#106: Should Men Be Allowed in the Sound Bath?

HUMOR

I’m having trouble beginning, so I’m just going to jump right in. Samah and I are doing The Artist’s Way together, and we’ve officially completed week one. If you don’t know, The Artist’s Way is a 12-week course by Julia Cameron for unlocking and recovering our creativity. It is a wonderful resource for all artists and people. I was originally gifted the book by Adam’s Aunt Linda for my college graduation. I started and abandoned the course several times, but I’ve always felt called to come back to it. A few months ago, Mamaw sent me a package with several of Julia’s books including a fresh copy of The Artist’s Way. I took it as a sign. If you’re looking for a gift for the creative in your life (including yourself!), this is a great one.

Thank you, Aunt Linda and Mamaw! It means the world to me that you are champions of me, my art, and living a creative life. YATB.

This will be my first time completing the course in full. I’m excited to be dedicated to the practice and relieved to have a good friend and artist I admire to share in the experience and hold me accountable. (Thank you, Samah!)

Samah with a Respectful Smartass sticker on her water bottle :’) <3

There are two basic tools in addition to the exercises throughout the course. These are Morning Pages (three longhand pages written first thing in the morning as a sort of meditation) and Artist Dates (weekly outings between you and your inner artist designed to spark inspiration). I’ve already come to rely on my Morning Pages to clear away the anxious swirl I often wake up with. Yesterday, I didn’t do my pages until the afternoon. I woke up late and had to prepare for an early meeting, so there wasn’t time to write. I felt it all day. Julia knows what she’s talking about. The tools work! If you try them or have tried them, I want to know your experience!

My first Artist’s Date was a sound bath meditation at the Unplug studio in Santa Monica. Unplug has been referred to as the SoulCylce of the mind, so I figured I’d link to the old classic #46: Baby's First SoulCycle if you want to read about my experience at the SoulCycle of the soul or body or whatever they claim.

This was my first experience with an in-person sound bath. Some of you may have heard about my experience with a virtual sound bath Creative Mornings experience that changed my life in 2021. But that’s a story for another day.

I tried to go into my Unplug bath with realistic, non-life-altering expectations, and an intention to really nourish my inner artist. Give her a much needed spa treatment, bathing in 432 Hz, a frequency harmonic with Earth’s natural vibration (which I’ll be honest, I didn’t know until I arrived and someone told me, but still). I was ready for an afternoon of calm, filling my creative well instead of depleting it.

I arrived at the building off Wilshire, a busy street slicing through town, pleased to find an inner courtyard cordoning off the space from the hustle and bustle of the road. Upon entering, I was greeted with the scent of palo santo and asked to turn off my phone and relinquish it. The desk girl taking my device was serene. She spoke in a low, calming tone, and I wonder if they chose her for it or trained her for it. Either way it worked on me. I didn’t even exhibit any visible withdrawal symptoms as I handed over my lifeline I mean drug of choice I mean iPhone.

“Be sure to sit toward the front of the room to get the most out of the bath. I’ll ring the bell in a few minutes and open the studio. Enjoy your first session,” she crooned.

Like anyone showing up at the SoulCycle of the mind at 1:00pm on a Monday, I was expecting a swarm of yoga-clothed white women. Instead, it was full of business-clad men presumably on their lunch break. I sat on a bench a few spots down from a group of three business people, removed my shoes, and stored my bag in a cubby.

Obviously I didn’t have my phone to hide behind, so instead of eavesdropping sneakily while pretending to scroll, I eavesdropped blatantly. To my credit, it was impossible not to. The ringleader had a booming voice that filled the space and felt vaguely against the rules. Wasn’t this supposed to be a calm environment? Read the room. But my guess is he wasn’t there on the new student special and maybe those big bucks he’s shelling out make him feel like he can behave as anti-calm in there as he wants.

The trio were talking about substances.

“My brother micro-doses shrooms,” the woman said in response to a psychedelic question.

“MICRO-DOSING DOESN’T DO A DAMN THING. HE’S A FOOL IF HE THINKS IT’S WORKING. YOU NEED A RECREATIONAL DOSE,” boomed the guy I already mentioned.

“Well, I think he’s using it differently-”, the woman attempted.

“NO, NO, I’M TELLING YOU HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT HE’S TALKING ABOUT.”

She tried to speak several more times before giving up and examining her pedicure as the booming man regaled the other guy about his own shroom experiences, obviously much more valid and important and right and good and worthwhile than her brother’s. Women, right? How stupid!

I took a lap around the small lobby. They sell books and crystals and meditation tools and probably a lot of other stuff, but I was too distracted by the insufferable vibe of this booming man to actually read or compute what my eyes were taking in. I had no choice but to tune back into the conversation.

“AND ANOTHER THING, IF YOU’RE A PARENT AND YOU KEEP ALCOHOL IN YOUR HOUSE, YOU ARE KILLING YOUR KIDS. YOUR KIDS ARE DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU. I DON’T EVEN CARE THAT IT’S NORMALIZED. IF YOU HAVE ALCOHOL IN YOUR HOUSE, IT’S YOUR FAULT IT’S KILLING YOUR KIDS AND YOUR KIDS ARE DEAD.”

Obviously…a completely insane thing to overhear? Surely, this man in pleated trousers understands that all kids living in homes in which alcohol is present are not automatically dead. I don’t even understand how this functions as a viable thought experiment because in order to have the kids at all, we have to assume they’re alive, right? Who’s keeping dead kids in their house? I’m sorry for being glib, but what the actual fuck is that guy’s problem? Surely his friends refuted this. Surely. Right?

Wrong.

The other guy, who I wish wasn’t going to become more relevant but absolutely is, nodded enthusiastically.

“Alcohol is the worst of all the substances! I’d rather my kids did drugs than drank,” Okay, I see where he’s going, I guess. But still? We’re going to let all that dead kid shit he just shouted slide?

The woman tried again, this time squarely on his side so she didn’t get told to shut her lipsticked mouth.

“I think back to drinking in high school, and I just can’t believe I was doing that to my own brain. Just awful!”

The booming man completely ignored her, obviously. He went on talking with the other guy. Something about encouraging kids to smoke weed, the DARE program, blahblahblah. Then!

“OBVIOUSLY, WE KEEP ALCOHOL IN THE HOUSE. BUT IT’S IN OUR BEDROOM SO THE KIDS CAN’T GET TO IT. AND ALL IN GLASS BOTTLES. WE DON’T DO PLASTIC.”

…

Ah yes, the famous impervious lair — a parent’s bedroom. Surely your teens will never sneak a sip!

Suffice to say, I hated this guy.

I was sitting closest to the door, on the far end of the cubby bench, waiting for the bell to ring and the studio to open. But when our ethereal desk girl rose from her desk, the booming voice and his groupies shot up and bum-rushed the door, effectively boxing me out. The desk girl smiled knowingly, as if that happens all the time. She calmly told us about our teacher and the class, I assume mostly for my benefit since the rest of the guests appeared to be regulars.

“YEAH, WE KNOW THE DRILL.”

She gave a soft chuckle and made brief eye contact with me before slowly opening the door. Honestly, her command of her own energy impressed me. I was feeling stressed out by the guy, and here he was trying to speed her up and she couldn’t give two shits.

The corporate threesome rushed in, claimed the three front and center spots then clambered back to the pillows and blankets and forced their way to the front of that line as well.

I wonder now if they were forced to be there under a company mandate. These incredibly stressed people forced to meditate, or at the very least get out of the office for an hour a week, so their coworkers can know some ever-loving peace. Perhaps, booming voice guy was even the boss of the other two and that’s why they couldn’t politely tell him he’s rude and loud and batshit.

But all that was over. I had claimed my spot in the front. I put a mat’s distance between me and the other guy (booming guy’s pal) and thank god I did. Our teacher, Xavianca began the class talking about the four elements, the importance of sound and frequency in meditation, and her joy and gratitude that we had all joined her class that day.

“I love that we are all able to take time out today to nourish and ground ourselves together,” Xavianca said.

“And I love that you’re our teacher today, Bianca!” the other guy interrupted.

Without missing a beat, Xavianca replied, “Thank you, I really appreciate you being here. I love this afternoon slot. It’s great to break up the day.”

“You’re the best way to break up my day,” he said beaming at her.

She smiled a customer service smile and continued, telling us to get comfortable on our mats and lay back if we desired. I was unfamiliar with the bendy mat technology. They function sort of like legless pool chairs, and it took me a few tries to figure out how to lay my mat flat. I could feel the other guy staring at me, propped on his elbows grinning while I struggled.

He waited until I had successfully flattened my mat to say, “You have to pull up to go down,” maintaining eye contact with me as he laid fully down.

Xavianca started the meditation, playing the singing bowls, and instructing us on how to breathe. She encouraged us to let out audible sighs of exhale.

The other guy took this suggestion quite liberally. With each exhale, he let out the most sexually suggestive sigh I’ve ever heard in my life. I don’t mean a sigh of relief or release. I mean an unequivocally sexual one. It was gross. And I don’t know if it was for my benefit (read: detriment) or Xavianca’s (apparently known to him as Bianca?), but either way I was pissed. Can’t a girl pay money to meditate in a room with a bunch of strangers in peace?! Must we always be on red alert for creeps?

I felt a little better when it became clear that the other guy sort of sucked at breathing. I know I’m not supposed to say that. Breath is the life force and the source of our creative energy. That’s beautiful and everybody’s got their own rhythm. But this guy was bad at it.

Xavianca promted us to inhale for 4…3…2…1. The other guy had sucked in so quick he was full of hot air before 2. Just waiting for the rest of us to catch up. That’s not the game, my man. It’s not a race. And if it was a competition, you’d be losing.

We held at the top and then were instructed to release for 6…5….4…(the other guy is absolutely toasted by this point, completely depleted, out of breath, embarrassing)…3…2…1. We did several rounds of this breathing, and because it’s all pretty audible, I think the other guy realized we could hear him failing (sorry, I know you can’t fail at meditating I know I know) and he had to stop doing his stupid sexual exhale so he could focus on doing the actual task at hand. It’s almost like he’d be a better meditator and person if he wasn’t weird and gross around women???? Crazy??? Surely not!

At that point, I wasn’t feeling awesome about the experience. I had spent most of my time in the space mentally cursing the men around me. And I wasn’t there for that. I was there for me and my inner artist. The sound of the bowls was soothing and nourishing. I felt myself dropping into my body and breath as Xavianca spoke to us about the four elements: Earth, Water, Fire, and Air. She led us in a practice of grounding into the Earth, and for a moment I felt truly connected, supported, and at peace.

Then, the guy behind me started snoring. It was not the snore of a peaceful slumber. It was the snore of a man who needs Mucinex on his shopping list. Phlegmy, rattling, wet. Without the humor of a whistle on the end.

I tried my best to stay present with my breath, the sound of the bowls, my own body, but it was so loud. Our heads were less than a foot from one another. It was like his snoring was ricocheting off the walls of my own skull. I was frustrated. I wanted to feel the elemental charge of my body! I wanted to breathe luxuriously and deeply in the harmonious frequency. But the promised 432 Hz was being compromised by the 62 - 136 Hz of his snore. And I was thinking about writing this line while I was laying there trying to ignore it. I was so frustrated all I could do was think, then try to pull myself back into the mediation, then think some more.

Finally, I couldn’t take any more. I snapped my eyes open.

Immediately, his snoring stopped. He woke up. The exact moment I snapped my eyes open in frustration with him. Am I…a witch? He began the breathwork again, settling back into the meditation after his little nap. I felt bad for somehow energetically waking him up and also eerily proud that perhaps I had energetically woken him up?

The rest of the meditation was a breeze. I had moments of insight, ideas, and clarity. I felt each of the elements in my body. Fire burning in my belly and up my throat. Water gently undulating through my entire being. Air swirling in my head and carrying levity and lightness all the way to my toes. And after some coaxing and relaxing, I felt the Earth, grounding and supporting me, rooting me into being. I felt it all culminating, moving and working together in my heart center. I felt oneness and peace and spaciousness. It was truly amazing.

When the meditation ended, I stood up content and the snoring man offered me the warmest smile. If he had felt my energetic wake-up call, he forgave me for it. And it felt like, even though we didn’t speak, he was truly glad I was there.

The business trio was subdued and perfectly polite as we filed out of the studio. And Xavianca took my hand and looked me deep in the eyes to thank me for coming to her class and ask how I felt about the bath. The desk girl handed me my phone and offered me a decaf orange and cinnamon tea I happily accepted. Then my artist and I took a walk through the neighborhood behind the studio before hopping back in the car and mentally planning this post.

Have you done Artist Dates before? I’d love suggestions of your favorites!

ily bye,

Ariana