"Listening to this music,Everything around me disappears. I am transported home to myself." —Nicola Behrman, 7OM ALCHEMY
"This is important music. —Richard Brady, Mindfulness Author
A MUSICAL MINDFULNESS PRACTICE
When we are in the Current— we practice being alive.
Currents invites you into the process of life. The past is always with us. The future is being created in every moment. How can we be so fully present that we experience the fullness of the past, present and future all in every single instant of what we call "now?" This is not the common approach to mindfulness which teaches us to let go of the past and the future. Currents is about the depth of the present. Inviting it in, not pushing anything out.
Each Current is a single phrase of music repeated in succession for 22 minutes. I compose, play, and record each phrase to enhance your instinct to listen. Currents is designed to gently train your nervous system to shift into a mode of curious awareness. This helps you fully experience the present moment and all it contains. Listening invites you to develop an honest relationship with the present moment that incorporates the past and the future. Listening is the meditation.
LISTEN AND DOWNLOAD THE CURRENTS BELOW
Currents is Free to Download. Workshops are available by request.
How To Use the Currents
MINDFULNESS • MINDSET • Spaces • Daily Air • Healing
What are you hearing right now? Listening is the meditation. Listening is the practice. When you listen—listen. If you find your thoughts wandering away from the Current, honor what you are thinking about. The past? "Yes, that is a part of me." The future? "Yes, I am creating it now." "It's all now. Isn't that amazing?" Then continue listening. This is a loving way to build a new form of mindfulness habit in daily life. I suggest using headphones for this practice. It is good to give yourself at least 7 minutes of silence following your practice to integrate and transition.
Currents helps you to: 1) Let Go to Receive. Release attachment. Each phrase arrives fresh, yet it echoes of the past. It has become a part of you. 2) Release Concentration, Effort and Trying. There's no goal. Just take pleasure in listening. 3) Acknowledge Narrative. Your mind will strive to find a story in the music. That's okay. When we release from narrative—we open to possibility. 4) Release Perfection. The Currents are recorded like a real human playing them on real instruments live—I am. They are not perfect. They are as real as the moment, as real as you.
Currents can be played in spaces, whether you are there or not, to clear and energize. Allow the Current to play on repeat for as long as feels good. It will bring the space into the present moment, releasing anything that is weighing the space down, allowing for positive energy to flow in. You can do this in a home or business space, before moving in/out, before or during a gathering, when people are present or when the space is empty.
Infuse the Air
Currents has a way of making the air around you feel more alive, enhancing your enjoyment of the present moment. You can play it when you are going about your day, gardening, relaxing, in a bath, cleaning, quietly in the background at a gathering of friends—however you are being present in your life. Allow it to support you, fill your heart, and give you extra reasons to smile.
Heal and Restore
The Current is supportive, playful, kind, and generous. It can support a healing process by helping you release from narrative, expectation, stress, and worry. This allows your body to relax into the present moment. It nourishes you. It sends a message to our cells that we trust them. This gives them space to repair and restore.
Listeners are saying they use Currents to relax, to energize, to visualize, to soothe their pets, to clear spaces, to change their moods, to diffuse conflict and more. Try Currents in any area of your life and let me know what happens for you!
Enjoy being in your Current.
With love, Licity
Part 1 — Don't Push the River
At a particular juncture in my life, I was prevented from playing my instruments. I had undergone emergency surgery on my left hand six months prior after a freak accident had resulted in a dangerous flexor tendon infection. My recovery was going well, but then my vigor to "get back" to playing and pushing my career forward after surgery gifted me a case of inflammation in my fingers and hands that lead to pain and dysfunction and I had to stop playing again. I was back talking to surgeons, doctors, and physical therapists all of whom had no answers. This heartbreaking "full stop" from my greatest passion woke me up to something larger—my ways of living, of doing, of thinking about the world had stopped serving me. In fact, they were actually causing me harm.
I was having my third phone session with a new therapist. Our rapport had been fairly awkward, but each session she seemed to drop a surprise nugget of gold on me that made me keep scheduling appointments with her. At one point where I was having difficulty explaining to her what exactly was going on in my life, she said, “You sound like you are crossing a river, but you are not on either bank.”
This metaphor gripped me. Yes, I had been in transition for a really long time, crossing a river. I had departed from one bank (a successful yet sometimes destructive visual art career), and spent the last three years pushing toward the other bank (my lifelong passion as a musician). I knew this dream is the life where I belong, but my approach to getting there was tainted by desperation and fears. Was I pursuing my dream or was I pursuing some kind of validating proof to justify my choice follow my heart and leave work that other people wanted me to keep doing? This therapist said that people who make it to the other side, do so by digging in, persevering—resisting the current and forging across the river to the other side. She described the current as popular opinion, or “what everyone else wants you to do.”
That’s not how this river current felt to me. In fact, for the first time in a long time, I heard no other voices, except my own—and it was telling me something quite different.
My immediate instinct, was to stop forging across—to let go into the flow of the river. To let the river carry me. Every part of me wanted to do that.
I bristled when the therapist told me to dig in and cross the current. It felt wrong, but also really familiar. Right then I realized that for the last few years I had been convincing myself that was exactly what I was doing—fiercely working against the current of common thought and action—bravely defying all convention to follow my dream to reach the other bank of this river—the future life I had imagined for myself. This approach had not led me to the happiness I craved or the success I knew was possible. This was a story I was telling myself to make all my “hard work” and “effort” feel justified. Even if I ended up drowning due to over-struggle and tiring myself out, at least I could say I “tried so hard.” People would say that at my funeral party, “She worked so hard.” They were already saying that about me anyway.
But that day, as I stood in the river, so fully taken by this visualization, which my therapist had only intended to be a simple metaphor, I felt a completely different instinct. I looked around at where I was in this river setting. I was able to take a step back, and stand on the departure bank, looking across the river to the bank which was my chosen destination. It was full of a thicket of trees, a sandy bank a foot or two deep with, small green plants followed by tall thin brown trunks, then thick trunks a layer or two deep. There was no reason it shouldn’t have felt inviting to me—except that it was exactly parallel to where I had already been. It was the same place along the course of the river—just on the other side. Getting to that place suddenly struck me as making no progress at all.
I realized I had to let go.
I wanted to trust the current.
It was flowing entirely for me.
I wanted to see where it would take me.
The next day I went for a walk in a local nature preserve, with the intention of getting to the creek that flows through it, which I had only discovered on my last visit there the week prior. I was surprised to find that I noticed trail markers along the path—which I had never noticed in my walks there before. I chose to turn left when I usually go right. I was curious. I knew that I may not make it to my predetermined destination of the creek, but my body wanted to do something new.
I walked for quite some time. It was beautiful. I felt in nature in a way this path had not made me feel before. And I was truly enjoying myself. I did still want to get to the creek, but after several minutes of walking I realized that I may not be headed in that direction after all. I may not make it to my destination today, as I had planned. In that moment, that was okay with me.
A few steps later, I saw the creek.
When I arrived at the bank by the water, I found the creek especially clear, fluid. The ripples on the water were made three dimensional by the sunlight captured by the water. They moved fast.
I found a small lightweight piece of wood on the bank of rocks where I had taken a seat, nestled between two rocks like a cushioned armchair. I tossed this wood into the water. It floated in place. It did not rush away with the water as I had expected it would. For a moment I feared my metaphor was lost and that the small piece of wood I had chosen to represent me would stay exactly where it was, only re-inscribing the stagnation I was so desperate to break at that point in my life. The ripples of water moved under it but it seemed to ignore them, floating up and down with each ripple, but not being carried anywhere by them.
Then I noticed—it was moving. Gently, each ripple carried it just a fraction of the way. It floated, relaxed, without urgency. And it moved. Now it seemed as if in a flash, it was two feet from where it had begun. All along, just seeming to float. Effortless.
New fears arose. I watched nervously as it floated down the creek. It drifted toward the bank. There was a semi-submerged rock there and I feared it would get stuck in the shallow water. It did not. The flow of the water carried it over the rock without even a minor acknowledgement. Next there were three larger rocks jutting out from the bank and I thought my "me" stick would get caught there next. It did not. The current carried it effortlessly around those three rocks as if they were not there at all. Now it was ten feet or more from where it started. At this point I realized I did not have to oversee its progress. The current had taken it into its path and it was caring for it as only it could. Gently allowing it to float, at a safe but still progressive pace, taking it where it was bound to go.
In the early hours of the next morning, this project named itself —Currents.
Part 2 — Golden ears
A few days before that therapist dropped her life-changing metaphor on me, a former neighbor of mine, Nicola Behrman, who is a gifted spiritual teacher, was introducing me to a group of people. Central to this introduction she shared that she often heard me in my back garden playing the same thing “over and over and over and over and over and over.” I was surprised to hear the delight in her voice at overhearing this immersive trance-like part of my songwriting process, which I would think others would find annoying. To the contrary, it seemed to touch her deeply.
Four years later, after we had both moved away, she was still getting tears and chills as she remembered that feeling—enough to want to tell others about it.
Curious, I asked her what she had experienced, about what hearing that music had done for her. She said, "I am instantaneously connected to the frequency and the dimensional space of All That Is. Everything else around me disappears. I remember the vibrational truth of what it is to be transported to this very moment. I feel like nothing needs to change, nothing needs to happen. Everything simply IS in those moments, and I am transported home to myself."
It sank in that there is something truly powerful available here.
She had asked me to do a workshop for one of her transformational courses, and after my experience in the creek (above) I knew this was what the workshop had to be—and of course she knew it too. The seeds for this project started to sprout vibrantly.
There was one day that my backyard gate was open because I was waiting for a mechanic to come fix a torn timing belt in my car. I was playing a particular phrase, listening so deeply that everything else disappears—allowing me to hear the voice of the music, waiting for its next direction. I had been playing this phrase for a couple of months. It captivated me and seemed complete in itself. No words came, no chords to add to it, but the phrase kept coming over and over. I looked up to see my magical neighbor standing inside my gate, beaming, with her hands on her heart.
Currents began with that phrase she heard that day.