The Buddha Machine: Fighting The Noise With Noise

This past weekend, I went to a wedding wherein our parting gifts were the fabulous FM3 Buddha Machines. (Somehow, I managed to leave with three.) The devices, created in 2005 by Beijing-based electronic musicians Christiaan Virant and Zhang Jian, resemble a cross between transistor radios and so-bright-they-could-be-edible decorative soaps.

The Buddha Machine consists of audio loops of various lengths that play ad infinitum. There is a schematic on the FM3 Web site that I've yet to fully explore, but that might provide further explanation for the machine heads among you.

All I know is that, since obtaining The Buddha Machine, my life has gotten pretty Zen.

Let me explain.

I am no good at yoga, breathing (the productive kind) or meditation. A massage therapist once told me that the reason my neck muscles hurt was that I relied on them too much for breathing. "Use your diaphragm," she would say, while pressing down on my stomach, the contents of which sloshed around in both protest and embarrassment. (I would make a mental note never to eat before a massage again, but I always forgot.) She gave me visualization exercises: streams, rivers, fountains, anything with a steady, even flow to help the air come in, remain unstuck and go back out. The result was less about harmony than feeling like I had to pee. Basically, I spent every $75 hour with her re-learning how to breathe, something I thought I'd mastered at the ripe old age of one second. WRONG! I'm probably not even breathing now.

Then, in college, I tried yoga with one of my best friends. Our instructor, who spent a lot of time talking about her seafaring adventures aboard Scandinavian cruise ships, had given herself a yoga-moniker (her new last name now rhymed with "karma") in order to further her legitimacy as a guide to pretzel-poses. When I was unable to lift my big toe while keeping all my other toes on the floor, I felt too ashamed ever to return.

In a pilates class at my local gym -- one that I was truly enjoying -- some of the more open poses inspired a constant stream of flatulence from one particular man. No matter where I set up my mat, it seemed that I could never get far enough away from his God-given soundtrack. To this day, pilates and a whoopee cushion are interchangeable for me.

And, as for meditation, I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to use that time for grocery lists and pondering the latest episode of Mad Men.

Then came the Buddha Machine! Truly, it's been a miracle. For instance, just this morning, I was bringing my dog back in from a rainy, mushy morning stroll. In the elevator, he rudely barked at a smaller dog, much to the dismay of the owner. Once I got inside, I realized the coffee was too strong and that my hair had shrunk from the weather in a brunette Annie-the-musical sort of way, and without any of the song and dance. But balancing all of these annoyances out were two of my Buddha Machines, which I'd left on before leaving the house, the blue one playing in the bedroom, the green one broadcasting from the kitchen table. Hypnotic, beautiful and indistinguishable from the atmosphere itself, the sounds seemed to drown out not just external noise, but internal static, as well. And when I turned the machines off, I could still hear them, like a vibration, like a note that would not end.

In fact, if I tried hard enough right now, I might even be able to lift my big toe independently of the rest. And take at least one deep breath.

Feel free to share what sorts of music and sounds help you relax.

11:36 AM ET | 10-28-2009 | permalink

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