Music Meditation
Sitting at the Evanston Symphony yesterday afternoon, after a day of teaching yoga, I was once struck by how listening to music can be a very enjoyable kind of meditation. Rather than listening in order to "understand" the music, I simply allow the sound to flow past, each note and shifting timbre heard clearly then released as the next note arrives. Like any meditation, the mind wanders off, thinking "Aren't I so sophisticated for liking classical music?" or "I should buy a high-end speaker system" or "What's for dinner?" But then a sudden shift in volume or rhythm naturally calls attention back. It's a practice of "not too tight, not too loose". The mind can't be so fixated on the music that it becomes rigid or exhausted, nor so expansive that it gets lost in reverie. The meditation lasts as long as a single piece, or may continue after the music finishes, listening to the more subtle, ambient soundscape.