My life story took a dramatic turn in 2006 when I attended a conference hosted at Hollyhock Retreat Centre on Cortes Island.  Alongside of massages and nature walks offered at the Centre, participants could sign up for private sessions with a musician who incorporated healing sounds from the didgeridoo, a sacred instrument of the Australian Aborigines.  Being an adventurous soul, I booked a private session with Shine.

Within the first minute, I was mesmerized.  The low drones of the didgeridoo opened me up to deep vibrations within my body.  I had a physical and mystical response to this instrument, as if my body was connecting to other realms.  Visions came.  I saw my ancestors as spirits out on the natural land.  At one point, Shine played the didgeridoo directly over my heart chakra as well as into the energy system surrounding my body.  My heart beat like a drum.  I was transported to dimensions that the Aborigines might describe as the Dreamtime.

Beyond language, the didgeridoo spoke to me through an unfamiliar yet ancient voice.  I can only describe it as being awakened to aspects of myself that were hidden or asleep.  Upon leaving the session, I knew in my bones that the ‘didge’ was inviting me into a relationship of study and performance.  I could now imagine using my voice, breath, and a form of sound medicine for others.  I could also imagine playing the didgeridoo as a meditation, a form of loving-kindness practice.

Back in Toronto, I shared my ‘didgeridoo calling’ with friends and colleagues.  Those in my immediate circle knew that I had a limited background in music.  I studied piano reluctantly until grade two and later learned to play a few instruments at a beginner level.  While I didn’t know a lot about music, I did know two things:  that the didgeridoo transmitted a healing energy and that I was ready to commit to a study on this instrument. Shine’s masterful playing had opened me up to a new way of receiving vibration, one that was radically different from anything I had experienced up to that point in my history.  It was so pure and gentle.

My next big challenge was to find a teacher who could help me unlock the secrets of this sacred instrument.  A contact of mine gave me the name of Gary Diggins. Given my history as a survivor, where trust had been violated on many levels, this was a difficult proposition.  Fortunately, Gary was open, accepting, and patient.  He never used power over me or exercised authoritative energy.  So it was that I entered an astonishing journey with the didgeridoo as my ally and mentor.

My first study commenced in September of 2006.  Those first lessons were both exhilarating and frightening.  Read through the next section and I will share my difficulties and breakthroughs with you.

Learnings and Lessons from the Didgeridoo

The lessons I have learned so far from the didgeridoo can be summarized in three words: breath, body, and beauty.  Let me explain.

While the didgeridoo is about making a ‘buzzing’ sound, it is first and foremost an instrument that teaches the player how to breathe.  The primal and musical textures that pour through this long, wooden tube are controlled and shaped by a range of breathing techniques. When I first started playing, most of my air was coming out in an inefficient way by puffing my cheeks and blowing air, squeezing them together like bellows.  As I delved deeper into the breathing possibilities, I learned that I could create a clearer tone by pursing my lips together, more like a trumpeter.  At this point, I began to understand how crucial breath was to playing the didgeridoo.

As simple as breathing properly or intentionally may sound, I was trapped by a deeply held belief that shouted, “You do NOT have the right to take in full breaths!  It is NOT your right to feel vital and alive!” My beliefs and challenges around breathing kept me from moving forward.  The didgeridoo, in addition to making primal sound, is about taking in or expelling air with awareness.  The didgeridoo acted like a skilled therapist who challenged my competencies and commitment around taking in goodness.  Unfortunately, I was stuck.  I wanted to sustain a drone and create ambient sounds.  I wanted to produce beautiful music.  Still, I felt as if I did not have the right to feel the blessing of breath in my body.

To break through this impasse, I used my mindfulness practice and my spiritual tradition.  One gift from my Jewish faith is to sing Davvening Chants.  The one that served me in this process contains that phrase Elo-hai n’shah-mah she-nah-tah-tah bee t’ho-rah hee, which translates as “My God, the soul/breath You have given me is pure.”  I have used this chant on many occasions when I felt confronted by limitations as I find it both supports and guides me.  Each time I became stuck I quietly said “Heinini.”  This phrase, for me, means, “Here I am. Transforming myself into a chariot for divine presence.”  The image of receiving pure breath from the Divine was particularly comforting and allowed me to move deeper into the art of intentional breathing.

Eventually I learned how to breathe fully but then the didgeridoo asked me to become more aware of my body.  Questions emerged, such as:  “Where do I breathe from?  What does my diaphragm feel like when I push out air?  When I breathe in, do my shoulders raise or stay steady?  How am I holding my head when I play?  How do my lips cup around the mouthpiece.  How was my body engaged when I inhale a breath.  What sensations occur when air is being blown out?”

Having a learning disability complicated matters more.  Learning to take in information and process Gary’s instructions was complex.  I had to re-train myself in the sequencing aspect, such as when to take in a “snatch breath,” how to blow out through my mouth, where to make the rhythmical sounds, and how to store that information in my memory bank.   Since following a simple set of instructions required focusing, I used a recording device as an accommodation.  As time went on, I was able to integrate and store the playing techniques in my body.  The didgeridoo became an extension of my physical body.  I could remember various tones or rhythms as if the sounds were imprinted in me.  This was a foreign experience but it helped me to live more in my body.

Mind you, it was not all rosy.  There were times when I found focusing difficult and I would cancel a session with Gary.  Sometimes I felt triggered by the vibrations in my body as the droning sounds resonated in my very bones.  Sometimes I felt fear around the powerful images or primal emotions that would surface while playing.  Sometimes, just putting my mouth on the hole and taking a breath brought up huge resistance: “Oh my god, I can’t do this.”  Still, I persevered.  Breaking the task down into manageable steps and learning to honour my own process was important.  My successes proved that people with learning disabilities and cross disabilities could certainly learn to play, provided that adaptations and accommodation strategies were considered.

Despite ups and downs, I knew some form of deep healing was taking place.  Learning to play the didgeridoo was allowing me to get in touch with suppressed energies, such as anger and fear, living in my body.  Over time, I was making beautiful and musical sounds.  I was even learning how to play the instrument over the energy centers of another person.  With the didgeridoo as teacher, I could pay attention for longer periods of time and maintain levels of awareness when performing, practicing, or playing.  It was if my breathing, playing, meditating, and being were all converging.

The didgeridoo, like a special helper, has accompanied me throughout a career shift from Social worker/activist to budding musician. I had no idea this hollowed (or hallowed) piece of wood might open opportunities to experience real joy and deepen my understanding around cycles of giving and receiving.

Currently, I use my didgeridoo to enter a place of dwelling, a state wherein I am no longer a person in exile.  I reside in a place where I can listen to wild or wonderful sounds or hear a music that my heart wants to sing. Even the younger states within my body want to move, groove, and jive to the music. Voices are emerging in my playing that let me ‘break the silence’ and find my own melodic or exotic voice. I am getting over a long-time shyness around sharing my talents.

This newfound creativity helps me to know that it is possible to heal very deep wounds, provided that we include tenderness, patience, and care in the equation.  So now, imagine me playing my didgeridoo as a loving kindness practice as I sit in meditation. Imagine me sitting and wearing my Jewish Tallit, a shawl-like cloak that supports me when tender places emerge. Imagine me dwelling in a place of sound, hearing my soul speak, and listening to a deep wisdom that we all have within.

The Birth of Birth Stories

This past June 2008, Gary showed me how to play the didgeridoo into recording devices, how to create world beat rhythms, and how to use my voice in imaginative ways.  I said jokingly, “Wouldn’t this be great to record the didgeridoo and invite Trefor Randall to add in his Buddhist chants and vocables. We could call this Monk Funk Music.”

Gary offered his studio and developed bed tracks that were rooted in urban dance music. Together we created a unique project which, as a working title, we called The Monk Funk Project.  (Later this became Birth Stories.)  I was birthing my music.  I had never imagined in my entire life that being a performer and playing music was an option for me.  Yet, through following the creative energy, we created a CD that is radically different from mainstream music.  It offers people a sonic journey for dancing, healing, and meditating, all with a compelling vibe. Within 4 months, from start to finish, we generated not only imaginative audio tracks but also an artistic package encompassing both Jewish and Buddhist song titles plus a dedication to our circles of support.

Now came the big day.  Trefor and I were committed to a CD release party and faced with the proposition of performing our material live on November 30^th, 2008.  Yes, I had learned the skill of improvisation on the didgeridoo and was able to access a wide range of voices and vocables.  Yes, my discoveries had helped me to open up and find novel ways to play the didgeridoo.  But still, performing presented new challenges.

My strength is as a visual and kinesthetic learner.  In performance settings, I required social cues because I have difficulty picking up matters such as musical entrances, what tempo to play, or what pitch to contribute.  Part of this is due to my lack of knowledge in musical protocols and partly this stems from a lack of experience in how to perform in front of a crowd.  At the end of the day, by focusing on one task in one moment, I was able to relax, succeed, and enjoy the CD release event.

You can access and listen to our music on www.SheriCohenSound.com

Finally, I believe that healing is possible on many levels and that the arts can be used to raise consciousness and build community, a place where all voices are heard and not discriminated based upon class/culture/race/diversity.  My passion now is to share how meaningful the didgeridoo has been for a person with a learning disability and how this instrument has accompanied me on a healing journey.

For further information on workshops that I co-facilitate with Gary Diggins, see the workshops page.