About ten years ago I discovered the gong during a sound bath inside a church, and something in that experience moved through me with unexpected clarity. I felt a soft, deep opening — as if the sound had found a place within me that had been waiting to be touched for a long time. It was an intimate bond with the instrument that captivated me from the very first moment.
Since then, that resonance never left me. It accompanied me in silence, until it led me — almost naturally — to seek the right teacher so I could learn to play it.
Three approaches to the gong
I use three distinct approaches to the gong, and each offers me a different experience.
The bronze gong is the instrument in its most traditional form, made from a metal alloy, with a rich, deep sound full of unpredictable harmonics that respond very organically to each stroke.
The planetary gong is a variant tuned according to symbolic proportions associated with the planets, giving it a more structured and meditative quality.
And the Don Conreaux approach refers to a way of understanding the gong as a tool for meditation and inner transformation, where sound is not merely musical but a pathway to presence, deep listening, and conscious exploration.
What a gong bath is
A gong bath is an experience that's difficult to explain logically because you don't "hear" it only with your ears — you hear it with your entire body. You lie down, close your eyes, and the sound begins to expand in layers: deep tones that seem to pass through you, harmonics that float and move like waves, silences that also carry weight.
There's no melody or fixed rhythm — just a sound field that continuously shifts and envelops you completely. This phenomenon relates to the principles of resonance and entrainment, where the body naturally responds to the vibratory field surrounding it. Over time, the mind stops following the sound as something external and begins to relax into it; attention becomes broader, less linear, and the body may feel heavy, light, or even as though it's dissolving slightly into space.
Sometimes emotions surface, or memories, or simply a sensation of deep stillness with no need to interpret it. It's as if the sound isn't just around you, but also inside you.
What makes the gong unique
The gong doesn't "produce notes" in the classical sense — it creates a complete sound field. When you strike it, you don't hear a single frequency but an explosion of harmonics that are born, blend, and evolve over time. The sound isn't linear: it grows, expands, changes colour, and finally dissolves slowly, like a wave.
The low frequencies of the gong aren't just heard — they're felt in the body, making the experience more immersive and somatic. Every stroke is also unique, because it depends on the point of impact, the intention, and the state of the instrument in that moment. There's no exact repetition, which gives it an organic and unpredictable character.
More than a melodic instrument, the gong is experienced as a sonic space. In sessions I often combine it with other instruments like Tibetan bowls and crystal bowls, creating complementary layers of vibration.
My journey with the gong
I discovered sound and vibration through the training I did with Rafa Monsonis — a process that opened up a new way of perceiving and relating to the sonic world. For years I walked that path until one day, in a session, I discovered the gong. I felt something opening with a different kind of depth.
That's when I decided to begin my journey with the gong alongside Emma, a gong master trained in the Don Conreaux tradition. With her I began to enter a broader understanding of sound as experience — beyond the technical, as a form of presence, listening, and inner perception. That step marked a before and after on my path.
When there are no words
There are moments during a gong session when the experience seems to go beyond language. The sound field is so enveloping and ever-changing that the mind stops organising it rationally and perception becomes more direct, more sensory. Sensations of expansion, stillness, or suspension of time may appear — felt with great clarity yet difficult to explain afterwards.
The intensity: how I manage it
The gong can be intense, and I manage this by creating a space where each person can regulate their experience freely and safely. Before we begin, I explain that it's perfectly fine to move, change position, or leave the room if they need to. I also invite people to position themselves further from the instrument to find a more comfortable intensity.
During the session, I maintain an attentive presence to hold the space, respecting each person's right to experience the sound at their own pace.
What surprises me most
What has surprised me most are the reactions that can't be anticipated: very mental or tense people who let go deeply within minutes; others who start with discomfort at the intensity and end up finding an unexpected state of calm. I've also been moved to see how some people become emotional without any "clear" cause, as if the sound touched something very deep within.
And in general, I'm surprised by the diversity of responses: every body and nervous system reacts in a unique way, as if the gong awakens something different in each person. At certain times of year, I also offer outdoor sessions, where the gong experience is amplified by the natural surroundings.
If you want to hear how the gong's voice changes with each mallet, here is a video with every one of them: gong mallets and flumis.
Want to feel the gong? Discover the sessions.