This is an account of one the strongest experiences of my life while serving as a Therapeutic Musician in Hospice Care. Music has probably been used to ease the dyingprocess since time immemorial. I have had the privilege of being present when people die while playing prescriptive music to ease the transition process.
In one instance I entered a room full of people to visit the dying individual. Nurses andfamily members were hovering about the room. I sat the closest to the patient of everyone present so that I could begin my musical ministry. The breath of the client was raspy, fast and labored. Taking out my flute I played a few tones in perfect rhythm with the rhythm of the person's breathing. Then I began to relax and slow my rhythm, hoping the principle of entrainment would come into play. My hopes were realized as the person's breath slowed down with me in tandem. In other words, she appeared to entrain or to follow my rhythm. I intentionally introduced a gradually slower and slower rhythm to calm her. After a time, this person, whom I will name Betsy (not her real name) for the purposes of this writing, became calm. This was evidenced by a complete change in her facial expression and her breathing pattern.
Several more minutes passed as I played what's known in the therapeutic music trade as "non-metered" music. This type of music is thought to be a specific for eleventh hour hospice patients. It is characterized by the lack of a steady beat. As I was playing the familiar tune "Greensleeves" in a non-metered fashion, Betsy took her last breath and departed this world. I have always wanted to paint my impression of those final moments with Betsy, and perhaps someday I will take up a paintbrush and convey what I felt. It seemed to be in an almost palpable way that Betsy's soul or life-force left her body and was greeted by an angelic light or presence. Also it seemed the music was a doorway for Betsy, a way for her to relax and let go and be carried on her way to her next form of life, as energy is never lost but it only changes form in my view, and we are "birthed" into a new life at death in my belief. I marveled at my sense of my role as a kind of musical midwife for the dying, helping them to be reborn in their new form. I was stunned when the process with Betsy repeated itself with another person within a short period of time.
Some of the most extensive use of music in hospice occured in medieval France among the Benedictine monks, who used the non-metered Gregorian Chant to assist the dying in letting go and finding peace in the transition process. This musical form of Energy Medicine is tops on my own list of palliative care when my own time comes. I don't imagine that any of my life experiences will ever surpass this musical midwifery role of mine in terms of the awe, mystery, and meaning.
In one instance I entered a room full of people to visit the dying individual. Nurses andfamily members were hovering about the room. I sat the closest to the patient of everyone present so that I could begin my musical ministry. The breath of the client was raspy, fast and labored. Taking out my flute I played a few tones in perfect rhythm with the rhythm of the person's breathing. Then I began to relax and slow my rhythm, hoping the principle of entrainment would come into play. My hopes were realized as the person's breath slowed down with me in tandem. In other words, she appeared to entrain or to follow my rhythm. I intentionally introduced a gradually slower and slower rhythm to calm her. After a time, this person, whom I will name Betsy (not her real name) for the purposes of this writing, became calm. This was evidenced by a complete change in her facial expression and her breathing pattern.
Several more minutes passed as I played what's known in the therapeutic music trade as "non-metered" music. This type of music is thought to be a specific for eleventh hour hospice patients. It is characterized by the lack of a steady beat. As I was playing the familiar tune "Greensleeves" in a non-metered fashion, Betsy took her last breath and departed this world. I have always wanted to paint my impression of those final moments with Betsy, and perhaps someday I will take up a paintbrush and convey what I felt. It seemed to be in an almost palpable way that Betsy's soul or life-force left her body and was greeted by an angelic light or presence. Also it seemed the music was a doorway for Betsy, a way for her to relax and let go and be carried on her way to her next form of life, as energy is never lost but it only changes form in my view, and we are "birthed" into a new life at death in my belief. I marveled at my sense of my role as a kind of musical midwife for the dying, helping them to be reborn in their new form. I was stunned when the process with Betsy repeated itself with another person within a short period of time.
Some of the most extensive use of music in hospice occured in medieval France among the Benedictine monks, who used the non-metered Gregorian Chant to assist the dying in letting go and finding peace in the transition process. This musical form of Energy Medicine is tops on my own list of palliative care when my own time comes. I don't imagine that any of my life experiences will ever surpass this musical midwifery role of mine in terms of the awe, mystery, and meaning.
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