Jim and the Sound of Presence
I first met Jim at The Breathing Room, a serene yoga studio nestled in New Haven, CT. It was right after he’d completed one of his sound baths. Amid the gentle hush that follows such events, I noticed Jim carefully gathering his handpans. At the time, I had just fallen in love with this unique instrument, captivated by its resonant sounds and soothing vibrations. Naturally, I approached him.
Jim immediately radiated openness. Without hesitation, he invited me to experience the instruments myself, generously guiding me through their gentle yet profound tones. That initial encounter led me to attend one of his sound baths—an experience I can only describe as beautifully grounding. Jim’s offering felt incredibly generous and deeply relaxing, something that sparked my curiosity even further.
Over subsequent meetings, our conversations deepened, and I became increasingly intrigued by the journey that led Jim to this path. Thus began this interview, aiming to understand his “why.”
A Passion for Music
Jim’s journey into sound baths began with a lifelong passion for music, specifically percussion. He was attracted to obscure and unusual instruments—tools that offered something more than just sound. His discovery of the handpan was transformative. Jim described it as something magical: “The handpan has a reassuring voice; it always says, ‘Everything will be fine.’”
The handpan was another way for Jim to be present—it deepened his journey toward mindfulness. Drawn initially to Buddhist imagery through his art and tattoo work, Jim’s curiosity soon led him into Buddhist study at the Center For Dzogchen Studies, formerly in New Haven. There, meditation became integral to his life, teaching him presence amid the chaos.
When the pandemic forced Jim to close his tattoo shop, he suddenly found himself with an abundance of time. He began playing his handpan outdoors, discovering an immediate sense of calm and connection through the instrument’s resonant vibrations. It felt uniquely special—almost as if the energy from the craftsperson who created it had infused the metal itself. Encouraged by the positive responses he received when sharing short clips online, Jim began recording longer pieces, especially after people told him his music helped them sleep better and find relaxation during anxious times.
Later, Jim teamed up with yoga instructors and began combining his music with movement, bringing live handpan performances into yoga studios. These collaborations blossomed into a series of regular sound baths.
This understanding doesn’t just shape his music—it guides the way he parents, the way he connects, and the way he serves. He thinks real change doesn’t come from grand gestures but from meaningful, personal interactions. Whether he’s reaching one individual or a small group, he sees how these quiet offerings can ripple outward into larger communities. At first, he admitted, offering sound baths felt somewhat selfish—because of how fulfilling the experience was for him personally. But over time, he came to understand that it’s deeply collective: a shared experience of healing, presence, and connection.
“Art and music are fundamental—without them, I’d feel lost. Even people who don’t consider themselves artistic are moved by music and nature’s inherent beauty. It’s everywhere. You just have to tune in.”
Jim credits much of his orientation toward service to his father, whom he describes as “the most selfless person I’ve ever known.” He gave purely and consistently—even in moments when others might have held back.
Spending time with Jim made it clear that his journey embodies the spirit of true generosity—not just through music, but through presence. His offerings are rooted in quiet sincerity, in showing up fully and openly. Through his daughter’s words, his father’s example, and the voice of the handpan, Jim reminds us that at the heart of service lies a simple and enduring truth: “All we really need is love in our heart.”
Links to connect with Jim LoPresti:
A Father’s Influence, A Daughter’s Voice
A particularly touching moment in our conversation was when Jim spoke about his daughter. He recalled a simple yet powerful exchange from when she was just five years old:
“She said something beautiful, and I asked her to repeat it so I could record it. She said, ‘All we really need is love in our heart.’”
It was a phrase he had instilled in her—reminding her that beyond birthdays, holidays, and all the things we think we need, love in the heart is what truly matters. He later incorporated that recording into a song on his first album, embedding her voice—and her wisdom—into a track that feels as much like a personal keepsake as a public offering.
Music as Medicine, Presence as Practice
Jim’s thoughts on compassion, love, and vulnerability stayed with me long after our conversation. He believes many people resist compassion because vulnerability is too often mistaken for weakness. Yet, he reflected,
“Opening yourself up to someone—showing your real face—is scary, but it’s the most courageous thing you can do. It’s transformative. It’s medicine.”