Maraliz Campos on Sonic Art, Invisible Illness, & Oneness Maraliz Campos doesn’t call herself a sound healer; in fact, she prefers “sonic mindfulness teacher” or “sonic teaching artist” or even, simply, “sound practitioner.” Having been steeped in the wellness industry for the better part of a decade, I find this at once surprising and instantly refreshing. We’re less than three minutes into our conversation, and I already trust her more than the seemingly infinite Instagram gurus shilling practices, products, and miracle cures. Her reasoning? She’s merely the conduit for a person—the listener—to build that bridge of healing for themselves. Campos is a classically trained violinist and vocalist whose current instruments include everything from a guitar and crystal bowls, to rattles and shells from all over the world. She’s deeply influenced by her mixed cultural origins, having grown up in a German Mennonite community in Paraguay, then having lived in Korea and across much of the United States as an adult. Now New York City-based, she enjoys the raw vibrations of sound as much as a tidy, composed melody, and believes in the power of deconstructed sound as a deeply meditative practice—even when the subway is coming. As a native New Yorker, and someone who is deeply haunted by the hellish shriek of a subway train arriving in the station, one of my favorite parts of our conversation was a very practical takeaway: “We all have the capacity to turn really anything into a soundbath, if you approach it in a certain way,” she says. “When you’re on the subway platform, something as simple as taking your keys, putting them next to your ear and rubbing them together can take all of your senses and all of your focus to that one particular sound. You can do that in a rhythm or you can follow the beat of a song you like. As long as you’re doing that next to your ear, you’re practicing pratyahara—pulling in from sensory stimulation.” All of which is certainly better than my current technique of plugging my ears and waiting for it to be over. It’s this grounded, down-to-earth sensibility that drives Campos to sonic mindfulness practices. She loves this work because there are no boundaries or barriers to who it can help: sound cuts across all races, genders, sexual orientations, languages, and cultures. It is powerful regardless of physical, mental, or emotional (dis)ability—or, “infringement,” as she refers to it, reminding me that even the hearing-impaired can still feel and enjoy vibrations. She’s also a certified yoga teacher, and this background in movement allows her to create workshops that cater to both body and mind. If you’ve never been, sound baths and similar sonic experiences often require people to be seated or lie down for long stretches of time, in order to practice deep listening. But, as Campos says, “We can easily lose touch with what our bodies actually feel like when they’re comfortable,” and, as a fellow yoga teacher, I can attest to the sheer number of restless limbs and fidgety savasanas I see on a regular basis. Campos is familiar with bodily discomfort, though: she was on chemotherapy for two years as treatment for a variety of autoimmune disorders, including rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, fibromyalgia, neuropathy, localized epilepsy, POTS syndrome, Sjögren’s syndrome, and chronic fatigue. As someone who has lived—and continues to live—with chronic pain, she is only too aware that the people she facilitates experiences for might not even know how much discomfort they’re living with. It’s part of why she believes sound practices have become so popular in the last few years: sure, they’re trendy and fashionable in the wellness scene, but sound also creates a deep physiological response in the nervous system, essentially turning off the “fight or flight” function of our reptilian brains, and helping listeners move towards a “rest and digest” mode instead. How does that happen? In 2013, researchers at the University of McGill in Montreal found that listening to calming music or sound lowers the levels of the stress hormone cortisol, decreases heart rate, pulse, and blood pressure, and even relaxes muscle tension. In the nine years she spent in the cycles of sickness, treatment, and recovery, Campos used a lot of that time learning to love being by herself, learning to love just being, and learning not only to breathe, but breathe well. “It was such a miraculous experience being able to breathe and not struggle breathing. Or just be, and not feel like your body is dying. Or, feeling like your body is dying, but finding a place within yourself that goes beyond that,” she says. “Because this isn’t a papercut type of pain. This is the deepest kind of pain in your bones, nerves, muscles, and tissues that keeps you from walking.” Now in remission for over a year, Campos is an outspoken advocate for those with invisible illnesses: speaking on panels, contributing to articles with advice for those living with chronic illness, and openly questioning the villification of opioid users as addicts when many are simply seeking relief from living with unremitting pain. She uses her experience to ask big questions of the wellness world itself. “[In this industry] we often talk about how we are one—I’m your mirror, you’re my mirror—and these other buzz phrases. I’m not making light of them, because they have their space and their usefulness, but when we’re discussing this kind of thing, it opens up bigger questions, like ‘What does that really mean?’ and ‘Do I actually believe that?’ or ‘Is me even an appropriate word to use if I am one with all of them?’ Semantics have value judgements attached to them,” she says. I, too, believe that language not only shapes but creates the world we live in. The power of the pen—and the voice and the keyboard—is one of my own deepest and most tightly-held beliefs. The words behind Campos’s drive these days are “love” and “gratitude.” Where some might find those words overused to the point of dilution, Campos places an emphasis on the power inherent in their lack of specificity: it’s the freedom of semantic possibility, devoid of judgement and even attachment. Inspired by the works and teachings of Pema Chödrön, Campos says that “attachment to hope is just as harmful as attachment to pain, because it creates false hope, grasping, reaching, and striving…which all eventually result in suffering. So, nonattachment becomes the practice. The question for me then, is Where does social justice fit into the nonattachment model? And this is where love and gratitude present us with viable options.” Ultimately, her point of reference is reverence: for her remission, for the schooling she’s received (both formally as a musician and informally from life), and for the kindness she receives and gives back to those around her. She’s nonjudgemental about where knowledge or inspiration comes from: whether it’s from her one-eyed dog’s perseverance and unconditional love, or the soft, satisfying crunch of gravel underfoot. As our conversation starts to wind down, Campos shares with me a passage that brought her a lot of comfort during dark hours. It’s from Kahlil Gibran, and though I’ve read The Prophet, it takes on new depth when I hear it in her earnest and urgent tones: Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain. And could you keep your heart in wonder at the daily miracles of your life? Your pain would not seem less wondrous than your joy! And you would accept the seasons of your heart, even as you have always accepted the seasons that pass over your fields. You would watch with serenity through the winters of your grief. Much of your pain is self-chosen. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self. Therefore, trust the physician and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility. For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by the tender hand of the unseen. And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has been fashioned of the clay which the potter has moistened with his own sacred tears. She finishes reading, exhaling quickly. We say our goodbyes, and I’m left to contemplate my own pain: the dull ache of a foot that broke last year, the sharp zing of the other foot that’s still compensating, my oft-numb fingers and toes (a mostly benign condition called Raynaud’s syndrome), and the psychic grief I carry, as we all do. I consider how we, as a wellness industry and community of healing practitioners, truly do believe we are each other’s mirrors and really do have confidence in the sacred interconnectedness of all beings. All that’s left is to step through the looking glass. Maraliz Campos is a certified sound practitioner, producer, meditation instructor, and yoga teacher. Sonic mindfulness has been an integral part of her work since 2014, and contributed greatly to her journey from physical disability to remission from multiple autoimmune disorders. Based in New York City, she can be found at upcoming performances at The Three Jewels, WOOM Center, Shaktibarre, and more. Follow Maraliz on Instagram.
