Deep Listening as my personal practice
I am currently training in deep listening at the Center for Deep Listening, founded by Pauline Oliveros. While I have practiced deep listening before, particularly through my engagement with Buddhist traditions over the last few years, this new training has introduced layers of complexity and richness to the way I interact with sound. My relationship with listening has evolved, offering me new insights and perspectives that directly inform my work.
Deep listening, when practiced in complete stillness, activates my brain in a way that feels like entering another dimension. Patterns, images, and visions emerge, glimpses of different realities. These visions often transport me into a flow state where my perception expands beyond my immediate environment. I also feel sound deeply within my body, yet the internal imagery my brain generates is so overwhelming that it often takes precedence over physical sensation. The experience is particularly intense when I listen with my eyes closed in total visual deprivation, what I "see" becomes far more salient than what I feel in my body.
In contrast, when I engage my body as an active participant in deep listening, not just as a receiver but as a resonator, the experience transforms entirely. I don’t just perceive the sound or attempt to interpret it, I become the sound. My body synchronises with it, as if possessed by an energy that moves through me, guiding my motions. This state is trance-like, a surrender in which memory dissolves, leaving only the sensation of complete immersion and a profound sense of happiness and fulfilment.
Regardless of whether I am still or in motion, the body is always involved. However, when movement is intentionally and consciously integrated, another layer of processing emerges, one that allows for the physical working through of thoughts, memories, and emotions embedded deep within the tissues, cells, and organs. Movement becomes a means of release, transformation, and embodiment.
These types of experiences are not new to us. Perhaps we unconsciously seek them out in spaces like festivals, clubs, or parties, emerging with a sense of renewal. This raises important questions about the social and psychological roles these spaces play in modern life.
Bear in mind that everything you read in this essay is mostly my personal opinion and anecdotal experience, and I’m not speaking from the perspective of empirical research.
Therefore, the more I engage with deep listening, the more fluid my imagination becomes. The more I practice daily intentional movement, the more I can "hear" my body and intuitively respond to my emotional needs in any given moment. Awareness is not always easy. Sometimes it makes me question whether these experiences are just in my head. But ultimately, it doesn’t matter. These practices regulate my emotions, improve my mood, and heighten my intuition while reducing reactivity. That is more than enough for me.
One particularly intriguing aspect of my deep listening practice is how it has created a bridge between my conscious and subconscious life. Since integrating these techniques into my daily routine, my dreams have become a rich source of information for my work. They are highly symbolic, but by recording them consistently, I have found them to be a fundamental part of my creative and intellectual process.
The Role of Spaces in Deep Listening and Communal Transformation
My personal experiences have led me to think deeply about the modern rituals we engage with as a society. I am critical of spaces that promise transcendence or communal connection by appropriating ceremonies or traditions from shamanistic or pagan societies. Such rituals were responses to the challenges their inhabitants faced, shaped by their level of knowledge and technology. They were created by ordinary people like you and me, and the contemporary fetisishation of these traditions and their inhabitants often feels to me like a modern form of colonialism.
So, I wonder: What would modern rituals look like? What if we designed spaces intentionally created to evoke awe and transcendence, secular spaces that function like churches or temples once did, but offering connection to our inner creative potential?
Some might question the growing interest in awe and transcendence. But research suggests that the more people engage with transcendental states, the more empathetic, compassionate, creative, and emotionally regulated they become. By experiencing heightened emotions, we attune ourselves, enabling more positive ways of functioning.
This brings me back to my core inquiry: What if we had shared environments where people gathered to feel, listen, move, dream, and heal in community, not by appropriating indigenous traditions (such as the cacao ceremonies) but by creating something new? What would communal healing spaces look like in modern society? Could they be places of joy and celebration, proving that healing does not need to be heavy or boring?
You could argue that deep listening and movement practices can be done alone at home, and that perhaps there’s no need to go to a specific place to experience them. Some might even find the idea a bit cultish. But let me tell you that when shared in a communal setting, these experiences are amplified. Our bodies synchronise with those around us through emotional contagion or collective effervescence, and our brains entrain to the frequencies of sound through neural entrainment. This communal power makes sense when we consider that, as social animals, belonging to a group has ensured our survival for millions of years.
Through my artwork, I seek to understand how deep listening and its benefits can be enhanced in immersive spaces, how designing experiences using ritualistic elements and neuroaesthetic principles can evoke awe, connection and transformation. I am excited to explore what contemporary, secular spaces for sonic communion, collective healing, and expanded perception could look like and their possible impact on imagination, intuition, and a sense of agency.
I’ll keep sharing insights as my work evolves.
Deep listening, when practiced in complete stillness, activates my brain in a way that feels like entering another dimension. Patterns, images, and visions emerge, glimpses of different realities. These visions often transport me into a flow state where my perception expands beyond my immediate environment. I also feel sound deeply within my body, yet the internal imagery my brain generates is so overwhelming that it often takes precedence over physical sensation. The experience is particularly intense when I listen with my eyes closed in total visual deprivation, what I "see" becomes far more salient than what I feel in my body.
In contrast, when I engage my body as an active participant in deep listening, not just as a receiver but as a resonator, the experience transforms entirely. I don’t just perceive the sound or attempt to interpret it, I become the sound. My body synchronises with it, as if possessed by an energy that moves through me, guiding my motions. This state is trance-like, a surrender in which memory dissolves, leaving only the sensation of complete immersion and a profound sense of happiness and fulfilment.
Regardless of whether I am still or in motion, the body is always involved. However, when movement is intentionally and consciously integrated, another layer of processing emerges, one that allows for the physical working through of thoughts, memories, and emotions embedded deep within the tissues, cells, and organs. Movement becomes a means of release, transformation, and embodiment.
These types of experiences are not new to us. Perhaps we unconsciously seek them out in spaces like festivals, clubs, or parties, emerging with a sense of renewal. This raises important questions about the social and psychological roles these spaces play in modern life.
Bear in mind that everything you read in this essay is mostly my personal opinion and anecdotal experience, and I’m not speaking from the perspective of empirical research.
Therefore, the more I engage with deep listening, the more fluid my imagination becomes. The more I practice daily intentional movement, the more I can "hear" my body and intuitively respond to my emotional needs in any given moment. Awareness is not always easy. Sometimes it makes me question whether these experiences are just in my head. But ultimately, it doesn’t matter. These practices regulate my emotions, improve my mood, and heighten my intuition while reducing reactivity. That is more than enough for me.
One particularly intriguing aspect of my deep listening practice is how it has created a bridge between my conscious and subconscious life. Since integrating these techniques into my daily routine, my dreams have become a rich source of information for my work. They are highly symbolic, but by recording them consistently, I have found them to be a fundamental part of my creative and intellectual process.
The Role of Spaces in Deep Listening and Communal Transformation
My personal experiences have led me to think deeply about the modern rituals we engage with as a society. I am critical of spaces that promise transcendence or communal connection by appropriating ceremonies or traditions from shamanistic or pagan societies. Such rituals were responses to the challenges their inhabitants faced, shaped by their level of knowledge and technology. They were created by ordinary people like you and me, and the contemporary fetisishation of these traditions and their inhabitants often feels to me like a modern form of colonialism.
So, I wonder: What would modern rituals look like? What if we designed spaces intentionally created to evoke awe and transcendence, secular spaces that function like churches or temples once did, but offering connection to our inner creative potential?
Some might question the growing interest in awe and transcendence. But research suggests that the more people engage with transcendental states, the more empathetic, compassionate, creative, and emotionally regulated they become. By experiencing heightened emotions, we attune ourselves, enabling more positive ways of functioning.
This brings me back to my core inquiry: What if we had shared environments where people gathered to feel, listen, move, dream, and heal in community, not by appropriating indigenous traditions (such as the cacao ceremonies) but by creating something new? What would communal healing spaces look like in modern society? Could they be places of joy and celebration, proving that healing does not need to be heavy or boring?
You could argue that deep listening and movement practices can be done alone at home, and that perhaps there’s no need to go to a specific place to experience them. Some might even find the idea a bit cultish. But let me tell you that when shared in a communal setting, these experiences are amplified. Our bodies synchronise with those around us through emotional contagion or collective effervescence, and our brains entrain to the frequencies of sound through neural entrainment. This communal power makes sense when we consider that, as social animals, belonging to a group has ensured our survival for millions of years.
Through my artwork, I seek to understand how deep listening and its benefits can be enhanced in immersive spaces, how designing experiences using ritualistic elements and neuroaesthetic principles can evoke awe, connection and transformation. I am excited to explore what contemporary, secular spaces for sonic communion, collective healing, and expanded perception could look like and their possible impact on imagination, intuition, and a sense of agency.
I’ll keep sharing insights as my work evolves.