I Don’t Understand The SAVA Sound Pod, But I Think It Healed Me

I won’t lie to you: when an opportunity to elevate my consciousness by way of a vibrating sound pod crossed my inbox, the invitation raised more suspicion than awareness. I am generally apprehensive of the ways in which the tech industry dove-tails with the wellness sector — the careless repackaging of indigenous traditions, the personal solutions to systemic problems, the capitalistic leap-frog game between buzzy new ailments and their quick cures — and truthfully, I’m a little jaded. Very little in wellness could surprise me; did I really need another hunk of rose quartz and permission to be more selfish?

That being said, we’re in deeply unwell times. I’m not immune to the allure of serenity — especially when a machine does the inner work for you. The mysterious and futuristic-sounding SAVA Sound Pod promised “a multi-dimensional healing journey” in a contraption described in deliciously infantilizing verbiage like “womblike and welcoming,” and “built like a cradle, ideal for healing and ergonomic benefits.” It was low-lift enlightenment: “simply choose a Sound Journey, and SAVA takes care of the rest.” And so, despite not really understanding what SAVA was — a product? An experience? A cult? — I was intrigued. After all, I had to leave the house anyway: it was free Slurpee day at 7-Eleven. Why not reach enlightenment on the way?

What Is SAVA?

SAVA is the brainchild of CEO and founder Ray Kelly, a former athlete whose own injuries sparked a lifelong exploration of pain management and rehabilitation. Kelly hosted the SAVA activation himself. He has a lilting Australian accent and a holistic approach to healing that is both delightfully metaphysical and refreshingly science-based; for all the new age-adjacent talk of elevated vibrations, Kelly’s work involves years of research, and studies indicate that in addition to its soothing effects, vibroacoustic therapy — a form of sound healing developed in the 1980s using low-frequency audio waves and vibrations — is beneficial for conditions from arthritis to Alzheimer’s disease.

At the activation, I was offered an adaptogenic mocktail, with or without THC — to ensure an accurate write-up and avoid Pod paranoia, I opted for the latter — and led into a gallery drenched in cosmic swirling light. In the center of the room, the Pod: a slick black lounger encircled with a rope of blue neon and topped with buttery fabric pulled taught so that when you lie across it, it feels a little like you’re floating. Beneath the fabric were ten 100-watt bass amplifiers and an arrangement of strategically placed speakers. During a SAVA Sound Journey, music becomes a sonic and physical experience that “hypnotizes the body,” as Kelly put it. Every detail of the Pod had been engineered to reduce stress, from its airy open-top design to winged sides that “hug” the body, activating touchpoints that signal safety to the human nervous system.

My Experience

Kelly demonstrated how to get in the Pod — you sit at the foot of it, then scooch back and lie down — and then, once I’d arranged myself, swaddled me in a weighted blanket and sleep mask. I nestled in, finally understanding all those womb comparisons. And then the journey started. Sonic arrangements of birdsong, monks, and trippy synth resonated through my body. I’ve been to those 4DX movies where they shake the chair and spritz you with mist, and I’d left damp and nauseated; this experience had the same immersive spirit, sans motion sickness. Acoustics shivered, swayed, and gently stretched me. I was a baby in a bassinet; I was a battery in a Hitachi wand; I was going to leave this experience taller.

After the last beat reverberated through my skull, I thought, That was nice. I hadn’t traversed time or hopped dimensions. Maybe I’d done it wrong. My jaw felt strange, puffy. And then I realized: I was feeling a lack of tension. For the first time in years, my jaw — my unyielding, always-in-its-TMJ-era jaw — was unclenched.

In a world of compact, discrete experiences, it’s an achievement to spend an hour doing something ineffable. I don’t know exactly how to explain the SAVA Pod. The closest comparison might be a full-body head tingler, or a light hallucinogenic trip.

As I decompressed over mint tea, Kelly noted that perhaps the Pod isn’t meant to be fully quantified with language: “While we are seeing an incredible shift in science-based research driving holistic healthcare, it’s really important to balance our foundational research with more progressive ideas that look at the magic in the unknown... We have so much more to learn and give in our understanding of ourselves, and the deeply synergistic relationship we have with nature and the universe. Its language is energy, frequency, and vibration.”

I was a baby in a bassinet; I was a battery in a Hitachi wand; I was going to leave this experience taller.

Here is where I admit confliction. I left the Pod unequivocally calmed. I would happily return. That being said, the Pod itself is currently available for pre-order at $12,000 a pop; I can’t pretend that price tag is accessible to the average wellness seeker. (I also feel ambivalent about SAVA’s use of Artificial Intelligence — the irony of allowing myself to be soothed by technology that, in a few short years, is predicted to steal my job while consuming more energy than the entire country of Sweden was not lost on me — but in this economy, as they say, I was willing to accept Kelly’s assertion that AI was used sparingly “on the backend” and the Pod’s development was “80% human.”) When asked whether he had plans to make the SAVA Pod more accessible — perhaps to lower income communities, who are disproportionately prone to stress — Kelly responded that he was developing a a portable personal Pod in the $1000 range, with multi-Pod healing centers in different locations around the country to follow. Maybe my heart had softened and my mind had been pried open with theta waves, but for what it’s worth, I do believe that Kelly wants to heal the world. I can’t fully dunk on the Pod — I can only hope that one day, its womblike embrace is available to everyone.

On my way home, I stopped at 7-Eleven. The cashier, no doubt exhausted from the parade of free Slurpee grifters, nonetheless greeted me with the warmth of a friend. A stranger complimented the way I dispensed Slurpee into my cup. Snapping a selfie in the parking lot, I nearly walked into an incoming customer. “Got a Slurpee, huh? Great move,” she said, instead of rebuking me. “Have a good one!” Like I was the main character in a neighborhood sitcom, everyone in my orbit was disconcertingly happy to see me. They were drawn to my energy. The only logical conclusion: my vibes had been made immaculate.