The Healing Frequencies of 432 Hertz
By: Susanne Sims
When my mother was in the final stages of her life, I was blessed to spend ten life-changing days at her side. Not all of us may have the chance to be present at the death of another, but if we can, it is something to behold and to treasured. There is extreme awe, tenderness and a bit of holy terror that emerges from this journey.
When I first arrived, seeing my mother confined to a bed that she would never get up from again was heartbreaking. There was my strong, resilient mother, so vulnerable and frail. Her skin was thin as chiffon curtains, her face pale like alabaster, and she had bruises on many areas of her body. The color of her eyes, once light blue, were now almost black.
I immediately adapted to her rhythm and needs. The staff at her assisted living center came in frequently — to turn her, bathe her, give meds, and check vitals. Hospice came as well. In between these comings and goings, she slept a lot.
My respect for care workers grew immensely as I watched them perform a very difficult job that required long and demanding hours. People who choose to do this type of work are, for the most part, a special breed who value compassion, service and kindness, above all else.
When Mom was awake I helped her with meals and there were joyful moments in which we reminisced, watched her favorite TV shows, listened to music or looked at family photos.
During most nights I was happy to be there simply to comfort and reassure her, placing a cool wash cloth on her forehead, or massaging her hands and feet. I recall profound moments, like the times when she and I would simply gaze deeply into one another’s eyes, not uttering a word. That pierced my heart.
It struck me that I had never looked so deeply into my mother’s eyes. “So who is really in there?” I silently wondered. “Who is this person I call Mom?”
I told her how impressed I was with her courage, patience and quiet strength. She shrugged it off with a wry sense of humor, asking “What are you going to do, fight this?” I tried to hide my tears but sometimes it just was not possible. She knew the art of surrender.
Mom was dealing with pancreatic cancer. The greatest blessing and miracle was that she was not experiencing pain, yet clearly her body was shutting down.
Once, in the middle of the night she woke me up repeating, with great vigor, the words, “Set me free!” Though her voice at this point had often been frail and faint, these words were spoken intently, as a command. Following this, she began reciting the address of her childhood home.
It’s impossible to know exactly when one will exit their body. She had a “do not resuscitate” order, which made me somewhat nervous should she have a heart attack, start choking, or gasping for air. I was told to “do nothing, other than hold her hand.” Could I?
After ten days, I reluctantly said good-bye and returned to my home in Mexico. It was the last time I would see her. My sister, her primary guardian, was there to witness the final stages of what was to come. In an exhausted moment she expressed to me, “Dying is hard work.”
Soon after my return I attended a beautiful concert under the stars with the composer and musician Lucas Cervetti. Lucas is an Argentinian pianist whose music is played in the scale of 432 hertz (Hz), also known as the frequency of the heart.
Lucas explained to the audience that before the mid-20th century there were a variety of tuning standards for musical instruments until the 440 Hz frequency was established as the international standard. To enhance the soothing, meditative qualities of his music, Lucas uses the frequency of 432 Hz instead. It is believed that this frequency can bring about greater relaxation, reducing stress and anxiety, promoting healing, and deepening emotions. Lucas also incorporates sounds of nature — such as whales, dolphins, birds and crickets.
Performing with him was a cellist, and the vocalist Angie Casares, who added exquisite harmonic overtones. Not long after the music began I was flooded with emotion and feelings of sadness in my heart. Coming to the surface was the grief of the pending loss of my mother. A wall of tears ensued.
With closed eyes I embraced the music more fully, and it transported me into what felt like the celestial realms. Was I in the womb of the Universe? This place was soothing, peaceful and familiar, yet vibrant and filled with light. This was a realm in which I felt a direct and immediate connection with my mother. Was her consciousness and soul resting here, preparing to cross over?
A sacred oneness pervaded everything. There were no words to speak or physical bodies to interact with; all was pure awareness. A great honoring was taking place. The thought arose: “You played the role of mother and I was your daughter, but in the end, we were two spirits who adventured together. And now it is time to say farewell, until we meet again.”
The mystic Persian poet Rumi writes about a place he called the field:
“Out beyond ideas of wrong doing and right doing,
There is a field. I will meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
The world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
Doesn’t make any sense.”
I opened my eyes. A young woman was approaching the stage, dressed like a graceful angel. She began a mesmerizing dance in a dazzling white gown that was illuminated by the soft blue stage lights.
I was certain that a portal had opened and that my mother was about to leave this earthly realm. Perhaps she had already been set free. Gratitude and awe filled the center of my being at a magnitude I had never known. My heart felt it would burst both with the pain of losing her and the love I felt for her.
After the performance I remained quiet for a long time. Still very altered, I eventually turned to my friends with whom I had come to this event and said, “Wow! What was that like for you?” They described similar feelings of extreme bliss and being transported to another dimension.
The next day my sister called around 2 pm to say that Mom had passed. Here in Mexico celebrations honoring Archangel Saint Michael were in full swing and the heavenly sounds of church bells tolling, along with fire crackers bursting accompanied the news. Fly free sweet Mother, fly free! She was indeed liberated in an exquisitely choreographed moment.
Mom lived to be 100 and 6 months. She’d had a beautiful life with few regrets. There is perhaps nothing more difficult than saying that final good-bye to our mothers. I am convinced that the time I spent immersed in Lucas’ music helped me to process my grief more fully than I could have ever done on my own.
Searching the internet I was pleased to discover that there are many artists who use the 432 Hz frequencies in their music, along with other frequencies such as 528 Hz for healing and regenerating the body, or 777 Hz for happiness. I now tune in daily to experience the calmness and clarity that these vibrations bring forth. In this time of great challenge, we can all benefit from experiencing the soothing effects of such music.
Visit www.LucasCervetti.com
Rumi Poem Translated from Persian by Coleman Barks and John Moyne, from The Essential Rumi, published by HarperCollins. Copyright © 1995 by Coleman Barks.
