Every once in a while you’d hear the rumour that Kris Kristofferson had a summer place on the Island, somewhere east of Charlottetown. Perhaps in one of the Keppochs. I do recall looking in the phone book once, and seeing a listing for “Kristofferson, K,” and I remember that being mentioned as the proof positive. 

The thing about all good rumours is that they have a ring of truth to them. I mean, George C. Scott and Colleen Dewhurst used to summer in Bay Fortune. And I’m pretty sure I saw a photo of Ron Howard at the Empire Theatres out by the mall once. But none of the Kristofferson stories ever involved laying eyes on him.

I think of ”Kristofferson, K” every time I encounter some actual thing on PEI that seems an unlikely brilliance.

One example: Lucy Farrell.

Lucy Farrell is an enormously talented singer-songwriter multi-instrumentalist, born in Kent, in the UK. She performs all over the world.

And she happens to live on the Island, on account of her partner Jake Charron, of The East Pointers (who, I suppose, is contractually obligated to stay within driving distance of East Point at all times).

I first encountered her music at the Rollo Bay Fiddle Festival, some years ago. The experience stuck with me. Then, last fall, thanks to a pointer from Martin Rutte, Lisa and I went to a voice workshop she helped to facilitate at the nearby Beaconsfield Carriage House. That experience stuck with both of us.

To the point that, when a March 22, limited-to-15-people, Lucy Farrell concert was announced, just before Christmas, I secretly bought tickets for Lisa as a Christmas gift. And, as it turned out, Lisa also secretly bought tickets for me.

We took our mothers and, via two more tickets we bought as gifts, our friends Martin and Maida, to hear her perform solo, in a snug drawing room in Beaconsfield House itself. As it happens, of the 13 people who attended, in addition to the 46% of the seats we purchased directly, all but two others had been bought by friends of one of us or the other. And so there we were: Lisa, Peter, Frances, Karen, Martin, Maida, Trina, Mark, Sue, Kim, and Danny, enjoying transcendent music in a small space, with friends (and two others, who must have wondered what exactly was going on).

The experience stuck with all of us.

In addition to a selection of traditional songs, Lucy played several tracks from her album We are only Sound. It has been on rotation here in our house (and our car, and in my AirPods) ever since. I’m a particular fan of the title track (in part because we were invited to sing the chorus at Beaconsfield), as well as But for You, and Suddenly (woken by alarms). 

It wasn’t Kris Kristofferson, but it was better.

We were back to Beaconsfield last week, and back in the Carriage House, for the monthly Sonic Yin. Lisa had been before, and raved about it. She invited me on a yoga date, and I plucked up my courage and said yes. 

What is Sonic Yin?

I can’t say exactly, but let me rough it in.

We showed up just before 7:00 p.m. with more blankets and pillows and yoga mats than I thought reasonable, and claimed a space on the Carriage House floor. I was introduced to the host, Megan Macdonald, who assured me that I was welcome, and that everything that was about to happen was optional. Gradually others arrived and set up, each with their own blankets and pillows and yoga mats.

At 7:00 p.m. Megan introduced herself, and the musician who provided the live soundtrack, Trevor Grant.

And then the proceedings began.

Over the next two hours Megan gave a short introduction, and demonstrated by example, a series of yoga positions — the Yin, I learned, is one approach to yoga; another is Restorative, which finished the evening out, later. None of the positions were impossibly contortive, and Megan provided many options for each, exhorting us to find what felt good (and offering “if you find a position that feels amazing, and like you want to stay in it all night, then do it!”).

It was all kind of lovely. My mind wandered all over the place. I held my urge to pee for far too long (“you can’t have a full bladder and be relaxed,” she’d told us at the start; I ignored her at my peril). The music was flutey and drummy and bowlsy, without being yoga-twee; the Sonic was as important to the Yin as anything else was, it emerged. 

There were a few precious moments where I felt genuinely transcendent, lots of moments where I felt warm and relaxed (yes, we needed all the blankets and pillows), and some moments where I got too in my head to relax at all. It turned out to not be uncomfortable at all to pose around on the floor with a group of strangers, which might have been my assumption going in.

As we walked out into the cold just after 9:00 p.m., I felt like I’d experienced something, and any night you can say that is a good night.

Megan leads Sonic Yin once a month at Beaconsfield, and you can find information about it on Facebook.

I don’t think of Beaconsfield as a place to go to find transcendence through sound, but it’s happened three times in 6 months, so I’m calling it a pattern.