During my entire life, I glimpsed scattered fragments of what come to be one of the Intent Sync core ideas. Living between code and sound, I often asked myself: why must music be static recordings? Could we create something more intelligent—audio that adapts, evolves, and responds?
After decades of technical research into the transformative power of sound, alongside studying psychology, storytelling, and narratives that shape the mind, and personal mystical experiences that transformed me from within, intuition whispered: it was time. Time to create something meaningful beyond profit. Time to use my skills for a positive transformation in a world that desperately needed it.
Then my father was diagnosed with acute leukemia—an incurable disease that, for someone his age, would progress rapidly, with life expectancy of less than a year or even months.
Faced with this devastating news, I worked around the clock, nonstop day and night, on the first prototype version of Intent Sync specifically for him. If there was even the smallest chance of a miracle through intention and sound, I had to try.
I was able to delivery in time and he managed to listen to those early sessions about a half dozen times. He was content and grateful for them, but I felt like I was failing him as I watched him grow weaker.
As the disease advanced, he became barely able to get out of bed, thin and weak, eating very little and consumed by depression. He began asking to die. Watching him slip away, as my own creation failed to deliver the miracle I desperately hoped for, I became completely demotivated.
I could work on it no longer and felt completely powerless: the project, the dream, the promise of transformation through sound slipping away.
Then came his final day.
In one of his last conscious moments at home, something compelled me to act. Feeling the end was near, I was moved to do something. I shifted his bed and opened the window so the fresh air and sunlight could touch his face—a warmth he hadn't felt in weeks.
Then, holding his hand alongside my mother and brother in a circle, I felt a strong impulse to ask : "Father, let's live. Do you want to live?"
At first, he resisted. Then, for a brief, miraculous instant, I saw hope flicker in his almost-closed eyes. Suddenly, with a clarity that took my breath away, his eyes opened wide—shining green, alive again. Barely able to speak at first, his words were garbled, but then, stronger and more certain than he'd been in months,
He whispered from the depths of his being, his words broken but determined: "I want to live."
In that moment, everything changed. I realized that the true power of healing I had been seeking wasn't just about the body, but arose from somewhere deeper—the force of intention itself—reaching into him and triggering a spark that brought back his authentic self to life. Something shifted, breaking through months of depression and despair. For that sacred instant, he was there again.
I will remember this moment, this morning, for the rest of my life.
A week before this day, thinking it might be his final moment, I made a promise to him in that hospital room. Words tore themselves from me: that I would dedicate my life to creating true healing and transformation through sound and intention. I promised him that his life was meaningful and part of something bigger, and that I would find true ways to use technology, along with the right intent, to help others heal, grow, and transform. I told him I wouldn't stop until I did.
Later, after he passed away, that promise kept coming back, stronger and clearer, filling me with purpose and giving me the strength to continue. And so Intent Sync grew from a project into a mission of the heart and soul, born from love, loss, and an unbreakable promise to use sound and intention to help people and our world. Something not just for me, but for everyone who resonates with it and is willing to be part of it.
This is why Intent Sync exists. This is why every intention session matters.
I wrote this with wet eyes and in a personal way—as if talking to a friend, for all who have known loss, despair, and the search for meaning and change.