HELP! I’VE GOT A KING HEADACHE FROM GONG
( That’s what devotees call the yoga guru who claims he can heal you with his good vibrations ...)
WHEN I told my friends I was trying a ‘gong bath’ they regarded me with bewilderment. I am a late-life yoga convert and twist myself into pretzel shapes two or three times a week with other midlife mums.
But as yoga starts to rival Zumba classes for mainstream acceptance, the faithful are venturing into its more mystic charms. Suddenly harnessing the healing power of sound and vibration is all the rage.
‘Sound bathing’ is championed by celebrities such as Robert Downey Jr., Charlize Theron and Laurence Fishburne. now you can find gong baths in yoga studios across London — Jasmine Hemsley (of clean eating fame) holds pop-up sound baths, too.
I am sceptical. I love the fact yoga makes me stronger and like doing a one-armed plank to impress my kids. But I prefer a power yoga class that leaves me sweating. I can’t see there is much to be gained by lying down as someone bangs a gong.
There is (some) science behind sound therapy and the healing potential of vibration. Music therapy can calm anxious patients, and ultrasound pulses have been explored as a treatment for Parkinson’s disease, prostate cancer and erectile dysfunction.
In Canada ‘vibroacoustic therapy’ (low frequency sound) is used to ease fibromyalgia and depression. But gong bathing is a big thing among the otherwise well, too.
Leading its charge in Britain is Leo Cosendai — the man with the golden gong. To his devotees (who call themselves ‘gongsters’) he is King Gong. They want to experience his good vibrations and ‘resonate in his presence’.
The good news is you don’t have to be able to perform backbends and there’s no need to invest in a wardrobe of bamboo activewear.
It may cost £80 for an hour-long one-on-one with Leo, but for £20 you’ll get 90 minutes in a class in central London. That’s got to be worth a try. When I arrive there’s a gathering of people outside: men and women, young and old — some even older than me (I’m 52) — and no Lycra in sight. Yoga mats are laid out in rows. I pick a spot in the front.
Leo is bearded and athletic with a hint of a Swiss accent. He has a degree in music, but slipped into vibrational therapy via a love of yoga. He guides us through tantric exercises.
Dismiss thoughts of Sting and slow sex. We breathe in through pursed lips to create a whistling sound, before exhaling through our noses.
The room fills with breathy dissonance like an interplanetary convention of Clangers. I’m bored after five minutes — this goes on for ten.
Then we cup our hands over our ears and breathe in through noses and out through clenched teeth and vibrating lips.
I’m feeling sleepy and it is a relief when Leo tells us to tuck ourselves into blankets. It is an odd sight — 50 adults lying in rows. Leo kicks off on a squeeze box and breaks into song.
As he moves to his gongs I can’t fight the tiredness. It’s a case of going . . . going . . . gong. I fall into a trance-like state, a kind of twilight zone of lucid dreaming, unsure if I’m asleep or awake.
The woman next to me is snoring. I wonder if she could have saved £20 and simply napped at home. As the volume picks up, my thoughts turn to waves — not little waves lapping a shore, but a wall of tsunami water. Leo is reaching his great gong crescendo.
The gonging sets my heart racing. It is apocalyptic — like the scariest part of a horror movie or a thunderstorm.
I’m fully awake now and quite uncomfortable. The vibrations are rumbling through my ears and jaw.
Mercifully, the storm passes. There’s blissful silence for a few moments, then a faint tinkling. Leo is tip-toeing between the mats, making almost imperceptible fairy noises with a bell. I was warned the gong bath may leave me emotional or groggy, but I’m just left with a headache and tooth pain.
I wondered if vibrations had swirled in my cavities, rattling the loose fillings out, but maybe I clamped my jaw shut as the gonging hit its stride, grinding my teeth.
one fellow gongster says her thoughts stopped and she felt ‘suspended in sound’. Another tells me she travels miles for weekly gong baths, as ‘nothing matches the profound sense of relaxation’ she gets.
Leo says it relieves tension, which helps rest the nervous system. Apparently, our body naturally vibrates, but if there’s something wrong (physically or emotionally) this can bring its vibrations back into harmony.
I slept well that night. If you are stressed, the cacophony could give a busy brain a break. It is nothing if not distracting.
Leo’s popularity indicates gong baths are moving from ‘bonkers’ to ‘perfectly acceptable’. So if you try it for the health benefits or to enjoy an (albeit noisy) 90minute snooze, take my advice — choose a mat at the back.