I distinctly remember lying on my bed. Headphones clasping my drums in a sort of public isolation. A secure escapism from my senses. My nose turns off, my eyes shut down, and my hands fold over my chest as I take one last deep breathe. My muscles relax. Both stress and tranquility seem unimportant. The softness of my bed is the last thing I feel before I drift away.

I am greeted by a radio, playing strings alternating from left to right. Rocking back and forth. Swaying my head to the time of every second beat. Greeted with the ticking of a guitar. Pure phonics enter my ears. Not a single word, yet undeniably clear to the music. Everything she says makes sense as the metronome of the guitar guides the words back and forth, left and right. One syllable accompanied by another, then two. I sink further as the voice guides my head into nothing. My eyes awakened by the bass, still following though time, moved by every interrupting clap, isolating guitar and tom rolled in the background.

As I sink further and further into the myriad of sounds, the voice becomes tangible, reassuring that it means no harm in this symphony of vibrations and pitches, “harmless” and “in my head”. It comforts and prepares me for the strings’ direction. Allowing my mind to ready before it carries me away again just as I bring myself up from the lull. The violin takes my arms and legs and drifts my consciousness on the rolling frequencies it produces. Giving me a partner, a guide as I return to my dive into my subconscious, the colors brighter and more vibrant. As the last word is sung, I start to regain control over my body. Each key hit, moving the gears in my mind back in place. Where most xylophones put people to sleep. This one gently nudges me back into place for the next song.