mind

Everyone is going to die. Acknowledging this — and reminding oneself daily of one’s mortality — is a core tenet of Buddhist teachings. Few places make that reminder more vivid than Hollywood Forever Cemetery, the iconic Los Angeles graveyard where more than 90,000 people are buried.

Inside the Masonic Lodge on the cemetery grounds, beneath chandeliers, dozens of people search for stillness with a meditation class. In an ornate Italian Renaissance-style room, participants sit scattered across couches and cushions, cross-legged with their eyes closed. The room is silent.

Headstones at Hollywood Forever Cemetery.

Nico Cary is one of the meditation group leaders at Hollywood Forever Cemetery.

For meditation teacher Nico Cary, the cemetery is an ideal backdrop for mindfulness and a lesson in impermanence. “It is quite grounding and an extension of some of the practice we do,” Cary says.

Beth Kaiserman, who regularly attends the meditation group, sees the cemetery as a chance to demystify death. “It’s accepting it as part of life. We’re coming out of our lives to come to this meditation. We’re walking by these gravestones that have been here for so long,” she says. Death, in her mind, doesn’t have to be taboo. “It is a big part of the practice to hopefully come to some level of acceptance that it’s just part of the cycle.”

Practicing meditation at Hollywood Forever is a privilege, explains Cary. The cemetery is not simply a place where people come to mourn; it is a place where relatives return to remember, honor and love those who have died.

Hollywood Forever is, quite literally, livelier than most cemeteries. The grounds are home to a colony of roughly 60 abandoned cats that has attracted a group of loyal caretakers, as well as dozens of peafowl roaming freely. The cemetery is also the final resting place of Hollywood legends, including Cecil B. DeMille, Judy Garland and the rock group the Ramones, where fans leave offerings. Since 2002, Cinespia has hosted outdoor screenings of iconic films at the cemetery during the summer, drawing hundreds of people to the grounds. The cemetery also hosts summer concerts.

“It feels pretty special to be somewhere, on land that’s so cared for, and that so many people come to share love, really — to remember their loved ones, to honor their ancestors,” Cary says.

For more than eight years, Insight LA has brought meditation to Hollywood Forever every Monday night, with a revolving list of teachers leading sessions in the Masonic Lodge. The class is donation-based, as is traditional in the Buddhist practice. Often, the teachers will lead a guided walking meditation through the cemetery grounds.

Insight LA, a Buddhist teaching nonprofit that was founded in 2002 by Trudy Goodman, is based in Santa Monica but also has a retreat house in Benedict Canyon for daylong events.

Members of a weekly meditation group at Hollywood Forever Cemetery participate in a guided session inside the Masonic lodge.

“We have yearlong programs. We have residential retreats. We have weekly drop-in meditation classes, and then we have the Hollywood Forever group too,” says Melissa McKay, the executive director at Insight LA.

According to McKay, the benefits of meditation are striking. “Put simply: It decreases stress, bringing calm and clarity, becoming more aware of oneself,” she says. “It decreases the negativity of the mind, self-hatred, the fears, the spiraling judgment — all of that. It increases the positive sides of our mind: our compassion, care, friendliness, clarity.”

A 2026 UC San Diego study confirms that just seven days of meditation can create molecular changes in the brain linked to stress relief, enhanced neuroplasticity and natural pain relief. The study also shows that meditation can positively affect the immune system and metabolism.

James Rokel practices mindfulness while walking alongside tombstones.

Despite the backdrop, meditation is not just about facing death, McKay says — it’s about learning how to live consciously. One participant, Jared Swanson, thinks of the meditation group as a school for emotional awareness.

“There was a moment where I realized I was in a lot of cycles — relational cycles — and wanted change,” says Swanson. He has been integrating the mindful practices into his life. “I think it’s a desire to be more responsible for my life, to be more present and responsible for my actions and choices,” he says.

Meditation nights attendees range from curious first-time visitors to seasoned veterans who have been practicing Buddhism for over two decades. Cary says the practice can benefit people regardless of their experience level.

“The intentional space to be with ourselves is so nourishing,” says Cary. “Then we practice. You add in a practice on top of that and magical things start to happen.”

Cary leads the group in 30 minutes of silence before a lesson. Participants settle into their cushions. He invites them to rock gently back and forth, a movement he calls “grandmother wisdom,” the kind of care one might offer a crying child. He poses a question for reflection: “What are you trusting right now?”

Insight LA has brought meditation to Hollywood Forever Cemetery every Monday night for nearly 10 years; a walking meditation is often involved.

Nicki Katz, who has been attending the meditations for two years, enjoys the practice of sitting in the quiet. Last year, she attended a 10-day silent retreat, only to accidentally break her silence by excitedly greeting a bunny during a picnic. “I come back to the body and the present awareness of allowing my mind to find some sense of gratitude,” says Katz. She explains that silence also helps her become more intentional with her words.

Tonight’s lesson is on truthfulness and embodying loving kindness. Lessons vary from week to week. “Oftentimes, it’s what the teacher is feeling or what’s come up for them in their practice,” says Cary.

For Monday meditation, the teaching group has assigned the 10 paramis (spiritual virtues) of Buddhism, which explore topics like generosity, wisdom and patience. “We’ve been going into that all year, so each month is one of the paramis,” says Cary.

“The intentional space to be with ourselves is so nourishing,” says meditation leader Nico Cary.

To begin the lesson, he reads a letter he wrote to the president at 5 years old, cautioning him of the perils of nuclear war. The letter is met with snaps and giggles, as a 5-year-old Cary warns of imminent death. “Apparently I was a peculiar child with a morbid sensibility, preoccupied with nuclear war,” he says, smiling. “It makes a lot of sense as to why I became a Buddhist.”

Cary begins to speak about the current moment and how he believes truth has become distorted and refracted in the age of social media. “Trauma is a distortion of reality,” he says. He then invites group members to consider love and kindness in their daily practice.

As the session winds down, participants spring to their feet to discuss the evening. The Masonic Lodge bursts into chatter — the silence abandoned. Tonight, the cemetery is alive.

As Olivia Rodrigo kicked off the Unraveled Tour in support of her third album, “You Seem Pretty Sad for a Girl So in Love,” the internet had plenty to talk about—from her dissolving dress and flower-covered stage design to her custom-made, pink heart-shaped guitar.

The guitar was built by Luis Muñoz, a Mexican American guitar technician and luthier who operates out of a tiny repair shop in East L.A.

Originally from El Paso, Muñoz moved to Los Angeles in 2009 and took guitar repair classes in Hollywood, hoping to find his way into the music industry.

Music was always around Muñoz. He remembers discovering Slash after his family got cable television. Mesmerized by the Guns N’ Roses guitarist, who stole the spotlight with his top hat and searing guitar solos in videos for “Welcome to the Jungle” and “Sweet Child O’ Mine” on MTV’s Hot 100 music video countdown, Muñoz knew that was what he wanted to do.

He picked up his father’s old guitar and began learning to play, experimenting with the strings and teaching himself along the way.

His first opportunity came with singer-songwriter LP as a guitar technician. Muñoz admits he exaggerated his skill set to get his foot in the door, but he was determined to make the opportunity count.

“Once you’re in, you’re in,” he said.

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Over the years, Muñoz has toured with artists including Smashing Pumpkins, Deftones, Bush, Anthrax, Fall Out Boy and his most recent touring job was with Rodrigo, after his wife, the pop star’s former bassist, told him she was looking for a new guitar tech.

Rodrigo’s heart-shaped guitar was another opportunity to put his craftsmanship on display.

“I’m sure Olivia has every guitar company in the world in her DMs, and she still trusted a small shop in East L.A.,” Muñoz wrote on Instagram, alongside photos of Rodrigo with the guitar.

“Five prototypes before I got the body right. It had to look cool, play easy, feel comfortable, and most of all, sound good. Built completely by hand, late nights after shop hours.”

Muñoz recalled the moment Rodrigo’s team reached out to request a custom-made guitar. He knew he had one shot to get it right: “In the back of my mind, I’m like, I only got one shot and it has to be made with love.”

The guitar took several months to complete and was built entirely by hand. He later hinted that it is currently one-of-one for now. After Rodrigo shared the guitar with her fans, Muñoz’s one-of-a-kind creation quickly became part of the visual identity of the tour — but for him, the significance went beyond the instrument itself.

Now retired from touring to spend more time with his family, including his 18-month-old daughter, Rosie, Muñoz says moments like seeing young fans in the crowd are what stay with him.

“One of my favorite things being on tour was seeing all the little girls lose their minds. The power of seeing that. Immediately in their head it’s like, ‘I can do that too.’ Imagine if I’m playing a tiny little role in that, yeah … all day.”

In an otherwise empty compartment of a regional train on its way to a small town in Germany last month, a friendly passenger asked if I was headed to Halberstadt for “the note change.” He was an Australian law professor based in Hong Kong who was traveling with his Swiss mother for the irregular ritual every few years of a new note being sounded on a decommissioned old church’s diminutive modern pipe organ in what feels like the middle of nowhere.

He was hardly alone. The audience the next day in the packed late-Romanesque St. Burchardi “John Cage Organ” Church had come from seemingly everywhere, along with international media, to witness a barely distinguishable new note added to a sustained chord in Cage’s “Organ2/ASLSP.”

“ASLSP” stands for as “As Slow(ly) and Soft(ly) as Possible,” adapted from the opening line of the final paragraph in James Joyce’s “Finnegans Wake”: “Soft morning City! Lsp.” Cage had meant his organ piece to enjoy the indeterminacy of neither the performer nor the audience knowing how long the score, in eight parts, would last. In Halberstadt, they are stretching it out 639 years! The performance began in 2001 with the intent that each note change would be a great event.

Four years ago, Times columnist Nicolas Goldberg wrote an opinion piece about his fascination with what to him sounded like a profound project about the meaning of time. I tried to talk him out of what I believed to be a gimmicky violation of the being-in-the-moment spirit of Cage. But what mattered to Nick was the idea, not the intent, and he used me in his column as a foil. Still, Cage has been central to my practicing what some people (not me) call music criticism, and I contended wild horses couldn’t drag me to Halberstadt.

Nevertheless, early August’s “From 7 to 8,” as the note change was advertised, occurred almost exactly to the day, as when, 50 years earlier, I filed my first music review in the Los Angeles Herald Examiner. This was also to be my last summer and 121st season on staff of the Los Angeles Times. I step down as music critic Friday. (I still plan to contribute to The Times on an irregular basis.)

I happened to be visiting the Salzburg Festival in August and, in a spirit of endgame, hopped on a train to Halberstadt. On the seven-hour ride, my half-century Cage-suffused career passed through my mind.

I thought about how Cage had once told me that when he was a boy in Los Angeles, he loved Grieg with no need to know why. When he studied music, reason replaced love. It was only regaining the ability to hear music as music that he could compose.

Cage described this as an example of the celebrated Zen koan about reality: First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is.

When I accidentally stumbled into music criticism with an academic penchant for music analysis, my crutches for writing about music were technical and of little use in a newspaper. I had to find a way to simply listen. It gave me new ears, and I was hooked.

Cage solved my next problem by insisting that the way to discover new things is to overcome our dependence on our likes and dislikes, those supposed pillars of criticism. College taught me to investigate the “great” composers who mattered and disdain those of no value. Consequently, I had never paid attention to the likes of Rachmaninoff and Shostakovich but discovered that they moved listeners deeply. Again, for me, so-called criticism proved a pathway to opening the mind, and writing about discovery is an ancient pleasure. Cage put it this way: “It’s not what I don’t know that scares me, it’s what I do know.”

The great enticement to return to L.A. after spending nine years in New York (and periodically reporting on Cage from the East Coast and Europe for The Times) was the prospect of Walt Disney Concert Hall. Construction hadn’t yet begun and fundraising was iffy; the community was scared about what it didn’t know. I came armed with another Cage-ism: Every seat is the best seat in the house.

I tried to get the Music Center to make that the motto of the hall. After all, Cage was born at Good Samaritan Hospital about a mile from Disney. That didn’t fly. Still, thanks to Frank Gehry, every seat meant every view inside and out was the best. Every way of seeing also meant every way of hearing. Disney taught L.A. the joy of architecture in a way many of us had never known in this haphazardly built town. Once it was built, there was no choice but to embark on an ongoing love letter to L.A.

Such thoughts on the Cage train poorly suited arriving in the heart of the state of Saxony-Anhalt. One of the first things to catch my eye was a campaign billboard for a far-right Alternative for Germany candidate. A month later AfD would win a landslide victory, dividing Germany and alarming much of Europe.

The streets were mostly deserted. There wasn’t much open, giving the handsome and well-preserved Halberstadt a “Twilight Zone” aura.

In the St. Burchardi Church in Halberstadt, Germany, “The Cage Organ Project” is to be played for 639 years.

(Mark Swed/Los Angeles Times)

Dawn, though, attracted life. “The Cage Organ Project” proved marvelous, to use one of Cage’s favorite words. Whether they were 200-euro ticket holders who had journeyed long and far to be in the church for the note change or the hundreds on complimentary folding chairs outside on the lawn, unshaded in the hot sun watching on large video screens and listening with the assist of a fine amplification system, the aura was now calmness, grace and gratitude.

Nick had been right all along. Time became grounded. The note change is a marker, but the organ, in which air is electronically blown through the pipes day and night for all to hear, has become an endearing sound that connects you to your being. Here and now and hear and now are the same.

ASLSP, moreover, reflects the magical unhurriedness the world craves, be it the slowing down of AI or turning down the volume on social media and politicians’ bully pulpits. None of this may have been on Cage’s mind when “Organ2/ASLSP” had its premiere in Metz, France, in 1987, five years before Cage’s death. That performance lasted a half hour. But Cage is no longer with us, and “Organ2/ASLSP” now has a marvelous life of its own.

One of my most memorable interviews at The Times was with the Dalai Lama in 1999. He had never given one about music and appeared at first sorry he had agreed to. Every question about music got a negative response. The only need he expressed for it was as a fundraising tool for his Tibetan government in exile.

Noting my distress, he explained the problem with music is how easily we get attached to it, and at the heart of Buddhism is nonattachment. Then, breaking the tension with his trademark belly laugh, he admitted his problem was attachment to Buddhism.

At Halberstadt, I may have found my way of letting go. But I also leave The Times with the gratitude not only for the freedom it allowed me to champion causes but also to be part of a very long, quirky process that makes this newspaper unique.

Going back to 1925, there have only been four Times classical music critics in 101 years, and arriving here in 1996, I immediately discovered my roots in Isabel Morse Jones. A violinist who covered music from 1925 to 1947, she was a modernist with her finger on the pulse of the times and stood in refreshing contrast to the fussy East Coast male critics.

She was said to have provided an intellectual awakening of music on the West Coast. She put the Hollywood Bowl on the map. She championed new music and not just the stellar locals, Stravinsky and Schoenberg, but also the avant-garde and world music no one else gave the time of day. After leaving The Times, Jones founded the Music Academy of the West in Santa Barbara originally modeled after the Salzburg Festival.

She threw her lot in with the society page editor, who covered women’s clubs. Together they became a power duo who campaigned to build a home for the Los Angeles Philharmonic, which three decades later led to the Music Center. That society editor — who chronicled and illuminated the social, political and artistic issues in L.A. in the 1930s from the women’s perspective — was Crete Cage. John Cage’s mother was a must-read for all women in L.A.

We cannot hold on to Cage, but we can’t escape him either. Times look bad. L.A. feels in the dumps. It was like that, as well, when I arrived at The Times in 1996. The city was still recovering from the 1992 riots — the beating of Rodney King had caused a profound social reckoning — and the 1994 earthquake. There was a recession. The L.A. Phil, now the model arts institution in the country if not the world, was millions of dollars in the hole.

Today, catastrophe is wherever you look. The Olympics, the environment, the damn developers, self-driving cars, LAX. The news business isn’t so hot either.

But let history — and John Cage — remind us that opening our ears can be the conduit to opening our minds. We have a wealth of new artistic leadership on the way at the L.A. Phil, L.A. Opera, L.A. Chamber orchestra and Pacific Symphony; new management at the L.A. Master Chorale and the Wallis and Long Beach Opera. And new ideas all around us.

Just as Disney Hall spread joy when we needed it most, one of Gehry’s final masterpieces is taking shape, the Colburn Center on 2nd Street a block from Disney. I took a hard-hat tour after returning home from Halberstadt and experienced the same combination of awe and promise. When it opens next year, it will be a game changer.

And even here, Cage the connector can’t keep out. At the press opening of Peter Zumthor’s new LACMA building, I buttonholed the architect, telling him I see John Cage all over the place. He looked startled for a moment and then with an uncharacteristic grin replied that he considered that a welcome compliment. Chance, he said, is very important.

Across town, one of MOCA’s most successful exhibitions was its 1993 Cage celebration, “Rolywholyover A Circus.” Cage asked for natural light, so that paintings would always look different whenever you saw them. He wanted the surprise of artwork hung in an unpredictable fashion. He wanted to let the outdoors in and the indoors out.

It is no coincidence that this describes aspects of the new LACMA. “Rolywholyover” traveled to the Guggenheim in New York’s SoHo district the next year, and the young curator in charge was Michael Govan, LACMA’s visionary head behind the Zumthor galleries.

Along with the new LACMA building we have a new Metro D Line stop nearby. Now a direct connector between LACMA and the Colburn Center passes almost directly under Good Samaritan Hospital.

Let me make my last suggestion as “music critic.” How about naming the new D Line connection between LACMA and the Colburn Center the John Cage Express?

Not everything has to be as slow as possible.