Shangri-La: The Frequency of the Lost Paradise

A Connection with the Classics

Since childhood, I’ve felt a deep connection to classic black-and-white films — and perhaps, to the idea of the Sound of Shangri-La. During my teenage years, I often spent hours in vintage shops, surrounded by dusty books and reels. Orson Welles amazed me with War of the Worlds, a story of alien machines that felt more real than reality itself. Meanwhile, Hitchcock captivated me with his psychological thrillers: Gaslight, Psycho, and the eerie The Birds. Moreover, in that black-and-white universe, my soul found comfort in Audrey Hepburn —her simple smile, her quiet charm, in Sabrina or in Roman Holiday, as the princess longing for a normal life.

The Film That Stays

However, one film left a deeper impression. It told a story wrapped in mystery and wonder. A plane crashes in the Himalayas.
A hidden city appears beyond the snow.
The film was Lost Horizon (1937), based on the novel by James Hilton.

A Place Beyond the Maps

High in the Himalayas, beyond the Nepal we know, there is a legendary place: Shangri-La. It is a hidden valley in the Kunlun Mountains, in mythical Tibet. This kingdom isn't on any map, yet it lives in the dreams of those seeking peace and happiness. There are snowy peaks, endless mist, silent monasteries, the distant sound of bells, and gardens that feel eternal.

I remember those scenes clearly. A plane flies over icy peaks. Then, a crash in the snow. The passengers wander through days of silence and white. Eventually, like a vision, Shangri-La appears.

They find a secret city lit by a soft, unreal glow. Golden temples. Still waters. Flowers that never die. Calm faces wear light robes, despite the cold outside. Indeed, it is a place beyond time. That timeless feeling is at the heart of the Sound of Shangri-La, a vision that stays long after the journey ends.

Leaving the Ideal

Yet, the protagonist chooses to leave. I never understood why. He had found beauty and stillness, but pulled something back to him to the noise and chaos. As a child, I held on to the image of that valley like a treasure I was afraid to lose. I would have never left.
Later, he tries to return — driven by regret and longing. I held my breath, hoping he would find Shangri-La again. After all, I knew — even then — that Shangri-La was more than a place. It was a promise inside us. A secret frequency. An echo of the soul. In many ways, that longing is also part of the Sound of Shangri-La.

The Power of Sound

They say echoes of that promise can still be felt in Nepal. In small temples or quiet healing centers, people practice an ancient art: sound healing with Tibetan singing bowls.

Of course, this is not music. It is vibration. A frequency you feel more with your body than your ears. As the bowls begin to sing, their sound gently fills the space. As a result, something inside begins to shift. It becomes a moment of pure presence. Perhaps it even connects us to a distant place—remembered, or imagined.

Many describe it as a feeling of floating. Of returning to something we don't have words for, but deeply recognize. In that quiet state, some say it's possible to touch — for an instant — what we've searched for in stories, memories, and dreams…

Maybe Shangri-La is not on any map
But maybe — just maybe — the Sound of Shangri-La lives in the deep hum of a Tibetan bowl, When sound passes through the body, it reaches the soul, and everything else fades away.