| Dear friend,
I need to tell you about a movie.
The Sound of Music.
You’ve probably seen it.
Maybe you loved it.
Maybe it wasn’t your thing.
But for me…
It saved me.
I was five years old.
And I didn’t even know what “saved” meant yet.
I just knew that when the music played…
Something inside me could finally breathe.
Let me take you there for a second.
Picture this…
A tiny apartment.
No electricity most days.
No running water.
The war happening just outside the walls.
Bombs in the distance.
Close enough to feel them in your chest.
My mom was gone for two weeks.
Working herself to the bone.
Trying to keep us alive.
And I was convinced I’d lost her.
That she wasn’t coming back.
I was five.
And I was carrying grief I didn’t have words for.
But we had a neighbor.
And they had a VHS player.
And somehow…
They had The Sound of Music.
I don’t know where they got it.
Or why they had it.
But they did.
And I watched it.
Over.
And over.
And over again.
I didn’t speak English yet.
I had no idea what anyone was saying.
But I didn’t need to.
Because the music…
It spoke to something deeper.
You know the opening scene?
The camera sweeps over the mountains.
The music starts soft.
Almost like it’s woven into the wind.
The flutes sound like birds.
The strings rise and fall like breathing.
And then she appears…
Arms wide.
Spinning.
Free.
Singing about hills being alive.
I remember my little hands…
Reaching out to the neighbor…
Asking them to rewind it.
“Again. Please. Again.”
They probably thought I was obsessed with the movie.
I wasn’t even watching the story.
I was just listening.
Because for those few minutes…
I wasn’t in a war zone anymore.
I wasn’t waiting for my mom to come home.
I wasn’t scared.
I was somewhere else.
Somewhere the music carried me.
Somewhere I could just… be.
I felt it in my body.
My chest would loosen.
My breathing would slow.
It was like the sound wrapped around me.
Like a blanket.
Like arms I couldn’t see.
I didn’t have the word for it then.
But now I know what it was.
Peace.
Maybe you had something like that too.
A song that found you when you needed it most.
A melody that felt like home when nothing else did.
A moment where sound became safety.
If you did…
You know what I’m talking about.
It’s not just music.
It’s a lifeline.
For me…
That was the first time I understood.
Peace doesn’t always come from words.
Sometimes…
It comes from sound.
Years later…
After we escaped…
And made it to America…
I thought I’d left all that behind.
The war.
The fear.
The waiting.
But your body doesn’t forget.
Even when your mind tries to.
I’d hear a loud noise.
Thunder.
Fireworks.
A door slamming.
And my whole system would lock up.
My chest would tighten.
My hands would start shaking.
I’d be right back there.
I knew I was safe now…
But my body didn’t believe me.
I tried everything.
Therapy.
Meditation.
Prayer.
And they helped.
They really did.
But something was still stuck.
Still braced.
Still waiting for the next bomb to drop.
Then my grandma passed.
We were so close.
She was one of the only people who really saw me.
And losing her…
It cracked me open in a way I wasn’t ready for.
I needed comfort.
I needed peace.
And without even thinking about it…
I found myself reaching for music again.
I needed something that could hold me.
The way that opening scene held me when I was five.
So I started exploring.
Sound healing…
Solfeggio frequencies…
Artists like Deep Forest. Enigma. Enya.
I’d put on headphones…
Close my eyes…
And just… listen.
At first…
I wasn’t sure it was doing anything.
My mind was still loud.
Still racing.
Still replaying everything I’d lost.
But I kept going.
Because something in me remembered.
The way sound had saved me before.
And slowly…
Things started to shift.
My breathing got deeper…
The tightness in my chest started to loosen…
My mind finally got quiet.
I wasn’t forcing it.
It just… happened.
Like my nervous system was finally exhaling.
After holding its breath for years.
I started sleeping through the night again.
I stopped flinching at every loud noise.
I felt like…
Me.
For the first time in so long.
And that’s when I realized.
The music wasn’t “fixing” me.
It wasn’t erasing the trauma.
It was doing something more important.
It was giving me space.
Space to feel safe.
To let go…
For my body to finally believe…
It was okay to heal now.
I sat with that for a long time.
And I kept thinking…
If sound could do that for me…
After everything I’d been through…
Maybe it could do that for others too.
So I started studying.
Learning about frequencies…
How they affect the nervous system…
And how certain tones can help us release what we’ve been holding.
And I started creating.
Not just music to relax to.
But music designed to create that space.
The space where healing becomes possible.
I wanted to give people what that opening scene gave me.
A place to breathe.
A moment to soften.
A sound that feels like safety.
I call it Angelic Harmonics.
And I’ve been working on this for a long time.
Pouring everything I’ve learned…
Everything I’ve experienced…
Into these sessions.
I’ll tell you more about it soon.
But I wanted you to know where it came from.
And why it matters so much to me.
Because if you’ve been carrying something heavy…
If your body won’t let you rest…
If you’re searching for that door you can walk through…
I made this for you.
The same way that music found me.
When I needed it most.
Love,
Emmanuel |
