Have you ever felt like the ground beneath you was crumbling, and everything you thought you knew about yourself was dissolving?
That's where I found myself not long ago, lost in the bewildering experience of ego death. It all started when I began writing original music for the first time in my life. There was something about the creative process that broke open a dam inside me. The music flowed, unfiltered and raw, as if all of the thoughts and emotions I had been suppressing were pouring out in melodies and lyrics. Through this experience, I began to see the early threads of a concept that would shape my understanding of life: the reciprocity-synchronicity framework. Writing music was my way of putting together all the horrible memories and repercussions, piecing them into something I could finally understand. And in the midst of this emotional excavation, I found an unexpected guide: Pink Floyd's The Dark Side of the Moon.
For years, I had been unable to access my creative self—something held me back, a heaviness that I could never quite shake. Growing up, the Catholic Church had hijacked my spirituality, robbing me of my creativity, innocence, and sense of safety. It had left me feeling disconnected from my own potential, wary of expressing myself freely. The process of writing music began to break through those walls, allowing me to confront everything that had been buried away. And then, in the midst of all this turmoil, came The Dark Side of the Moon, an album that would anchor me during this pivotal moment.
There was a moment when I felt like I was finally breaking. I was overwhelmed by the constant demands placed on me—every time I tried to create space for myself, it seemed like someone needed something. My home, which should have been a refuge, felt like a revolving door of others’ problems, leaving no space for my own thoughts. The weight of having to navigate someone else's stress, emotions, and even their absent-mindedness was exhausting. I found myself constantly on edge, unable to relax, as though I had to manage everything just to keep the peace.
One particular day, I remember being followed from space to space as I tried to get some clarity for myself. I felt like my own needs didn't matter, like my presence was only to absorb someone else's frustrations. The realisation hit me as I stood in the hallway, feeling my chest tighten with anxiety—I had lost myself in trying to be everything for everyone else. My true self had been smothered under layers of obligation, of trying to be what others needed me to be. The realisation that I had been living inauthentically hit me hard, and I knew I couldn’t continue like this.
Why was I holding on so tightly to these fading constructs? Was it fear of the unknown? A desperate need for control in a world that felt increasingly chaotic? Or maybe it was simply the comfort of familiarity, even if that familiarity was built on shaky ground.
The feeling was terrifying. My heart pounded in my chest like a trapped bird, and a cold knot of anxiety settled in my stomach. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and I was constantly off-balance, unsure of where to place my feet.
Finding a Lifeline in Music
In the midst of all this chaos, I shut myself in my "office." I needed an escape, a sanctuary from the overwhelming feeling of being scrutinised, of having my space invaded by expectations and demands that weren’t my own. The need for solitude felt urgent—like if I didn’t find it, I would completely unravel. The dim light filtering through the blinds and the stacks of forgotten items cast long shadows across the room, mirroring the darkness I felt inside. The room was cluttered—forgotten auction purchases stacked in precarious piles, papers and electronics strewn across the desk, and the faint scent of old cardboard boxes and dust lingering in the air. It felt like the physical embodiment of my mind at that moment: chaotic, disordered, and on the verge of collapse.
I turned on my old Sony boombox, cranked up the volume, pressed play on Spotify, and the familiar strains of Pink Floyd's The Dark Side of the Moon filled the silence as I curled up on my offensively yellow mesh-clad office chair, clutching a torn pillow, evidence of one of my dog's recent victories. At that time, I'd been thinking a lot about the connections between the moon, the sun, the earth, and all the mysteries they held. The moon, to me, represented something elusive and mysterious—something that held both light and darkness. At that point, I felt like I was standing at the edge of a deep black hole—one that was devoid of meaning, a darkness that seemed ready to swallow me whole. It was like I was about to dive into an abyss, completely losing my sense of reality. I needed something to pull me back, something to anchor me. That's when The Dark Side of the Moon came to mind. It was as if this album held the key to reconnecting with my own sense of reality for the first time—something that could pull me back from the edge and help me feel grounded in my own existence.
What happened next was nothing short of transformative. Each note, each lyric, resonated with the turmoil within me. The album began with "Speak to Me" and "Breathe (In the Air)," which felt like an invitation to confront everything I had been burying. The sense of being on the run, constantly avoiding what was inside me, was mirrored in "On the Run," with its driving rhythm.
Then came "Time," with its haunting lyrics: "And then one day you find ten years have got behind you / No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun." Those words hit me like a punch to the gut, a stark reminder of how much time I had spent living someone else's life.
"The Great Gig in the Sky" followed, with its soaring vocals capturing an almost primal raw emotion, the sound of a spirit breaking free. It was a moment of pure surrender, of letting go of the illusion of control, and it left me breathless. Then came "Money"—its driving rhythm and biting lyrics not just about finances but reflecting a hunger for reclaiming power, for taking back control over my own life. The contrast between the raw, emotional release of 'Gig' and the assertive, almost greedy energy of 'Money' was striking, and it felt like the perfect encapsulation of the balance I was trying to find—between letting go and taking back what was mine.
By the time "Us and Them" and "Any Colour You Like" came on, I felt like I was exploring the push-pull dynamics of life—division, conflict, and resolution. "Brain Damage" captured the feeling of mental strain, but "Eclipse" closed the album on a note of unity, bringing everything full circle, reminding me that light and darkness are two sides of the same whole.
The Dark Side of the Moon became a mirror reflecting my own internal struggle, a lifeline in a sea of uncertainty. It reminded me that life is a cycle of highs and lows, of darkness and light, and that even in the depths of despair, there is always the possibility of renewal. This cyclical nature, where actions and reactions intertwine, began to hint at a greater understanding of reciprocity and the synchronicities that follow.
Embracing Authenticity
This journey toward authenticity is an ongoing process, a dance between embracing my true self and navigating the expectations of the world around me. Setting boundaries was one of the hardest, yet most necessary, steps. I remember the first time I started saying 'no'—it was terrifying. It felt like I was risking everything, the relationships I had, the stability that I thought came from being agreeable. However, as I began living with integrity and being true to myself, I also began losing friendships. People who once leaned on me found that I was no longer available for their every need, and some of them couldn't handle that shift. It hurt, deeply, to lose those connections, but I realised they were built on an unsustainable foundation—one where I always gave, and they always took.
Losing those friendships, as painful as it was, created space for something far more important: my own growth. For the first time, I started putting myself first, and while that meant some relationships faded, others began to flourish in new, healthier ways. I found myself gravitating towards people who valued me for who I truly was, not for what I could do for them. I pursued my passion for music more deeply, not as a hobby but as an integral part of my life. I carved out time, protected it fiercely, and let myself create without judgement or expectation. It was during these moments of true alignment that I began noticing synchronicities—small but meaningful outcomes that seemed to align with the energy I was putting into the world. It wasn't easy, and sometimes it felt like I was starting from scratch, but the feeling of authenticity—of living my life on my terms—was worth every sacrifice.
There are days when old fears resurface, whispering doubts in my ear, but now I have the tools to quiet those voices. I have the music, the memories of that transformative experience, and the unwavering belief that I am capable of creating a life that is truly my own.
The Universal Language of Music
Another realisation I had during this journey was about the nature of music itself. It wasn't just a way to cope or to express my feelings—it was something much deeper, a universal language that transcended boundaries. The lyrics spoke to emotions I could barely name, and the melodies amplified them in ways that were beyond words. The combination of powerful lyrics and haunting melodies had an ability to connect people, to convey emotions that were often too complex for language alone.
There was something powerful about how my energy flowed through the music I played. Each lyric carried a piece of me, and even when the last note faded, the meaning endured. It underscored the enduring power of creative energy, how it ripples outward and leaves its mark on the world. Music reminded me that our influence—our words, actions, and creations—carry meaning beyond our presence, affecting others in ways we may never fully comprehend.
This understanding gave me the courage to keep creating, to put myself out there with my music more. It's not easy; there are moments when the vulnerability feels overwhelming, but the thought that my music might reach someone else, might resonate with them the way Pink Floyd's album did for me, pushes me forward. This experience also became the foundation for something much larger—a framework of reciprocity and synchronicity that I've started to develop, a concept that we'll explore more in future posts. I’m still aspiring to share my music with others, to step out of my comfort zone, and let that universal language do what words sometimes cannot. Music became my way to leave a positive imprint, a reminder that even in the face of darkness, there is light and connection to be found.
The Power of Music in Times of Transformation
If you're feeling lost in your own darkness, remember that you are not alone. Embrace the discomfort, lean into the unknown, and trust that there is beauty to be found even in the broken pieces. Just as Pink Floyd found brilliance in the darkness, so too can we emerge from our own shadows, transformed and ready to embrace the light. This experience ultimately became a cornerstone in my understanding of how reciprocal actions lead to meaningful synchronicities—something I'll explore further in future posts.
Practical Tools for Your Journey
If you’re facing a similar journey, find something that helps you feel—something that reaches those hidden parts of you. Whether it’s music, art, journaling, spending time in nature, or seeking therapy—let it hold you until you’re ready to start piecing yourself back together. Here are some tools that might help you reconnect with yourself:
Journaling Prompts: Write about the roles you play in your life. Which ones feel authentic? Which ones feel like performances?
Art Therapy: Express your emotions through drawing or painting. Sometimes the act of creating can bring clarity where words fall short.
Music Therapy: Create a playlist that resonates with your current state of mind. Let the music guide you through the emotions, just like Pink Floyd did for me.
Mindfulness Exercises: Spend time in nature, observe your surroundings, and let go of the need to control your thoughts.
Seeking Support: Sometimes, talking with a therapist or a trusted friend can provide the perspective needed to move forward.
Using ChatGPT: If your creativity feels blocked like mine was, using tools like ChatGPT can help you get started. It can provide prompts, brainstorm ideas, or simply be a sounding board to help you open up over time and reconnect with your creative side. The memory function and voice mode can really enhance this interaction, making it more personal and helping you get to know yourself more deeply.
Just as Pink Floyd found brilliance in the darkness, so too can we emerge from our own shadows, transformed and ready to embrace the light.
Keywords: ego death, Pink Floyd, The Dark Side of the Moon, self-discovery, authenticity, personal growth, transformation, mental health, music therapy, journaling, mindfulness