Niki Naeve

First, I’d love to let you know about this wonderful music festival going on north of Longmont, Colorado next weekend, August 14-16. The Bliss Sacred Sound festival will be an oasis of self-care, thoughtful programming and inspired music, as well as delicious food, orchards and…wild cider!

I’m incredibly joyful to be singing in the last set, August 16th, 2026 at 4:30pm, with a group of 8 talented and inspired musicians. There will be a little folk, a little jazz, some fun participatory music, a protest song out of Minneapolis, a touch of John Lennon… and Lalita is slated to make an appearance, a bookend to the set.

Camping and more spiffy lodging are available. There will be misting tents to keep cool, and vendors are pre-gate this year, so you can peruse the offerings and decide whether you want to come through. And tickets are very affordable!

The Earworm that Only Needed Love

The day after a long travel day is always brutal – multiple hits of the inflated to-do list collide with recovering from getting up early, walking miles with a backpack in airports, being crammed onto airplanes, and jet lag.  It can do in almost anyone, especially those with challenges like chronic illness.

So Monday I set about my day.  I felt beat up, like someone had put me in the dryer on high for too long, but functional.  Just keep going, I coached myself.  Check off as much as you can, then at the end of the day you can relax on the comfy couch and watch all the TV you’ve missed while you were away.  (Relaxation is the reward, always.)

About midway through the morning (my morning, which normally starts around 11, so, say 1) I noticed a tune from a song I’d heard on the plane repeating in my head.  Making the “rounds.”  Rotating, repeating, turning itself over and over, inside out.  At first the upbeat tune was kind of motivational.  After a few hours it became annoying.  I had myself a classic earworm.

I’ve had music going through my head almost constantly since I was a kid. It’s part of my anatomy and I don’t question it any more.  But this thing, the short sequence which keeps going back to the same spot and running itself over and over – this isn’t that.  It felt like an itch I couldn’t scratch, an unpleasant smell I couldn’t quite get out of my nose.  I tried ignoring it, thinking of other things, singing another tune in my head.  The things you do.

Finally, mid- afternoon I gave into a need to lie down.  Just for a few minutes, I told myself.  I relaxed my head back on the pillow.  Took a few deep breaths.  Closed my eyes. 

The rhythm actually slowed down.  Huh.

I realized that the jaunty little tune which had been going through my head was a way for my brain to distract itself from how exhausted and in pain I was, while keeping aligned with the all-important to do list.

It’s what my brain is doing to cheer itself on from the sidelines, to keep itself running, a radio signal it plays to itself when there’s little energy for anything else.  Keep moving forward, it says, or you will run out of momentum and collapse.

That song is like etching on the edges of a centrifuge, an inside out record which plays when the machine is spinning.  Next track down is the to-do list.  Next track is troubleshooting problem areas of life (or so it thinks – it’s really spinning too fast to get any real work done, there.)  Next one down, reviewing uncomfortable conversations I wish I had a scriptwriter for, beforehand.  Up and down it goes, spitting out dashes and dots and proclamations and opinions.  And then it starts again.

What surprised me was the way to making the earworm stop. The way was not to keep going about my day, distract and play other music, but to lay down in absolute quiet, put one hand on my forehead and the other on my heart (or belly, or the back of my head) and give this message to my brain: I’ve got you.

Over time, (and with a certain amount of therapy,) I’ve managed to get my brain to regularly send this message to my body (however grudgingly,) but I don’t think I’ve ever consciously singled out my brain as being in need of this exact same care.

I’ve got you, I said to my mind. To the extent that I can, I will take care of you. We can rest for now.  (I couldn’t help adding a caveat: That said, we are still going to this appointment at 3:30.)

It’s difficult to describe the tectonic shift that happened when messaging my brain this way, almost by accident. I felt immersed in a living cloud of safety and comfort, as if a loved one had just come by, handed me a cup of warm cocoa and settled a blanket around my shoulders.  There was a sense of being connected, by strands of something I could see in my imagination, with every living green thing.  I imagine it tapped my mind into a level of parasympathy I’ve rarely, if ever, experienced. (Maybe let us pretend, for the moment, that “parasympathy” is a real word!) It felt juicily alive, and full of fresh air.

I felt utterly, insanely relieved. 

The music slowed …and then stopped. 

Who is the “I” I am referring to when I say, “I’ve got you?”  Who’s “got” me?

That’s a good question, one I’m not certain I’m qualified to answer, but I feel there is an important someone, some untapped consciousness I’ve never fully recruited for support. It feels present, it feels real, and it feels like it is connected to a much larger consciousness, like mycelium fungi, interwoven with the universe, the Earth, the momentum of celestial bodies, gravity, the consciousnesses of other people – the divine, however, you define it.  

All it needs is attention.

It can be there for me. It can show up when nothing else can.

Perhaps this is a glimpse of the “guru” spoken about in the great writings, like Sanskrit chants which refer to the guru as both the wisdom which comes from outside ourselves, and also from inside.  

“Gu” means darkness.  “Ru” is that which dispels the darkness.  The guru brings us from darkness into light.  The guru can be a teacher, mentor or guide.  And that guide can be our inner understanding, our own inner light.

I’ve got you. 

Those are simple, powerful words.  Letting yourself know that somewhere inside you, there is an inner watcher, keeper and protector who has your back can be a tremendous act of self-compassion, care, and safeguarding. 

This entity doesn’t need to be named or defined.  It is enough to know there is a you there who stands still in the raging wind, sails smoothly over rough water, and exists out of time, perhaps even representing you from one body to the next.

I’ll keep tapping into this, and let you know how it goes.  Perhaps you’ll hear about it in a future song.

Speaking of which, I’ve (partially) released a new “Chill” version of Refuge into the world. This is a remastered version of a previous chant to ganesh, meant to attract less cognitive attention and allow for deeper reflection and meditation. Spoken voices and the uptempo section have been removed, and the beat remains “chill.”  It is still a chant to the remover of obstacles (who is also sometimes referred to as the “first guru.”)

I’m releasing it exclusively on Insight Timer for now.  Linked below.

Of course I would love it if you would play music I’ve helped create and it could show up for you when you most need support.  But if it becomes an annoying ear worm? 

Refuge – Chill on Insight Timer

Wishing you shade and comfort in the summer months and beyond,

Niki