Our Silence has Become Deafening
What feeling stirs in you when you see a group singing together? A drum circle pulsing with life? When you join in an anthem and feel your voice disappear into something greater? Or when you witness someone wailing in grief—raw, uninhibited, human?
Now, ask yourself: how often do you make sound? Not to speak or explain—but to release, express, or feel? Most of us don’t. We hold back the sigh, stifle the cry, and mute the moan. We’ve been conditioned to quiet the very vibrations that once kept us healthy, connected, and whole.
For millennia, sound was more than expression—it was medicine, memory, and connection. Across ancient and Indigenous cultures, sound and song were woven into daily life: healing the body, marking sacred rites, and passing on ancestral knowledge. Drums pulsed like heartbeats in ceremony, chants aligned breath with intention, and flutes called forth the voices of wind and bird. These traditions understood something we’re only beginning to reclaim—that sound can tune us back to balance.
In today’s overstimulated world, there’s not only too much noise—there’s a lack of meaningful sound. We’ve internalized the idea that sound is disruptive, messy, or shameful—especially in public. This cultural silence—our collective muting of natural sound and expression—has become deafening in its impact. It stifles our energy, numbs our emotions, and hampers our ability to regulate and heal. The absence of authentic sound creates a barrier between our inner life and the world around us.
What makes sound so powerful is that it doesn’t stop at the skin. It moves through us. It vibrates tissue, fluid, bone. It ripples into our biofield, the subtle energetic layer that holds memory, emotion, and experience. Scientific studies now support what mystics and healers have long known: certain frequencies can shift brainwave states, regulate heart rate variability, and stimulate the vagus nerve—our body’s direct gateway to calm, restoration, and connection.
We are vibrational beings. Our bodies are made of about 70% water, and water is a potent conductor of sound. This isn’t just poetic—it’s physiological. Sound moves five times faster through water than through air. When you hum, sing, chant, or even sigh, those vibrations cascade through your fluid system, massaging organs, stimulating circulation, and promoting balance on a cellular level.
This brings us to the emerging science of cymatics—the study of visible sound vibrations. When sound is passed through a medium like water or sand, it forms intricate geometric patterns. The higher the coherence of the frequency, the more complex and ordered the shapes. Think of Tibetan monks chanting in temples, or Gregorian choirs filling cathedrals. These sounds don’t just please the ear—they create vibrational harmony within the body and environment.
Even more fascinating is new research into what scientists are calling the fourth phase of water, or “structured water.” Beyond solid, liquid, and vapor, this gel-like state exists within and around our cells. This phase of water has properties that are altered and influenced by light, energy, and vibration—including sound. Some researchers believe this structured water acts like a cellular battery, storing and transferring energy. When sound enters the body, especially intentional sound, it may be tuning this internal system—enhancing vitality, restoring function, and even influencing how our cells communicate.
No wonder sound has always played a central role in healing practices around the world. In ancient Egypt, vowels were believed to carry divine healing power. In India, the syllable “Om” represents the sound of creation itself. Indigenous cultures across the Americas, Africa, and Australia use voice and rhythm to restore harmony between body, spirit, and nature.
And we feel this intuitively. Have you ever cried during a song without knowing why? Or felt chills rise from your spine during a film score? Music bypasses the thinking brain and speaks directly to the limbic system—the emotional core of our nervous system. It connects us to memories, to ancestors, to something vast and unseen. It reminds us of who we are beneath language.
This is why sound is so much more than art or entertainment—it’s a relational technology. It’s how whales navigate oceans, how mothers soothe babies, how we sing in mourning and celebration. It’s how we attune to one another.
I know this because I was once cut off from it.
Like many, I was pushed into my mind. Disconnected from my voice. I lived in a world that valued silence over expression, stillness over flow. As a movement instructor, I reconnected with my body—but something still felt missing. That something was sound. It wasn’t until I dared to make noise—awkward, vulnerable, unfiltered—that I felt truly alive again.
Our culture has silenced what is natural. Too many believe they can’t sing. Too many fear the sound of their own truth. I was one of them. And it caused me real harm.
That journey to reclaim my voice led me to create what I now share with others: a practice of sound-infused movement. It isn’t new—it’s ancient—but it’s newly relevant. With the stresses we carry, we don’t have hours for separate therapy, bodywork, breathwork, and exercise. So I combined them all into a single practice that integrates physical movement, emotional expression, nervous system regulation, energy alignment, and vocal resonance.
It’s not about performance. It’s not about hitting a note. It’s about reconnecting to something primal and real. Connecting with our pain helps us understand and transform it, breaking the vicious cycle of numbness and disconnection we talked about in Vital Again. Your body is already an instrument—it just needs tuning.
And when we do this together—in community—it amplifies the effect. Our nervous systems co-regulate. Our voices blend. We become a resonant field. We are meant to resonate. With life. With each other. With ourselves. Come remember what that feels like.