When the world forgets how to listen, we begin again with vibration.

Lately, many of us have been feeling the weight of something ancient rising again — the shadows of fascism, cruelty masked as strength, and the dangerous forgetting of our shared humanity. It’s loud. It’s painful. And it’s deeply familiar.

As the world spins faster toward division, many of us in the healing space find ourselves asking:

What can I possibly do that matters?

Can a bowl, a breath, a vibration really soften the edges of injustice?
Can presence interrupt the momentum of hatred?
Can sound healing — this subtle, sacred work — make a dent in systems built on control?

And if not… why keep going?

💔 The pain is real. The rise of authoritarianism, the ecological devastation, the grief woven into our nervous systems — none of this can be bypassed.
But still, we gather.

Still, we tone.
Still, we sit in circles.
Still, we place our hands on our hearts and ask, “What is mine to do today?”

Not a Political Act — A Human One

This isn’t about being political.
It’s about being present.
It’s about staying rooted in compassion when cruelty becomes the norm a little more each day.
It’s about refusing to numb, and instead remembering that every thought, every word, every tone carries vibration.

Sound healing doesn’t just relax people. It shifts the internal climate.
It gives us access to calm when the world is burning.
It helps us gain a much needed perspective, and opens the door to nervous system regulation, to clarity, to action sourced from alignment — not panic or performance.

The Tree That Taught Me Everything

There was a tree I used to pass every day on my drive.
It stood alone in the high desert, on a dry lot where nothing else grew.
One year, after an intense storm it fell.
And I thought, “That’s the end of that tree.”

But a year and a half later, from the fallen trunk, I saw new life — three little trees growing out of the larger tree's side.
It was quiet, stubborn, sacred resilience.

That tree reminded me that healing doesn’t always look upright.
Sometimes it looks like new growth on broken bark.
It taught me that we can still come back. We can still offer life, even on borrowed time.

Until one day… the trucks came.
Construction crews cleared the lot.
And my tree — the one that had taught me so much — was gone.

But the lesson not only stayed but taught me even more.

This Is What Sound Healing Can Do

It can’t stop bulldozers.
It can’t rewrite law or policy (or can I...).
But it can help us stay in our bodies.
It can help us breathe through the grief.
It can remind us of our humanity — and of each other.

We may not always see the impact.
But like that tree, we grow anyway.

Sound healing, in a world gone mad, is an act of refusal.
A refusal to abandon the breath, the body, the vibration of care.
A refusal to stop offering love — even when it’s hard, even when it hurts.

What are your thoughts?

If your heart is heavy and you're wondering how to keep going — start with vibration.

👉 Try one of my sound bath for resilience

👉 Listen to my new sound healing song designed to ground you in peace called One With The Ocean.
or

👉 If you are in Central Oregon on June 7th, I invite you to join the Day retreat on Resilience I am co-hosting at Smith Rock.

Let it remind you that you're not alone.

That you are the tree.

And that yes — your vibration still matters.

With Love, Always,

Amandine.