I do not separate music from breath, devotion from dance, or dreaming from design. Sound is the architecture I inhabit, the invisible thread that holds me aloft. I collect songs the way some people chart constellations. Each one a marker of wonder, a pulse, a fragment of a world I carry inside me. Songs like “Walls to Build” (Liko, Mall Grab) remind me of the powerful insight and protection afforded to awakened souls. There's no walls to build when you walk in alignment.
Music begins.
"A Call to Prayer" (Estas Tonne, Zola Dubnikova), "Huong Vietnam" (Thierry David, My Puong Nguyen), and the quiet resonance of strings on instrumental tracks. These are the notes that root me to the earth, that remind me of the bodies, the soils, the cultures that carry memory and meaning.
At Azulik, I lie in a hand-knit net suspended high within the wooden cathedral of the space, my body floating while the world moves beneath me. I feel gravity and grace in equal measure, tethered to sacred geometry and devotion in each sound.
It feels like freedom. Weightless. Held.
But there is something humbling about resting in woven threads.
Suspension is not flight.
Elevation is not escape.
Only later, in reflection, did I understand what was happening.
I was being shown a picture of myself:
Cradled, yet caught.
At peace, yet unaware of the strands that held me in place.
What felt like transcendence was also revelation.
The Most High does not always shout. Sometimes He allows you to see the shape of your own entanglement. Gently, beautifully so you can no longer deny it.
I have always been trusting, open, willing to see the light first. And in that openness, my creativity, I drew the dark to me, like moths to a flame. I did not yet understand why I was deceived by those I thought I could love or trust. Only now do I see: God allowed the missteps, allowed the betrayal — to awaken me fully, to sharpen my eyes, to strengthen my heart. What I can only call a shock awakening. A jolt into consciousness.
It was challenging to hold everything that was streaming into my awareness. I didn't have anyone that could help guide me. I know that too was for a reason and I'm grateful now for having to walk the path on my own. It served to strengthen my relationship with divine guidance.
In retrospect, I was never truly alone. I had the word of the Lord. Music also helped during this period.
Some songs lift me beyond the earth.
They are wind, breath, air between my ribs, the space between beats where thought dissolves and spirit opens. “Prepare” by Stimming plays softly. Time stretches. The net cradles me—uspended yet present.
Music is a rope and a ribbon, a path that guides me gently from inner quiet to luminous expansiveness.
Then comes movement, the heartbeat of the world.
Latin grooves, subtle bass, rhythms that ripple like warm water over sunlit skin. "Hypnotic - Chris IDH Remix" by Adassiya is playing now.
Barefoot in the air, I feel the body respond. These songs awaken, ignite, nourish.
And at last, the quiet.
Jazz notes, ethereal layers, ambient textures.
I sip, I read, I rest. I float above the world and enter the intimate spaces of my mind. Here, music becomes mirror, guide, companion. It is the pause that frames the journey.
Music is not accompaniment. It is a world.
Each song a doorway. Each beat a brushstroke.
A companion through surrender. A soundtrack to becoming.
And still, deeper than any melody is the wisdom within.
There is a moment when the truest guidance is not found in another sound, but in silence. When the body is grounded enough, the heart clear enough, the spirit open enough to hear what has always been there. The inner knowing. The quiet voice of God moving through intuition.
And beyond even that — Mother Nature.
Wind through leaves. Waves folding into shore. The rhythm of breath. The hum of earth beneath bare feet. No curation. No design. Only presence.
And when the music fades and the earth becomes the only symphony, I am reminded that I am never unguarded.
There are frequencies we may overlook, but they do not.
The guardians with paws and piercing senses. The ones who hear what we cannot. The ones who respond without hesitation. Their instincts are not accidental. Their awareness is precise.
When they sound the alarm, I listen.
Because I know God speaks through His creation
Through the body.
Through the earth.
Through the animals who walk beside us.
I do not dismiss what is revealed. I honor it.
There are moments when guidance is gentle. And there are moments when it is clear and undeniable. When the message is not to adjust, but to release.
So I release.
Continue to create, to love with your eyes open, your heart awake, and your inner self attuned to the messages God sends.
Mother Nature is the original symphony.
Creation is the purest frequency.
And when grounded fully, no external soundtrack is required. God covers His children in many ways.
Recognize it.
Trust it.
Follow it.
Amen.
Instinct Is Inherited
