As long as I have played the violin, I have felt there was something special and unique about me. Not in an egotistical way, but in a spiritual way. Even in moments of competition or failure, when I felt not good enough – I still had a deep connection with my violin. It was something I could hold onto with all my might. In times of sorrow or despair, it felt like my violin saved my life. And then one day, it did.

I was going through a particularly challenging time in my life and suffering from PTSD. I called my mom. I told her, “I can’t focus. I can’t practice. I don’t know what to do. My career is over. My life is over.” She told me I was too talented and the world needed my music. She told me not to give up and gave me all the examples where I had persevered. And she told me she did not raise me to quit.

She suggested I keep my violin case open, with my instrument easily available. That way, when I felt I could play, my violin would be there for me. This came from me telling her I did not even have the energy to open the case. And I remember saying to her, “So, what am I going to do? Just play one note, because that’s all I have the energy or focus for – one fucking note!” To which she replied, “Start with one note. Others will follow.”

  I thought to myself, what does she know? She can’t play anything. My mind was filled with negative space. Little did I know that within that negative space there was space- space for one note. And so, filled with doubt, despair, rage, and much self-pity, I left my case open. Late that night, I felt a small spark of survival kick in. I put on my mute, softly played an open G – shaky, raw. I played that open G ever so quietly. I played with intent and with deep grief for all that I felt was lost. I played as if it was the last note I would ever play. I played like it was the first note I ever played. And then I slept for two hours.

    That sleep was the first sound sleep I had without waking in a sweat from a night mare. Thus began my meditation practice. In that moment of the open G, I was reborn. I started again, and again, and again. Everyday, I started again. I did not know this was a form of meditation. I thought people who meditated were monks and enlightened hippies, both of which I wanted to be. I did not share this practice with anyone, not even my mom.

 It slowly became my ritual. I would let myself revel in an open G, feeling the vibrations of my violin under my chin. And like a secret between me and my instrument, the music grew. In that growth, my eternal hope was born. The hope of healing, of beginning again, of seeing – and hearing – myself clearly. Soon I began playing tonal meditations, letting my violin decide which note came next. When I put the decision- making into my violin, I discovered a freedom I recognized as ancient. I began to hear improvisation in all sounds.

In birds, traffic, the hum of the subway – even in simple conversations. The universe is constantly expanding, as are our minds. It is up to us to listen deeply, to create – to create ritual that opens our hearts and minds.

 This music is my offering to all beings. We all suffer, it is part of the human condition. But we need not suffer alone. These musical meditations were born out of grief and the will to thrive. It began as a way back and turned into a way forward. My hope for this music is that it connects us. May it offer you a moment of peace and alleviate some of your suffering. And as any creator would want, I hope you find it interesting.


Regina Sadowski
8/22/2025