Medicine Festival - Music, Movement and Stillness

Five days at Medicine Festival became a journey through music, movement, art, nature and stillness. From dancing to Poranguí, Nessi Gomes, Mose and others, to a didgeridoo workshop, wild swimming, sauna sessions and quiet moments alone in the forest, the weekend offered a powerful contrast between energy and calm. This reflection explores the simple experiences that created a deeper sense of connection, presence and freedom throughout the festival for me.

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Nigel Kilford

8/17/20265 min read

Medicine Festival – Music, Movement and Stillness in the Forest

Some experiences are enjoyable while they are happening. Others seem to stay with you long after you leave. My time at Medicine Festival was definitely one of those. I arrived on Wednesday evening and stayed through until late Sunday night, giving me several days to properly settle into the rhythm of the festival rather than simply dipping in and out. Held within the beautiful surroundings of Wasing Estate in Berkshire, Medicine brings together music, art, culture, community and nature. For me, though, it became something much more personal: several days of music, movement, creativity, cold water, conversation, exploration and, perhaps most importantly, moments of complete stillness.

Following the Music

Music was a huge part of my time there. Across the five days I saw an incredible variety of artists, including Poranguí, Nessi Gomes, Mose, Malte Marten on handpan, Cuervo Cuervo, Nick Barbachano and DJ Dipod. Each brought something completely different. Some performances felt almost meditative, while others built into deep, rhythmic sets where standing still simply wasn't an option. And I certainly didn't stand still very often. I pretty much danced throughout the days and continued well into the small hours.

There is something incredibly freeing about dancing when there is no other reason to do it beyond the fact that the music makes your body want to move. There is no destination, no objective and no clock watching. It is simply music, movement and being completely absorbed in the moment. As the days went on, I found myself settling further into it. The normal sense of time begins to disappear at a festival like this. Morning becomes afternoon, afternoon becomes evening, and suddenly you realise you have been dancing for hours.

Exploring Sound for Myself

Music for me isn't only something I enjoy listening to. I have always been fascinated by unusual and culturally distinctive instruments, particularly those capable of producing sounds that feel ancient, raw or deeply connected to vibration and breath. During the festival I took part in a didgeridoo workshop to develop my playing and hone my skills. I have recently acquired two didgeridoos, adding them to my growing collection of cultural instruments, so the opportunity to learn more about technique, breathing and rhythm came at exactly the right time.

There is something unique about the didgeridoo. You don't simply hear it; you feel it. The vibration travels through your mouth, chest and body, and the combination of breath, rhythm and resonance makes playing it almost physical. I also managed to find time during the festival to play my Dan Moi and Jaw Harp. These instruments can look incredibly simple, yet the sounds they create are anything but. Their vibrations seem to sit somewhere between sound and sensation, and there is something refreshingly uncomplicated about taking a small instrument out, finding a quiet place and simply experimenting with sound. No amplification or technology is needed, just breath, vibration and resonance.

Creativity Everywhere

The festival wasn't only about music. Art and creativity were everywhere, and I spent time looking through the work of different artists. I particularly enjoyed seeing the work of my friend Stuart Griggs, as well as Maxim All. Both create artwork that invites you to stop and really look rather than simply walk past. That became another interesting contrast during my time at Medicine. One moment I could be surrounded by hundreds of people dancing, and the next I could be standing completely still in front of a piece of art. Music encourages movement, while art often encourages stillness, and I found myself enjoying both equally.

Living in the Forest

One of the things that made the whole experience particularly special was camping on site within the woodland at Wasing. For several days, the forest became home. Instead of waking up surrounded by buildings, traffic and the usual signs of everyday life, I was waking amongst trees. That changes the feeling of a day before it has even properly begun.

Each day I also made time for a sauna, swim and cold shower. The sauna would bring deep heat into the body before heading into the water, and then came that familiar first contact with cold. The body reacts immediately, the breath sharpens, and then very quickly there is calm. For me, cold water has always had an ability to remove unnecessary thought. The moment you enter, there is nowhere else to be. You aren't thinking about tomorrow or yesterday; you are simply experiencing what is happening now. After nights of dancing and late finishes, that daily combination of sauna, water and cold shower became my reset before heading back into the day.

Walking Away From the Noise

For all the music, dancing and activity, some of the most powerful moments came when I walked away from it. I spent periods of time alone in the forest, far enough away from the main festival areas that the music gradually disappeared. The change was remarkable. Only a relatively short distance away there were thousands of people, stages, conversations and constant movement, yet amongst the trees there was almost complete silence.

There were no crowds, no music, no notifications and no need to talk. There was just the sound of the trees, birds, wind and the natural movement of the woodland. There is something deeply restorative about being completely alone in nature without feeling the need to fill the silence. I didn't need to meditate, practise anything or achieve anything. I could simply sit, look, listen, breathe and exist. Those moments gave the louder parts of the festival even more meaning because there was space for both: the celebration and the silence.

Five Days of Contrast

By Sunday night, having arrived the previous Wednesday evening, it felt as though I had lived inside a completely different rhythm for several days. There had been so much movement, music, sound, conversation and experience, but there had also been long moments of peace. That contrast is probably what I will remember most: music and silence, movement and stillness, community and solitude, sauna heat and cold water, dancing amongst hundreds of people and sitting alone amongst thousands of trees.

Neither one was better than the other. In fact, they seemed to strengthen each other. After spending time alone in the forest, returning to the music felt more intense. After hours of dancing and stimulation, walking back into the trees felt even quieter. The two experiences complemented one another and created a balance that is difficult to find in normal day-to-day life.

Perhaps the Medicine Is Simpler Than We Think

When I finally left late on Sunday night, it wasn't one particular performance, workshop or moment that stood out above everything else. It was the combination of them all. Music, movement, art, instruments, water, heat and cold, nature, community and solitude all became part of the same experience. Underneath all of it was a sense of connection.

We spend so much of modern life adding more: more information, more commitments, more possessions, more screens and more noise. Yet some of the experiences that make us feel most alive are remarkably simple. Dance until your legs are tired. Learn a new sound. Play an instrument. Jump into cold water. Stand in front of a piece of art and really look at it. Talk to someone new. Walk into a forest, sit underneath a tree and occasionally say absolutely nothing.

I arrived at Medicine Festival on Wednesday evening and left late Sunday night. In between were several days filled with sound, colour, movement and people. Yet strangely, the thing tying everything together was something much quieter: connection. Connection with music, creativity, the body, other people, nature and, somewhere amongst all of that, connection with yourself.

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