The Sidereal Moon is not the Moon of mood, manifestation, or emotional cycles. It is the Moon measured against the fixed stars—steady, observational, unconcerned with what we feel or what we do next. This listening does not ask you to track phases. It does not ask you to notice emotion. It does not ask you to move with a rhythm. It allows time to widen.

I want to speak directly to boundaries here—because Venus is often misunderstood as softness without edges. Harmony does not come from dissolving boundaries. It comes from respecting them. The Venus gong does not blur the lines between you and the sound. It does not ask you to merge. It does not ask you to give up orientation in order to belong. Your boundaries are not interruptions to connection. They are what make connection possible.

The Venus gong does not require that. It does not ask you to find the sound pleasing. It does not expect gratitude. It does not need your approval. Beauty, in this listening, is not something you perform. You are not asked to soften your face. You are not asked to relax your body. You are not asked to respond with enjoyment.

Jupiter Gong — Post 8 (Closing)

Jupiter is often described as joyful, optimistic, abundant. I want to slow that language down. In many spaces, joy is treated like a requirement. Optimism becomes something to demonstrate. Abundance turns into a mindset you’re expected to adopt. The Jupiter gong does not ask for any of this. Joy here is not excitement. Optimism is not positivity. Abundance is not something you have to believe in

I want to speak carefully here, because bodies hold for reasons. In many traditions, Jupiter is associated with the liver—an organ connected with processing, flow, and the holding of suppressed anger. This listening is not about forcing release. It is about creating conditions where holding may soften—if it is ready. The Jupiter gong does not demand emotional expression. It does not provoke catharsis. It does not ask you to “let it out.” For some nervous systems, holding

Jupiter is not about breaking through boundaries. For many people—especially those shaped by trauma—“expansion” has been framed as something unsafe. Pushing past limits. Ignoring signals. Being told you’ll be fine after you override yourself. That is not what happens here. The Jupiter gong does not push. It does not flood. It does not overwhelm. Expansion, in this listening, happens up to the edge your nervous system can support—and no further.

Jupiter is the first planet in our solar system where there is no solid surface to stand on. It marks the transition from defined terrain to atmosphere, from certainty to becoming. The Jupiter gong carries this quality. Listening here may feel different than listening to planets with firmer edges. There may be less sense of structure and more sense of openness. Less focus on where you are, and more awareness of the space around you. Nothing needs to resolve.

The Jupiter gong offers something different. Jupiter is associated with the benevolent father—not authority, not command, but support without intrusion. When this gong sounds, widening does not feel like being examined. It feels like being backed. There is no sense that you are doing it wrong. No feeling that you should be more open, more confident, more joyful.

So much of the language around growth carries pressure—be more, reach further, open wider. For nervous systems shaped by trauma, that kind of language can feel unsafe. It can feel like demand disguised as encouragement. The Jupiter gong does not do that. When Jupiter sounds, it does not ask you to push beyond yourself. It does not measure your readiness to grow. It does not reward optimism.

Many healing spaces quietly expect improvement. A softening. A shift toward relief. Chiron removes that expectation. This listening does not measure success by how you feel afterward. It does not aim for calm. It does not promise ease, release, or resolution. You are not required to feel better for this listening to be valid.

The sound is intentionally restrained. It does not swell dramatically. It does not arrive suddenly. It does not push for emotional release. There are no surprises built into this listening. The Chiron gong stays within a range that respects the nervous system’s need for predictability. It does not test tolerance. It does not challenge thresholds. If your body pulls back, the sound does not follow.

The Chiron gong does not ask what happened. It does not search for meaning. It does not translate pain into a lesson or a path forward. Some experiences resist narrative for good reason. Words can flatten what was overwhelming. Explanation can feel like exposure. Chiron does not insist on coherence.

Water does not correct the body. It does not diagnose. It does not decide what should happen next. It supports by being present. Neptune sound behaves in this way. This listening is not medicine applied to you. It is not a treatment designed to fix, improve, or resolve.

You are not committing to anything by listening. You are allowed to step closer, move farther away, or leave entirely. The drum does not require access to you. You do not need to stay until the sound ends. You do not need to push through discomfort. You do not need to override your own signals.

Before there are thoughts, images, or meaning, the body may already be responding. A shift in posture. A change in breath. A tightening, a softening, or a desire to move—or to be very still. None of this needs to be invited for it to be real. In trauma-informed work, the body is understood as a primary listener. It takes in sound through sensation, timing, and proximity long before interpretation enters the picture. This does not mean the body knows something you must de

The drum is not here to take you somewhere. It does not ask you to journey, visualize, interpret, or arrive. It offers rhythm—steady, repetitive, present—and allows that rhythm to exist alongside whatever is already happening. A companion does not pull. A companion does not push. A companion stays.

Some daysThey sit alongside experience rather than trying to change it. They offer vibration without interpretation. They allow the body to remain as it is. Some days, the sound may feel comforting. Some days, it may feel irrelevant. Some days, it may feel unwelcome., the sound may feel comforting. Some days, it may feel irrelevant. Some days, it may feel unwelcome.

For some nervous systems, sustained tones can feel overwhelming, disorienting, or intrusive. This is especially true for people with sound sensitivity, migraines, tinnitus, or certain trauma histories. This does not mean the body is “resistant. "It means the body is communicating. Trauma-informed sound work does not override that communication.

This album was composed with that in mind. The sound does not ask anything of you. It does not insist that you listen carefully, relax your muscles, slow your breath, or feel something specific. There is no arc, no rising action, no climactic resolution. There is only invitation—and that invitation is always optional.