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Today we had rehearsals.

Just me, Cæcilie Balling on violin, and Bilal Irshed on oud. And already it feels like something sacred is forming. Tomorrow it all begins—soundcheck at dawn, costumes, tuning every detail until it rings true.

Tomorrow is both the concert, the pilgrimage, and the day I release my piece Om Nahmah Shivaya exclusively here on Sleeve. You can access it with a one-time purchase, or by becoming a monthly paying member. If you choose the membership, you’ll receive it as part of that. Otherwise, it’ll be available for around $7.

I share this not to push—but to invite.

Membership allows me to keep working this way: slow, deep, present. And in return, I offer early access to the experiences I care most about.

Like the upcoming masquerade ball on September 6th in the Court Theatre at Christiansborg. Only 150 tickets will be sold. It’s a music-dramatic performance honoring Caroline Mathilde’s anniversary—with Sara Hjort and others. I’ll be calling Caroline Mathilde's spirit into the space. Members will hear about it first and make sure they can get tickets before the sale opens.

Also, here I wanted to share glimpses from today’s rehearsal:

Thank you for listening.

For walking with me.

For being part of this.

I dream that this evening will touch as many hearts as possible. That it will reach somewhere deeper. That it, in real time, can become a gathering of love. You’ll know: this is a spiritual shower. Of energy. Of care. Of the values that actually matter.

It’s a pause from yourself—and also a meeting with yourself. A space where everything is allowed to unfold.

We begin in Trinitatis Church. As people arrive, they’ll receive a small light. They’ll walk from the Round Tower into the church and be invited to light it—for someone they love, for peace, or simply for whatever is needed. Bilal Irshad will play oud. Stine Cicoria Rehnholdt will read aloud.

Then I’ll come in and sing shanti—peace—and everyone will be given a small booklet with the light. I’ll invite us to sing together. To let the word shanti move through us.

Then we walk. A slow pilgrimage up the tower, chanting. Gathering the energy in sound. At the top, we arrive. We drink a glass of water—because it’s a long climb. And then, Cæcilie will stand with her violin, and I’ll sit at the grand piano.

We begin with a prayer.

And then: the concert. A set of re-arranged earlier works, shaped especially for this space. The sound will be more atmospheric, more open. Round Tower asks for that.

This world, right now—it’s out of rhythm. I feel it deeply. We need peace. Especially in Palestine. In Ukraine. We need to stop these wars. But we also need peace inside. Inner peace. The kind that doesn’t look away.

In Bhutan, prayer is part of the school day. There’s a reverence for life there—and it walks hand in hand with gratitude. And when you live in gratitude, there’s no room left for fear. It burns off.

Gratitude is like a golden umbrella in full sunlight.

And honestly—who doesn’t want to live under that?