Music is prana in action. It flows across time, space, and intersections, carrying memories, dreams, fears, love, and sorrow. And regardless of genre, secularity or religion, all music is sacred music. Tchaikovsky, Tupac, and Insane Clown Posse all express the spiritual life force that flows from and through each of us.
Music sets my yoga practice on fire and my playlists are sentimental rollercoasters stitched together by memories. Music is powerful medicine, and it guides you to a deeper connection with your breath, but it can also distract you from your breath, which is really the most important music of all. And sometimes it’s hard for me to make music with my own instrument when I’m distracted by whatever random playlist my teacher has decided to play during class.
That’s why I rarely listen to music when I practice yoga postures with other people, especially if I’m practicing with brand-new practitioners. When you’re learning to play your own instrument, external music can be extremely distracting.
But once you make a solid connection with the instrument inside of you, listening to sacred music holds you down. It can be in your head or on Spotify, but pick music that provokes your memory, and the more random the better. Sew your playlists together like a patchwork quilt. Use scraps of memories from the different parts of your life and your different identities. Each scrap will flow through your body, reintroducing you to yourself.
I know some people curate yoga playlists based on genre or specific artists, and Lord knows I love a good Beyonce playlist as much as the next person. But my yoga music has to run like water, and I can’t be hemmed in by genre. I think sacred music should run through you like a river of memories, each one pushing you deeper inside yourself.
— Jessamyn Stanley in Yoke