Rhythmic Breathing and Songs Unlocked My Past

Introduction

A couple of years ago, I embarked on a journey that would fundamentally change my relationship with my past. I started practicing what I call the "scanning breath technique" with a simple goal: to review my life and find all the emotional baggage, attachments, and unresolved feelings I had been carrying.

I had an intuitive feeling that music would be a powerful tool for this exploration. Not just any tool, but perhaps the perfect one—music seemed to connect directly with emotions in a way that words and thoughts simply couldn't. I imagined music as a road or a pipe that would take me straight into old feelings and forgotten memories.

As it turned out, I was right about music's power, but I had no idea just how profound the journey would become. What started as a curious exploration has evolved into a transformative practice that has not only reconnected me with my past but, paradoxically, freed me from it.

The Technique Explained

The scanning breath technique combines several elements that I discovered through both chance and research. Its origins trace back to my young adulthood, when I found myself alone in a hammock, swinging gently back and forth. Something about that rhythmic movement was strangely recuperative. I found myself swinging my head as well, and noticed it provided an even deeper sense of relief from the tension and angst I felt.

Years later, I read about a similar technique in a book, which sparked my memory of those hammock experiences. The technique was further validated when I stumbled upon research about EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing), a therapeutic approach that uses bilateral stimulation to process traumatic memories.

The practice itself is simple yet profound: I breathe slowly and rhythmically while swinging my head from right to left as I breathe in, and left to right as I breathe out. My eyes remain closed throughout. I've discovered that slow, deep breaths are much more productive, helping me to "let go" more effectively than shallow breathing.

What makes this technique different from mere daydreaming is the intentional linking of the breath to the feeling or sensation I'm exploring. This creates a focused experience rather than allowing my mind to wander aimlessly. And this is where music enters as the catalyst—providing the emotional tone that connects me directly to specific periods of my life.

The Desert Crossing: Early Challenges

When I first began this practice, progress was painfully slow. I would go for weeks without accessing much of anything meaningful. My attempts to remember old memories often felt mechanical, or I simply couldn't remember much at all. It was like crossing a desert—barren, difficult, with no clear end in sight.

What kept me going through this early phase was a deep intuitive feeling that "this is working," despite limited evidence. This intuition was occasionally reinforced by breakthrough moments that confirmed I was on the right path. One such moment came when I was working with the theme song from the M.A.S.H. TV show. Something about that haunting melody helped me overcome a very old, deep sadness that I had carried for years without fully recognizing it.

These occasional successes were like finding an oasis in the desert—they refreshed my commitment and encouraged me to continue the journey despite the challenges.

For anyone beginning this practice, I offer this advice: be prepared to cross a desert, but know that there is great treasure on the other side. Don't despair and don't feel discouraged when progress seems slow. Just keep walking across that desert because you will reach the other side if you maintain regular practice. Fifteen minutes a day is a good starting point, though I now often practice for over an hour daily, broken into shorter sessions.

Progressive Deepening: The Journey of Memories

What began as sporadic glimpses into my past has evolved into something far richer and more profound. My memories have transformed from mechanical recollections to deeply vivid experiences that almost bring my old life back to life.

About six months ago, I discovered a song that allowed me to delve deeper into feelings and subfeelings than I had previously accessed. The emotional landscape was surprisingly complex—there were far more layers than I had expected. Three months later, another song helped me enter emotional states I hadn't experienced in over 30-35 years.

But the most recent discovery has been the most remarkable. Now, a particular song connects me not just to the feelings it directly evokes, but to entirely different memories and feelings that happened around the same time I frequently heard this song. The connection is indirect but powerful.

With this most recent song, I've been able to "walk through my neighborhood"—revisiting various places through vivid mental visualizations. I can "see" these places from different viewpoints and stances, and more importantly, I can re-feel the feelings I had at that time. These aren't just cognitive memories but full sensory experiences—visual, visceral, and even olfactory memories come alive.

What's fascinating is that these feelings go beyond anything I could put into words. They're not named emotions but rather what I would call the "atmosphere" of a situation or the "you had to be there" feeling. They are the situation itself, preserved inside me—intensely personal not because they're private, but because they defy description.

The Unexpected Benefits

Perhaps the most surprising outcome of this practice has been a profound sense of freedom from my past. I no longer feel defined by it or controlled by it. The past is still there, unchanged, but my relationship with it has transformed completely. I am no longer its prisoner.

This detachment isn't about disconnection—quite the opposite. I feel more connected to my memories and my past self than ever before. But this connection comes without the emotional chains that once bound me to certain feelings and patterns.

In the past month and a half, I've begun experiencing something even more unexpected: a strange and unfamiliar feeling of well-being that isn't connected to my current life circumstances but seems to emanate from within me. It's not euphoria or excitement, but rather a deep, solid feeling of goodness—as if I feel good inside "just because," without any external reason. This occurs about once or twice a week now.

This practice has also changed how I respond to emotional triggers in my present life. I find I can "keep my head" much easier now. I don't get "sucked in" to the emotional environment around me. I can see things clearly with a certain sense of detachment—and here I use "detachment" in the most positive way, as clarity and emotional resilience rather than disconnection.

The Science and Speculation

While my journey has been deeply personal, I've found some scientific frameworks that help explain why this technique might be effective. The EMDR literature makes connections to the effectiveness of bilateral movement, though it doesn't fully explain the mechanism.

There's also substantial research on slow, deep breathing and its effects on the parasympathetic nervous system—our body's "rest and digest" mode. My personal theory is that this breathing helps "reset" our feelings about past experiences by engaging this parasympathetic response. Meanwhile, the eye movements help us connect to visual memories, creating a bridge between our present awareness and past experiences.

The role of music in this process is particularly fascinating. Music seems to bypass our cognitive filters and connect directly with emotional memory. It creates what I now understand as our "internal atmosphere," shaping and defining our inner experience in ways that go far beyond what words or thoughts could achieve.

Moving Forward

My practice has evolved considerably over time. What began as occasional fifteen-minute sessions has grown to over an hour daily, typically broken into several shorter sessions. This increased frequency and duration came naturally as I began experiencing deeper results.

I'm helping my son explore this technique as well, though it's been somewhat frustrating for him as it seems to take literally years to develop the sense of attunement to one's own feelings. He's only been practicing for about half a year, and even then, only fifteen minutes a day. The development of this skill requires patience and persistence.

My relationship with music has also transformed. I now see music as far more powerful than I did before—capable of shaping and defining our lives beyond anything cognitive. I'm now more careful about what I listen to, recognizing that music creates the internal atmosphere we live within. At the same time, I appreciate how music forms the tunnel we can use to go back, discover our past, and connect with it.

As I continue this practice, my goal is simple yet profound: to relive it all, to experience more of the freedom and detachment that I've discovered. My quality of life has improved in ways I never imagined possible, and remarkably, these improvements are independent of my external life circumstances. In a very real sense, I feel much more in control of my life now than ever before.

Conclusion

The scanning breath technique with music has revealed a fascinating paradox: through deeper connection with my past, I've found greater freedom from it. By fully experiencing these old emotions and memories rather than avoiding them, I've been able to release their hold on me.

What began as curiosity has become a transformative practice that continues to unfold new dimensions. The music that once merely entertained me now serves as both an emotional archive and a healing tool—a road that leads not just back to the past but forward into a more integrated and peaceful present.

For anyone carrying the weight of their past—whether specific traumas or simply the accumulated emotional residue of living—I offer this practice as a possibility. The journey across that desert may be long, but the freedom waiting on the other side is worth every step.

Music, it turns out, isn't just the soundtrack to our lives—it can be the key that unlocks them.