Courtesy of Danyl Geneciran
In sharing a sound bath session, Danyl Geneciran and his furry companion experience a quiet mind, softened bodies, and a redistribution of energy.
“Sound influences energy as the human body is constantly responding to vibrations.” This is how transformational life and energy mentor Libni Fortuna described what I was about to experience: my very first sound bath session. The idea isn’t new. In the film Touch of Sound, featuring percussionist Dame Evelyn Glennie, sound is presented as a way of experiencing the world from the inside out. Glennie famously notes, “Hearing is a medical condition, whereas listening is an act of choice.” In one quietly powerful scene, the camera lingers as she plays the Tibetan brass bowls and gongs, listening intently as everyday sounds; breathing, footsteps, the low hum of a room, expand into something deeply physical.
Three hours out of Manila, something always loosens. The traffic thins, the air feels lighter, and the city’s constant hum gives way to the promise of water. It’s a drive I make every year-end; part tradition, part excuse. I bring my birthday-celebrant dog along and head beachward so he can do what he does best: sprint into the sand and jump right into the water like he’s been waiting for this moment. For me, it’s simpler. I just like being near the sea, where time feels less aggressive.
What I didn’t plan on was ending up flat on my back on a yoga mat, positioned right on the shoreline while the sun slowly set, surrounded by resort goers and an assortment of instruments; wooden chimes, crystal singing bowls in varying sizes, and a portable speaker placed close to my left ear. I barely knew what a sound bath was, and I wasn’t convinced I needed one. Still, there I was, committing to roughly 60 minutes of uninterrupted sonic immersion. The decision came from a place of humble skepticism. I was already there, and the ocean seemed to approve.
With waves rolling in, I closed my eyes and started to let the sounds take over. Libni’s voice above me; emotionally perceptive and calm, explained that the opening phase was meant to pull me out of my current state; whatever that meant. Her voice floated in and out alongside the music which consisted of an hour-long mix that moved between psychedelic textures, cultural rhythms, sounds of wooden drums and nature, and, unexpectedly, Hillsong.
Beginning with the deep breathwork, Libni gently narrated each step: “Breathe through your mouth. Surrender yourself. I am here with you,” repeatedly guiding me through my breathing. Ironically, the more I was told to breathe, the more aware I became of how unnaturally I was doing it. It took a while, long enough for mild self-consciousness to set in, before she finally acknowledged that I was, in fact, breathing correctly.
About 30 minutes into the practice, focus still felt elusive. Instead of fully detaching from my mental state, I found myself distracted; mosquitoes landing on my toes, the jingle of an ice cream vendor’s bell along the beach, the dryness in my mouth from steady breathing, and concern about what my dog might be doing beside me, completely unsupervised.
“Sound works not through effort or concentration, but through openness. When the body feels safe, it naturally responds to vibration by releasing tension and restoring balance.”
Libni then moved on to the singing bowls, circling their rims with a mallet until they released deep, humming tones that felt oddly ancient, almost primordial. The sound was low and steady, the kind that naturally slows your breathing without any effort. It was so satisfying that I found myself waiting for the next pass of the mallet, hoping she would go around the bowl just once more. The vibrations carried real force. “It produces sound through vibration emitting a range of frequencies measured in hertz,” Libni explains, bringing with them a rush of sensations and fleeting visions that filled my mind.
My thoughts, once loud and persistent, started to blur. Everything softened into a dark, watery haze. I could hear the bowls, but somehow the sound of the sea slipped in alongside them, like my mind had decided to tune into water and nothing else. Then the chimes came in; higher, sharper, but still calming, adding another layer to the whole experience.
In that half-awake, half-asleep state, random personal thoughts and images floated up, then quietly disappeared. It felt less like overthinking and more like mentally clearing a desktop.
It was calm, uncomplicated, and surprisingly easy to stay in that space. When the last high-pitched bell rang at the tail end of the session, I was gently brought back to full awareness. Beside me, my dog lay flat on his belly in the sand. Although he was aware of the strangers around him, he remained calm. “Humans and dogs respond similarly on a nervous system level, as both are highly sensitive to frequency,” Libni says, which explains why my dog was able to relax and settle, receiving the vibrations without resistance.
As the day wound down, we continued our chat with our feet buried in the beach sand. She asked me to choose a tarot card, and I selected one labeled “Peace of Mind.” But I was curious to know the scientific logic behind it. In general terms, Libni explained, “Sound works not through effort or concentration, but through openness. When the body feels safe, it naturally responds to vibration by releasing tension and restoring balance.” She also explains how a chosen environment could overlap in sounds which promotes the idea of peace.
As Evelyn Glennie puts it, “Hearing is a form of touch,” reframing sound as something felt throughout the body rather than simply processed by the ears. Nothing dramatic needs to happen for sound to be transformative. As she reflects, “Silence is probably the lightest and heaviest sound you’re ever likely to experience.”
The message was clear. The tarot card I pulled felt less like coincidence and more like confirmation. Beneath the noise, anxiety, distractions, and constant momentum of daily life, what I needed wasn’t more clarity or productivity, but peace. It wasn’t something to stumble upon accidentally. And there, by the water, choosing peace requires intention, presence, and the willingness to stop moving long enough to listen.
