“Nooo!” I cried out as I watched my clear crystal singing bowl tumble from my car trunk and hit the pavement. I already knew what had happened—the sound of it landing confirmed my fear. Even inside its protective case, I could tell it had shattered. I hesitated before lifting the lid, already feeling the weight of loss. After a weekend yoga retreat I led, I decided to stack the bowl on top of other instruments to create more space for yoga props. This unfortunate choice caused the bowl to tumble. I muttered a few choice words and even shed a tear. However, amid my frustration and sorrow, I was reminded of a beautiful truth: nothing lasts forever, and change is a natural part of life.

Shattered Bowl

This particular bowl was very special. It was the first one I purchased after completing my Sound Healing 101 training with Veda Spidle at Radiance Yoga in Greensboro. Tuned to an “A” note—the frequency of the third eye chakra—it represented intuition and inner wisdom. During a private session with Veda after the training, we refined my technique and even gave the bowl a name: Thelma. From the very beginning, Thelma brought peace, ease, and balance into my life.

Over the past year, I used her in numerous sound healing sessions. She was a part of my offerings, my rituals, my practice. One of the most memorable moments was during my annual beach retreat in September, where I facilitated a sound healing session in the pool. Participants floated on the water, receiving the vibrations of the bowls. It was magical, deeply moving—and for some, it was their first-ever experience with sound healing. Thelma was part of that transformation.

Playing Thelma for the last time at annual beach retreat

So yes, it was heartbreaking to open the case and see her in pieces. But in that moment of sadness, I was reminded of something we had talked about during the retreat: the life cycle of the octopus. After giving birth, an octopus lives only a short while before transitioning. Their purpose, it seems, is fulfilled quickly but powerfully. That story resonated deeply with me in the wake of Thelma’s passing. Her life, too, was short—but she touched many and served a profound purpose.

Harmony is defined as the pleasing arrangement of parts. It brings depth, emotion, and unity to our lives. And while Thelma’s breaking felt like a discordant note, it actually created a new kind of harmony—one rooted in acceptance and change. During the retreat, we explored the concept of life journeys through “journey maps.” One participant drew a “river of acceptance” on her map—a visual reminder that life is always moving, shifting, and reshaping. That image stayed with me. The bowl broke, yes. And I had to clean up the pieces. I had to feel the frustration. I had to grieve. But I also had to choose how to move forward.

This experience reminded me that yoga isn't just about postures or breath work. It's about how we meet life in all its messy, beautiful moments. It’s about showing up, being present, and learning from whatever comes our way. Thelma may be gone, but her lessons remain. She taught me to slow down. To listen. To honor transition. Not to stack singing bowls but most importantly, she reminded me that even in loss, there can be profound beauty.

Rest in peace, Thelma. Thank you for sharing your intuition and wisdom.