They say you die twice; once when you take your last breath, and again when your name is spoken for the last time.
THE BEGINNING
It was 1994, back when the internet was a clunky, dial-up “dream modems” screeching at 14.4 kbps, barely able to carry a song. Music nerds like me hung out in Usenet groups, swapping grainy WAV files and geeking out over ambient sounds. That year, Michael, stuck at home with a broken arm and a heavy heart, poured himself into his vintage Kurzweil K2000 Synthesizer. Composed with one hand, out came *The Ghost of Summer Dreams*, a double-CD masterpiece that was never published and never hit the shelves.… but somehow, by some twist of fate, found its way to me. Just a view tracks, “The Ghost of Summer Dreams”, “Lake of Sorrows”, and “Marigold” but they hit me like nothing else. These songs accompanied me through major life events, etched into my soul.
DARSHAN AMBIENT’S MUSIC
By 1996, Michael dropped *Vermilion Sky*, his first real CD, a leap from gritty cassette days to the lush ambient sound he’d make his own. I snagged it the second it came out, eager I slid it into my player, already in love. More albums followed, each one a piece of magic: *Skyful of Bliss* in ’98, *End of Days* in ’99, *Selfless* in 2000, *The Dream Pool* in ’01, *Providence* in ’02, *Autumn’s Apple* in ’04. Then came *re:karma* in 2005, right when my world felt like it was crumbling. I’d loop “Slow Drift” for hours, letting its gentle waves calm the chaos inside me.
I told Michael about it once, and he laughed, voice catching: “What, it put you to sleep?” I stumbled over my words, trying to explain, but he just grinned, eyes warm with understanding. He got it. The way his music held me together. That moment, his knowing smile, it’s a memory I carry like a treasure, glowing through the years.
THE SECRET – YOU DRAW YOUR MOST POWERFUL EMOTIONS INTO YOUR LIFE
Many more wonderful Albums followed. Each one I cherished.
So, how did we connect? I sent him an email in 2006, just thanking him for the music that had such an impact on me. To my surprise, he wrote back, kind and real. That sparked something, a friendship that grew through emails, then calls. I told him about *Afterlife*, a film I was producing, inspired by my own life’s highs and lows, and asked if he’d score it. He said yes, no hesitation, like he was all in for the adventure.
I visited him in Modesto, California, where our shared obsession with military planes turned us into giddy kids, wandering flight museums, swapping stories of jets and open skies. One memory still makes me smile.
When Michael came to Washington State to work on the film, we grabbed lunch at this quirky restaurant, its ceiling strung with model planes. The owner threw out a challenge: name ten aircraft, exact models, and lunch was free. Michael and I locked eyes, smirking. “You want first crack, or should I?” I asked. He leaned back, grinning wide. “Go for it,” he said, and I rattled off the names as the restaurant owner pointed at planes, each one a little victory. We laughed so hard, digging into our free lunch, the kind of moment you wish you could bottle and keep forever.
Later, back at my place, Michael pulled a CD from his bag. “Got something for you,” he said softly, handing me the only master copy of *The Ghost of Summer Dreams* made. “I didn’t know it then, but I swear I made this for you,” he said.
My heart stopped. That album, my favorite, my anchor, was mine in a way I never could’ve imagined. I can still feel the weight of that disc, the warmth of his words, the overwhelming joy of being understood by someone whose music had already saved me.
Thinking of it today still gives me goose bumps.
I had the privilidge to be involved in one of Darshan Ambient’s Albums. In 2008, I got to audio master his album *From Pale Hands to Weary Skies* in my studio. When it earned praise for its crystal-clear sound, I felt this quiet pride, knowing I’d helped polish something so beautiful.
That was the last time I saw him in person. Life, as it does, pulled us apart, but his music stayed close.
Michael passed on January 9, 2020, taken by cancer at 61. The news hit like a wave, leaving a hollow quiet. But his music, his spirit, it’s still here. Right now, I’m listening to his songs as I am writing this, its delicate notes curling around me like a memory, soft and bittersweet. I say his name; Michael Allison. Darshan Ambient.
And it feels like a promise to keep him alive. Those moments of joy, our long conversations over planes and life, the gift of that CD, the way he saw me through his music, they shine through the sadness, reminding me that love and art linger, even when time tries to steal them away.
Michael Allison (Darshan Ambient) 1958 – †2020
