Picture this: you sprawl out on a yoga mat while someone surrounds you with singing bowls, gongs, chimes, and other mystical-looking instruments that sound like they were borrowed from a celestial spa. Then they start playing, and suddenly you’re floating in this sonic soup where time gets weird and your thoughts turn into jelly.

The sounds wash over and through you in waves—sometimes like a gentle brook tinkling over pebbles, sometimes like a spaceship landing in a temple. Your bones might start humming along. Your brain might decide to take an unscheduled vacation. And that weird tension you’ve been carrying in your left shoulder? It’s confused now, possibly dissolved.

It’s meditation for people who can’t sit still, a concert where falling asleep is encouraged, and a full-body massage made entirely of noise. You emerge feeling like you’ve been lightly scrambled in the best possible way—relaxed, slightly disoriented, and wondering if you just astral-projected or just took a really good nap.

Basically, it’s the auditory equivalent of being a cat in a sunbeam, if that sunbeam also made reverberating “ommmmm” sounds.