One Thousand Petals: A Journey of Music, Healing, and Spiritual Connection

Adrian Freedman’s musical journey began as a young child, captivated by the piano at just five years old. By nine, he was inspired by a TV program about jazz legend Louis Armstrong and became enamoured with the trumpet, which shaped much of his early musical education. As a teenager, he was drawn to orchestral compositions, dreaming of becoming a composer. His thirst for diverse musical experiences deepened during his studies at Manchester University, where he explored everything from medieval to avant-garde music, eventually discovering his fascination with world music.

A pivotal moment came when Adrian heard the Japanese shakuhachi flute. Intrigued by its haunting tones and Zen origins, he sought out a teacher in England, only to realise that mastering the instrument required immersion in its cultural roots. Determined, Adrian moved to Japan, where he studied under Yokoyama Katsuya, a revered shakuhachi master. Through years of intensive training, Adrian learned the ancient art of shakuhachi playing, where the student and teacher strive to sound as one, transcending notes into breath and spirit.

Halfway through his time in Japan, Adrian encountered Brazilian musicians from the Amazon Rainforest, sparking another profound transformation. Their vibrant energy and ceremonial music captivated him, leading him to Brazil to study their traditions. This marked the beginning of a lifelong passion for blending the healing sounds of medicine music with the meditative essence of shakuhachi.

Today, Adrian’s work bridges cultures, weaving together the spiritual traditions of Japan and Brazil into a unique musical tapestry. His music continues to explore the themes of healing, transformation, and connection with nature, as reflected in his latest album, One Thousand Petals.

The Journey to One Thousand Petals

I started learning instruments as a kid, and performing was just part of the process. From youth symphonies to jazz bands, rock bands, and even performing my own classical compositions, being on stage was the norm. However, I always felt awkward in front of an audience. The need to promote myself as a professional musician—getting reviews, selling tickets, and marketing—felt unnatural to me.

Through the shakuhachi (Japanese flute), I discovered a new dimension of music: music as meditation. Unlike performing for applause, this was about creating a shared space for reflection and connection. Later, Brazilian ceremonies introduced me to music for healing and rituals, which resonated deeply with me. These experiences shifted my focus from performing to facilitating healing and connection through music.

In my professional life, I worked as a music director for theatre and dance, an educator leading workshops, and a collector of world instruments for interactive sessions with children. Yet, my passion for healing music grew stronger, and eventually, it became my main focus. Burnout from traditional teaching and performing helped me transition fully into this new path.

This journey also aligned with my own healing. In my 30s, I began facing buried emotional challenges. Music became a means of exploring and addressing these inner struggles, transforming not only my life but also the way I connected with others through music. I moved away from the intellectual structures of classical music toward simpler, heartfelt expressions.

Today, my music aims to open hearts and create connections. It’s not about applause or reviews; it’s about touching lives. I encourage others to engage with music, whether by listening, participating, or creating. Music has a unique ability to connect us to ourselves and to each other, fostering healing and unity.

One memorable moment was in São Paulo, where I played shakuhachi at a wellness centre. Afterward, a social worker told me my music rekindled feelings of delicacy and softness she thought she had lost, giving her the courage to continue her challenging work. Moments like these remind me of music’s profound impact on the human spirit.

Adrian’s voice holds a profound warmth and reverence as he delves into the sacred, transformative nature of the shakuhachi and its connection to Zen Buddhism. It’s clear that his relationship with the shakuhachi goes beyond mere appreciation for its sound—it is an intimate connection to the essence of being, of mindfulness, and of confronting life’s deepest truths.

The shakuhachi, Adrian explains, is no ordinary instrument. It’s not just a flute—it’s an extension of spiritual practice. Dating back 2,000 years, its origins as a simple bamboo instrument have evolved over time, shaped by Japanese artisans into a highly refined tool capable of producing a wide range of tones. It’s not merely a musical instrument, but what the Japanese call a “houki”—an instrument of the Dharma. To Adrian, this isn’t just a technical distinction. It’s an invitation to experience the teachings of Zen through the sound and silence of the flute.

Zen Buddhism, like the shakuhachi, is about acknowledging and embracing the full spectrum of existence, even the parts that seem uncomfortable or difficult. For those unfamiliar with meditation, the idea of sitting still and quieting the mind can seem peaceful and serene. But, as Adrian points out, true meditation can be unsettling. The internal chatter, the memories, the pain—all of it can rise to the surface, demanding attention. The shakuhachi, in its varied tones and textures, reflects this chaos and struggle as much as it does peace and calm. Some pieces are dynamic, full of intensity, while others invite us to breathe into the spaces between notes—the gaps that represent a kind of silence or emptiness that can be as full as sound itself.

This concept of “Ma,” the space between things, is crucial to understanding both the shakuhachi and Zen practice. The beauty is not only in what is played but in the quiet moments between the notes, in the breath that gives life to the sound, and in the spaces that allow the mind to pause, reflect, and grow. For Adrian, this awareness of space is mirrored in all aspects of Japanese culture, from how people interact with each other to the thoughtful rituals in a tea ceremony. It’s not about filling life with noise and action, but about understanding and appreciating the silence, the space, and the pauses.

Meditation, like the shakuhachi, is not a way to escape suffering but to face it with open hearts. The first noble truth of Buddhism is that suffering exists—this is the starting point of all Buddhist teachings. It’s not about avoiding suffering or pretending it doesn’t exist, but understanding it, accepting it, and learning from it. Through playing the shakuhachi, Adrian sees a parallel process. There is no “wrong note” in this practice, only the present moment. The music, like meditation, is about being fully aware of the experience, of being present with whatever arises, without judgment.

Adrian believes that true presence in the moment enhances not only our awareness of beauty but also of the world’s suffering. Zen and shakuhachi music are intertwined in this deeper engagement with reality—not as a means to escape it but to confront it, to experience it fully, and ultimately, to transform it through compassion. Compassion, as Adrian shares, isn’t about denying or running from suffering. It’s about sitting with it, witnessing it, and being fully present with it. Just as the shakuhachi’s sound comes from the breath, which is connected to the player’s body, the act of playing becomes an act of compassion—a reflection of Zen’s deeper teachings on being with the world as it is, not as we wish it to be.

For Adrian, the shakuhachi is not just an instrument—it is a tool for cultivating mindfulness and compassion. Through it, he has learned to deepen his capacity to face the world and all its complexities, finding beauty not only in the harmony but in the dissonance, the silence, and the spaces in between.

Discovering Spiritual Plant Medicine

By the time I was 33, I’d been living in Japan for five years, deeply immersed in my work as a composer for Japanese contemporary dance. At the time, I was far from interested in South America, Shamanism, or plant spirit medicine. But life, as it often does, had other plans for me.

One evening, at a social gathering at a friend’s house, I met a group of Brazilians. They came from a remote community in the Amazon rainforest, where they worked with plant spirit medicine. I wasn’t drawn to their background or the work they did; what captivated me was their energy. They exuded this golden, bubbling lightness—it was infectious. As they sang and played their instruments, I couldn’t help but pick up my shakuhachi flute and join them. Something about their music and spirit resonated deeply with me. It wasn’t just music; it was a frequency, a state of being that I found impossible to resist.

When they invited me to join them for a ceremony over the weekend, I didn’t hesitate. It wasn’t about curiosity for Ayahuasca or spiritual medicine—I wanted to play music with them again. But that weekend, something extraordinary happened. During the ceremony, I experienced an opening of the heart that defied anything I’d ever known. It felt like coming home to a part of myself I hadn’t realised was lost.

Initially, my mind tried to rationalise it, dismiss it even. “It’s just the effect of the tea,” a voice in my head whispered. But something deeper, my intuition, knew this was real. I felt veils of fog and constriction in my being begin to lift. There was a flow—an awakening—and a permission for my soul to express itself in ways it never had before.

That weekend changed me. I couldn’t turn away from what I had experienced. I asked my new Brazilian friends if I could visit their community in the Amazon. They welcomed me with open arms. Not long after, I travelled to Brazil and spent six weeks living in the heart of the rainforest.

A Healing Journey in the Amazon

The rainforest was more than a setting; it was a living teacher. My time there brought profound healing. It helped me confront and address parts of myself I hadn’t even known were wounded. In the ceremonies, I witnessed the transformative power of the plant medicine, but what struck me even more was the community—the way people carried themselves. They were strong, clear, and gentle, embodying qualities that inspired me deeply.

In that community music was at the heart of everything. During ceremonies, music wasn’t just an accompaniment—it was the current through which healing flowed. Simple songs, often just strummed on a guitar or sung collectively, created a transformative resonance. These weren’t the complex compositions I was used to, yet they carried an immense power.

One night, I had an epiphany. I saw that all music—whether Beethoven’s symphonies, Miles Davis’ jazz, or these humble forest songs—came from the same source. It was as if music poured from a fountain at the intersection of human creativity and the spirit of nature, shaped by culture and consciousness. This realisation opened me to the beauty of these simple songs, which my intellectual mind might have otherwise dismissed.

I immersed myself in studying this music, learning the songs, and teaching myself the guitar. Slowly, as I connected more deeply, something unexpected began to happen.

One day, melodies and lyrics started coming to me. They weren’t compositions in the traditional sense. It was as if the songs were being sung to me, offered from that same source I’d glimpsed in the ceremonies. At first, the words came in Portuguese, the language of the forest and my Brazilian friends. Later, English lyrics began to emerge.

These songs weren’t just for me. I realised they carried teachings and healing meant to be shared. As others began to sing them, they took on a life of their own. Over 12 years, I received 108 songs, which became my first songbook, Song of the Eternal Heart. These songs were deeply rooted in the medicine traditions but carried the essence of universal connection.

Through this journey, I came to understand music as a bridge—a way to articulate the space within and around us, to connect the soul with the spirit of life itself. The songs taught me that healing begins within. When we transform ourselves, we ripple that healing outward into our relationships, our communities, and the world.

After the Song of the Eternal Heart was completed in 2009, I began to receive a new set of songs with a different tone, incorporating Buddhist and Vedic mantras and teachings of the Bodhisattvas. These mantra medicine songs formed a bridge between my interests in Oriental wisdom traditions and those of Amazonian spirituality. Thus was born my new songbook, Lotus Rising, which in many ways completes the cycle of integration between my healing path, my spiritual interests and my musical path.

The Thousand Petals album

In 2019, I began work on The Thousand Petals album—a project to present these mantra songs in their most beautiful form. Collaborating with incredible musicians and singers, I wanted to honour the simplicity of the original songs while weaving them with rich, layered arrangements. My shakuhachi flute threading through the album, a link between the ancient and the modern, the earthly and the transcendent.

The teachings of these songs go beyond doctrine or tradition. They invite us to connect to the universal essence at the heart of all spiritual paths. By embracing the sacred, we can find healing and harmony—not just for ourselves, but for the collective.

These songs are my offering to the world. They carry the frequency of the forest, the wisdom of the plant spirits, and the transformative power of music. My hope is that they reach the hearts of those who need them, that they inspire healing, connection, and a deeper understanding of the beauty within us all.

DISCOVER: adrianfreedman.com

Photo credits: Gabriela Dworecki Domingues