Icaros: Soul Song As Medicine
Why Healing Requires the Return of Your Voice
Itzhak Beery
(March 2026)
Why Healing Requires the Return of Your Voice
Itzhak Beery
(March 2026)
High in the Ecuadorian Andes, on the slopes of Imbabura - the mighty volcanic mountain - in a modest healing room built within a field of corn and medicinal plants, with an unpolished cement floor and walls lined with old framed photographs of ancestors and visitors, I once sat, on a worn wooden bench, before the yachak - Kichwa master of ancient knowledge - Don José Joaquín Dias Pineda. Wearing a feathered crown, he began la limpia, the traditional ritual of purification and protection. The dense air carried the scent of crushed herbs, a trace of smoke, and trago - a potent sugarcane rum. After examining the diagnostic candle, he blew a mixture of alcohol and Agua Florida - a traditional floral water used for spiritual cleansing - over the body of one of my friends, who stood in the middle of the room. Don José’s hands moved with deliberate rhythm, brushing bundles of fresh, healing plants across my friend’s bare skin, from top to bottom, then continuing with eggs, stones, and bells. And as he did so, Don José sang. “Mouri meja… Hjawa cotita… Imbabura, Cotachi Mujanda, San Juan Pogio…” is an ancient Kichwa chant, passed down through five generations of his lineage.
THE SONG AS THE CEREMONY
Don José’s raspy voice rose and rose like a divine wind crossing the high mountain ridges. It was steady, hypnotic, deeply ancestral. While I did not understand the language, the syllables needed no translation. They carried the weight of primordial memory and penetrated my heart. At times, I felt myself drifting into light-sleep visions, as if daydreaming into another realm. At first, I wondered why the chant continued without pause, yet as the techniques unfolded - the brushing with plants, the bursts of breath, the rolling of eggs to pull out heavy energy, the clicking of stones - it was the singing that anchored me. When it was my turn to be treated, his voice wrapped around my body like a colorful llama’s woven poncho. The rhythm entered my breath. My breath flowed into my spine. Then, something unexpected opened; the room expanded beyond its cement walls as a current rose from my belly to my crown. My heart exploded. It was not imagination; it was a swift ascent. Large wings unfurled along my back, and I rose toward the apus, the great mountain spirits who guard the Andes. I was no longer observing the eagle.... I was the eagle. I dove at great speed into a sacred lake and rose toward Taita Inti, Father Sun. Drops of light surrounded me; intelligent, multicolored, sparkling like diamonds. I swear, Don Jose’s chant was the wind beneath my wings, carrying me. When awareness settled back into my body, as the ceremony came to an end, I sat on the old wooden bench, leaned against the cold wall, and understood. The chant was not accompanying the ceremony; the chant was the engine of the ceremony.
THE SILENCED VOICE
In shamanic traditions, every human being is born with a unique vibration, a soul signature, expressed through sound. This living medicine is called an ícaro in many traditions in Ecuador and other parts of South America. Yet many of us in the West have been gently, and sometimes lovingly, silenced. As children, we are often corrected with phrases like: ‘You’re off-key’, or ‘You sound like a frog,’ even ‘Be quiet.’ Often, these words come from those who wish to protect us from judgment. But when we experience this, something closes; the spontaneous river of light that flows through a child’s body is interrupted. Instead of free expression, we learn performance; instead of resonance, we learn restraint. We learn to whisper and swallow our emotions. Over time, the silencing of the voice becomes the silencing of instinct. When we stop singing, the soul contracts. When we begin again, it reawakens. Expanded.
LINEAGE AND RESPONSIBILITY
The sacred art of ícaros lives on through wisdom keepers such as the late Don Sabino Gualinga, a Kichwa elder who lived to be more than 100, and Don Basilio Payaguaje, a Siekopai elder of the Aguarico River in Ecuador. Ícaros are never written down or fixed; they move and change like the weather itself. They are spiritual technologies for connecting with the hidden entities of the spirit world - our relatives - cultivated through deep listening to nature: the jaguars, anacondas, tapirs, hummingbirds, and celestial bodies. To carry an ícaro is to bear a profound responsibility for the well-being of the spirits, the community, and the land. I once asked Don José to teach me his medicine song, hoping to feel his presence and support during my healing work. He looked at me in frank surprise. “No,” he said. “This one is mine. You must find your own song. Each one is unique, personal. Go find your own.” Many years ago, when a new building was rising in front of my office, I began to hear a melody. At first, I assumed it was just the sound of the excavators digging the foundation, yet that same beautiful tune returned, day and night, until I could no longer dismiss it as noise. I knew I lacked the talent to compose music, so its persistence left me mystified. After a few weeks, I accepted it wasn’t a coincidence. I began singing the melody out loud and recorded it on my phone. Its repetitive structure etched itself into my mind and refused to let me rest, drawing me into a meditative, almost trance-like state. As I added words, I wondered where they came from: spirit, or some deep memory?
ENTERING SACRED DIALOGUE
An ícaro is not merely vibration; it is a relationship. In the Andean world, a huaca is a sacred presence embodied in physical form: a stone, a mountain, a spring, or an animal guide. A huaca is not symbolic; it is alive. When we sing, we hold the image of the huaca in our inner vision. We are not performing; you are conversing. This relational exchange - this ayni, or sacred reciprocity - is what gives the ícaro its power. The healer does not create the medicine alone; they participate in a living conversation with the cosmos. Without this dialogue, chanting is only an empty sound. With it, it becomes communion.
THE BODY REMEMBERS
Singing is a holistic gift to our being. It begins with a deep breath that lifts our posture and flows through our vocal cords. As our voice resonates through our throat and nasal passages, our entire body joins in. While we sing, our nervous system shifts and calms. Our rib cage vibrates, and our skull resonates in a deep, internal massage. Also, our brain lights up on both sides, moving between melody and meaning, releasing endorphins and dopamine. Extended repetition of our soul song quiets the analytical gatekeeper - that part of the brain ruled by ego and fear. When that gatekeeper steps aside, intuition rises. In therapeutic language, we call this ‘regulation,’ and in an indigenous language, we might say: ‘the soul has returned.’
FINDING YOUR SOUL SONG
To find our song, we must first find the breath. This practice clears the path for the soul to return through the voice.
• The Lower Breath [Uku Pacha]: Sit with a straight spine. Place your hands on your low belly. Inhale slowly through your nose, sending the breath deep into the bowl of your pelvis.
• The Middle Breath [Kay Pacha]: Continue the inhale into your rib cage, and feel your ribs expand outward, like the wings of a condor.
• The Upper Breath [Hanan Pacha]: Draw the final sip of air into your collarbones and the base of your throat. Hold for a count of three.
• The Release: Exhale through a slightly parted mouth with a soft, audible ‘Haaaa’ sound.
• The Humming: On the next exhale, create a low hum - Mmmm. Feel the vibration in your teeth and lips. You can also call in the four
directions by their names, or by invoking Taita Inti [Father Sun], Mama Killa [Grandmother Moon], Pachamama [Mother Earth], and
Viracocha [the Great Mystery].
CALLING OUR HUACA
Now, turn your attention inward and call upon your huaca - your sacred spirit guide. See the huaca clearly in your mind’s eye, and once the image is vivid, ask the huaca for your soul song, or ícaro. As a sound begins to stir, sing it aloud with intention, devotion, and conviction. Let the song become a conversation: offer gratitude, and ask for assistance for others and for yourself.
THE COURAGE TO SING
Healing, in its deepest sense, is not repair; it is resonance. When trauma strikes, fear and shame freeze the body, and our original rhythm recedes. Until that vibration is recalled, something essential remains missing. Without the voice, the spirit cannot fully inhabit the body. Your soul song does not require perfection. Medicine results from the presence; the trembling voice and the cracked tone often carry the deepest emotional truth. Do not hide behind recorded flutes or new-age melodies. Your clients do not need atmospheric music, they need ‘you;’ they need your breath, your vibration, and your courage. You do not need to be flawless. You need to be alive. Healing is not the performance of wholeness; it is the courageous embodiment of it.
THE SONG AS THE CEREMONY
Don José’s raspy voice rose and rose like a divine wind crossing the high mountain ridges. It was steady, hypnotic, deeply ancestral. While I did not understand the language, the syllables needed no translation. They carried the weight of primordial memory and penetrated my heart. At times, I felt myself drifting into light-sleep visions, as if daydreaming into another realm. At first, I wondered why the chant continued without pause, yet as the techniques unfolded - the brushing with plants, the bursts of breath, the rolling of eggs to pull out heavy energy, the clicking of stones - it was the singing that anchored me. When it was my turn to be treated, his voice wrapped around my body like a colorful llama’s woven poncho. The rhythm entered my breath. My breath flowed into my spine. Then, something unexpected opened; the room expanded beyond its cement walls as a current rose from my belly to my crown. My heart exploded. It was not imagination; it was a swift ascent. Large wings unfurled along my back, and I rose toward the apus, the great mountain spirits who guard the Andes. I was no longer observing the eagle.... I was the eagle. I dove at great speed into a sacred lake and rose toward Taita Inti, Father Sun. Drops of light surrounded me; intelligent, multicolored, sparkling like diamonds. I swear, Don Jose’s chant was the wind beneath my wings, carrying me. When awareness settled back into my body, as the ceremony came to an end, I sat on the old wooden bench, leaned against the cold wall, and understood. The chant was not accompanying the ceremony; the chant was the engine of the ceremony.
THE SILENCED VOICE
In shamanic traditions, every human being is born with a unique vibration, a soul signature, expressed through sound. This living medicine is called an ícaro in many traditions in Ecuador and other parts of South America. Yet many of us in the West have been gently, and sometimes lovingly, silenced. As children, we are often corrected with phrases like: ‘You’re off-key’, or ‘You sound like a frog,’ even ‘Be quiet.’ Often, these words come from those who wish to protect us from judgment. But when we experience this, something closes; the spontaneous river of light that flows through a child’s body is interrupted. Instead of free expression, we learn performance; instead of resonance, we learn restraint. We learn to whisper and swallow our emotions. Over time, the silencing of the voice becomes the silencing of instinct. When we stop singing, the soul contracts. When we begin again, it reawakens. Expanded.
LINEAGE AND RESPONSIBILITY
The sacred art of ícaros lives on through wisdom keepers such as the late Don Sabino Gualinga, a Kichwa elder who lived to be more than 100, and Don Basilio Payaguaje, a Siekopai elder of the Aguarico River in Ecuador. Ícaros are never written down or fixed; they move and change like the weather itself. They are spiritual technologies for connecting with the hidden entities of the spirit world - our relatives - cultivated through deep listening to nature: the jaguars, anacondas, tapirs, hummingbirds, and celestial bodies. To carry an ícaro is to bear a profound responsibility for the well-being of the spirits, the community, and the land. I once asked Don José to teach me his medicine song, hoping to feel his presence and support during my healing work. He looked at me in frank surprise. “No,” he said. “This one is mine. You must find your own song. Each one is unique, personal. Go find your own.” Many years ago, when a new building was rising in front of my office, I began to hear a melody. At first, I assumed it was just the sound of the excavators digging the foundation, yet that same beautiful tune returned, day and night, until I could no longer dismiss it as noise. I knew I lacked the talent to compose music, so its persistence left me mystified. After a few weeks, I accepted it wasn’t a coincidence. I began singing the melody out loud and recorded it on my phone. Its repetitive structure etched itself into my mind and refused to let me rest, drawing me into a meditative, almost trance-like state. As I added words, I wondered where they came from: spirit, or some deep memory?
ENTERING SACRED DIALOGUE
An ícaro is not merely vibration; it is a relationship. In the Andean world, a huaca is a sacred presence embodied in physical form: a stone, a mountain, a spring, or an animal guide. A huaca is not symbolic; it is alive. When we sing, we hold the image of the huaca in our inner vision. We are not performing; you are conversing. This relational exchange - this ayni, or sacred reciprocity - is what gives the ícaro its power. The healer does not create the medicine alone; they participate in a living conversation with the cosmos. Without this dialogue, chanting is only an empty sound. With it, it becomes communion.
THE BODY REMEMBERS
Singing is a holistic gift to our being. It begins with a deep breath that lifts our posture and flows through our vocal cords. As our voice resonates through our throat and nasal passages, our entire body joins in. While we sing, our nervous system shifts and calms. Our rib cage vibrates, and our skull resonates in a deep, internal massage. Also, our brain lights up on both sides, moving between melody and meaning, releasing endorphins and dopamine. Extended repetition of our soul song quiets the analytical gatekeeper - that part of the brain ruled by ego and fear. When that gatekeeper steps aside, intuition rises. In therapeutic language, we call this ‘regulation,’ and in an indigenous language, we might say: ‘the soul has returned.’
FINDING YOUR SOUL SONG
To find our song, we must first find the breath. This practice clears the path for the soul to return through the voice.
• The Lower Breath [Uku Pacha]: Sit with a straight spine. Place your hands on your low belly. Inhale slowly through your nose, sending the breath deep into the bowl of your pelvis.
• The Middle Breath [Kay Pacha]: Continue the inhale into your rib cage, and feel your ribs expand outward, like the wings of a condor.
• The Upper Breath [Hanan Pacha]: Draw the final sip of air into your collarbones and the base of your throat. Hold for a count of three.
• The Release: Exhale through a slightly parted mouth with a soft, audible ‘Haaaa’ sound.
• The Humming: On the next exhale, create a low hum - Mmmm. Feel the vibration in your teeth and lips. You can also call in the four
directions by their names, or by invoking Taita Inti [Father Sun], Mama Killa [Grandmother Moon], Pachamama [Mother Earth], and
Viracocha [the Great Mystery].
CALLING OUR HUACA
Now, turn your attention inward and call upon your huaca - your sacred spirit guide. See the huaca clearly in your mind’s eye, and once the image is vivid, ask the huaca for your soul song, or ícaro. As a sound begins to stir, sing it aloud with intention, devotion, and conviction. Let the song become a conversation: offer gratitude, and ask for assistance for others and for yourself.
THE COURAGE TO SING
Healing, in its deepest sense, is not repair; it is resonance. When trauma strikes, fear and shame freeze the body, and our original rhythm recedes. Until that vibration is recalled, something essential remains missing. Without the voice, the spirit cannot fully inhabit the body. Your soul song does not require perfection. Medicine results from the presence; the trembling voice and the cracked tone often carry the deepest emotional truth. Do not hide behind recorded flutes or new-age melodies. Your clients do not need atmospheric music, they need ‘you;’ they need your breath, your vibration, and your courage. You do not need to be flawless. You need to be alive. Healing is not the performance of wholeness; it is the courageous embodiment of it.