Whispers From the Well: Sound Moves

By Kristine Karpinski

As a child, I often awoke to the sensation and reality that my limbs were floating. Not in a dream but in a state of quiet awareness, my body gently suspended in space, as if the weight of gravity had momentarily let go. It felt like I was made of air and water, like my body was remembering something older than thought. I now understand this as a glimpse into my true nature: mostly space, mostly water, entirely responsive to vibration. That early experience planted a seed in me, one that would grow into a lifelong exploration of sound, movement, and the unseen biointelligence of the body.

Sound, I’ve come to know, is more than a sensory input. It’s a carrier of information, of memory, of healing. And our bodies know how to listen … deeply. Especially when we allow ourselves to slow down enough to receive.

Science tells us that our nervous system responds most powerfully to sound and vibration, often more than other sensory input. This makes sense when we consider that we were formed in the womb, held in a waterfilled world, shaped by waves, by the heartbeat of our mother, the resonance of her voice, the pulsing rhythms of her breath. We were literally composed through vibration.

And something in us remembers.

Today, when I lie beneath the resonance of a gong or crystal bowl, or when I tone softly with my own voice, I can feel those same shaping waves reawakening something ancient within me. The vibrations move through water-rich tissues, through the spacious architecture of bone and breath, gently reorganizing and rebalancing my system. Relaxation becomes a portal, not just to calm, but to coherence.

But this isn’t just about the science of sound or the poetry of movement. There is a deep mystery here, a sacred intelligence at play. Sound is not something we merely receive, it is something we are. And to engage with it consciously, with intention, is to remember that we are co-creators in this living, vibrating field of life.

The first time I truly relaxed into that knowing, I felt as though my body had become an instrument, attuned, spacious, humming with resonance. It happened not in silence, but in stillness, in a space where the sound could move freely through me without resistance. It wasn’t about doing anything. It was about undoing, softening, letting the waves move me back into alignment.

Stillness has its place, but so does motion. As a young adult, I discovered conscious dance and authentic movement. I had no idea how profoundly freeing it would be to move without steps, without choreography, guided only by sound, sensation, and intuition. I’d close my eyes and follow the music, my limbs spiralling and reaching, sometimes trembling, sometimes still.

Dance became a sacred conversation, a remembering through motion. It was the same mystery, the same intelligence, just expressed through rhythm and breath.

And I began to notice how much this wisdom was mirrored in nature. The sounds of wind through the trees, the rhythm of the ocean, the seasonal symphony of insects, birdsong, and rain, all of it forming a soundscape our bodies recognize. These natural rhythms are not external to us; they are the original soundtrack of our becoming. When I walk in the woods or sit beside the sea, I can feel my body remembering its place in the great unfolding.

Recently, I had a small but profound reminder of all this. After offering a Sound Nidra session to a beautiful group, I stayed behind to clean up. I was moving slowly, reverently, putting away the instruments, crystal bowls, chimes, bells when I noticed a tiny presence near one of the bowls. A little mouse had wandered in, and it was standing near the base of a crystal bowl, its tiny eyes closed, completely still. I paused, watching.

The mouse was listening.

It wasn’t startled by my presence, barely noticed me at all. It was fully immersed in whatever subtle vibrations were still humming through the room, perhaps from the instruments or maybe from my quiet movements as I packed up. To me, the space felt hushed and gentle. But to that little being, the room must have been pulsing with waves. And there it stood, eyes closed, body relaxed, as if receiving a sound bath of its own. It was a moment of profound simplicity, and it touched something deep in me.

The intelligence of the body isn’t limited to us. All life listens. All life responds to vibration. And perhaps we’re not so different from that mouse, drawn to resonance, to stillness, to the frequencies that remind us we are held.

So I share this now as an invitation. What if you allowed sound to move through you—not just to entertain or distract, but to inform and transform?

What would happen if you danced, not to perform, but to listen with your whole being?

What rhythms of nature might your body recognize if you gave yourself time to really hear them?

There’s a mystery here, one that lives beneath words and techniques. It’s the mystery of being alive in a vibrating universe, of being made of water and space, of being shaped by waves. And in that mystery lies a truth: that healing doesn’t always require effort. Sometimes, it only requires our willingness to listen and remember that our body already knows how to respond.

We are instruments, after all. And when we are attuned, we don’t just hear the music of life, we become it.

Guiding body, spirit and creative projects into wellbeing, Kristine Karpinski (Kris), hosts a variety of offerings here at Ninth Wave Arts, Sound Nidra, Whispers from the Well, Mystery In Motion, Wellbody Temple Retreats, etc. She is also our lead teacher for the MiddleWorld Mysteries program. A massage therapist, sound, energy and somatic practitioner, teacher, mentor, creative, she believes our body holds deep bio-intelligence, the map of all knowing, waiting to remember itself.