Hello,
My intention for the studio session is to record a couple channeled prayers with my drum. After years of being uplifted by ceremonial music, I feel ready to add my humble contributions to the community. But in the morning before making my way to the studio, as I sit in the middle of the Airbnb living room on my yoga mat, I receive a familiar sensation during my meditation, almost like an email that arrives directly to my consciousness:
“Your album is called: In a Moonlit Forest, an Owl Comes.”
As my left brain quickly responds, “A little long, no? And that comma, hmmm…” followed by, “Wait, what album?” (Since I was only going to record a couple songs…)
But the rest of my being relaxes into the knowing that: this is now what is.
I wait outside a drab brown business complex just down the street from Michigan State University. In fact, over sixteen years ago, I got drunk for the first time near here, while visiting my college boyfriend on Halloween. Vague memories are distant, as I prepare for a very different intention today.
(If only 18-year-old Aria knew what was to come!)
Glenn and Seth meet me and help unload the incredible amount of things I hauled to Glenn’s already packed studio. Entering his world, I can tell a lot of creativity has and is happening in this portal.
“Is it okay if I set up a space on the floor with my altar?” I tentatively ask Glenn.
“Yes! And I have a handwoven Tibetan rug you could put underneath everything, if you’d like?” Glenn tentatively asks me.
Because in the pile of things I brought are antique Tibetan bowls.
The next thing I know, Glenn is digging a gorgeous rug out from under lots of heavy things in a back room, as I awkwardly try to help. I feel immensely cared for by his generosity and thoughtfulness and am in awe of this rug: a foundation of sacred symbols from a lineage I am close with.
It feels like a rocket ship launch pad!
Seth continues the vibe as we settle in to drink warm cacao that I brought, giving both Glenn and I heartfelt gifts—mine is a carved wooden treble clef (a musical symbol) that now sits on my inner child altar.
… I would not be here without Seth.
Last minute, he scheduled with Glenn on the full moon in Cancer for me (January 2022). He also held space as I shared about the intense heartache I was feeling leading into our scheduled time, and my fears around just breaking down in tears and not being able to record anything. (The first track, called “Vulnerability,” is a snapshot of this moment.)
Seth reassured me that I had options, there needn’t be expectations, and that his and Glenn’s hearts were tender, too.
As we sip the cacao, I can feel how we are all near the edge of tears.
Explaining my way of praying to Glenn, I share, “I have no idea what sound or note is coming next. I just connect with Spirit and ask what wants to flow through my vocal channel.”
“Well, if you wanted, I have this sitar…” he reaches directly behind his chair to start tuning the exquisite instrument, handing Seth a mandocello in the process.
“We could play along with you for a couple tracks,” again, a tentative offer, as he expertly plucks the sitar.
(You know the drill.)
Does Glenn know he is quickly becoming one of the most magical beings I have ever encountered? (Sitars are one of my favorite instruments.)
I look at my short list of prayer themes, plus a couple English songs I received during meditations over the years, and decide where to begin.
We flow.
And five hours later, I emerge back into the daylight, a bit disoriented by Glenn’s windowless portal and the grace I experienced. Somehow, we just received enough tracks for an album—including several surprise improvised stringed-instrument songs, with these powerful musicians guiding the way.
Thank you, delightfully surprising life, and thank you to the lineages around the world who created the instruments that became a part of this share, specifically: Indians, Tibetans, Italians, and First Nations artists and musicians.
I sleep soundly with the satisfaction that I gave this passion project my care and devotion, and even though editing is to come, the main creative process is complete.
The next morning, I load everything up (once more wondering how one could possibly have so many bags), and drive north, homeward.
About three hours down the road, in the middle of this sunny winter day, sitting in a lone treetop on the side of the road, I see: a snowy owl.
It is pure white except for the eyes, which seem to look directly at me as I pass.
“Yes, dear one,” my guides whisper with a wink.
And, I understand why the album has such a long name.
With love,
Niivva Eve (aka Aria)