I’m taking a six-week Shamanism course for which our homework this week was to bring a song to class. Once class had begun, our teacher dimmed the lights and had us sing our songs one by one for the entire group to hear. It wasn’t easy to sing out to the group like that, but it was a powerful experience.
What is a song, anyway? It looks to me like it’s a wonderful piece of work that knits rhythm, melody and meaning together. Look at the birds’ songs. It’s hard to imagine that they aren’t communicating with each other in song. Depending upon the species and the situation, I imagine they say, “This is my territory, bug off.” “Hey guys, I’m over here.” “Danger! Danger!”
If the birds have words to put into their songs, I don’t understand them, but they must be using some sort of language with their songs - perhaps even only via tone, accent and pace. Don’t we do the same? Even a Bach chorale carries powerful mood, and there's surely meaning in that.
If you could sing or play a song right now that would convey your current state, what would it be?
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Community, Community, Community
Monday, February 25, 2008
I’m on the Hudson line, heading North out of NYC. We just rounded the bend at the top of manhattan and the Hudswon River is on my right (I prefer to face backwards) the George Washington Bridge is fading into the horizon. The sun is shining bright on the snow along the tracks and the snow that highlights the Palisades across the river.
Two women are getting caught up on there lives in the seat behind me. Both of them nice people, one of them speaks with an immigrant’s accent. I’m headed into the country to hang out with two writer friends and their toddler son, but the 83-minute train ride is a perfect time to open my laptop and do my morning work on my book.
Times like this I can’t help but notice, this is a pretty nice life. It’s not perfect yet. (What am I saying? It will never be perfect.) It’s still not even sustainable yet, but it’s nice. And I can see that it’s going to work.
I can feel successive stages of relief as I pass through successive stages of preparation for a new income stream. (Switching from ad-hoc freelance writing and contract work to professional coaching and teaching.)
A huge amount of our energy gets wasted on panic and worry and mania. Even when things are going well, it’s amazing how much anguish gets stirred up in a regular day if you don’t pay attention. More importantly, I suppose, it’s amazing how much good it feels when you notice how far you’ve come and how good it is where you already are.
I’m on the Hudson line, heading North out of NYC. We just rounded the bend at the top of manhattan and the Hudswon River is on my right (I prefer to face backwards) the George Washington Bridge is fading into the horizon. The sun is shining bright on the snow along the tracks and the snow that highlights the Palisades across the river.
Two women are getting caught up on there lives in the seat behind me. Both of them nice people, one of them speaks with an immigrant’s accent. I’m headed into the country to hang out with two writer friends and their toddler son, but the 83-minute train ride is a perfect time to open my laptop and do my morning work on my book.
Times like this I can’t help but notice, this is a pretty nice life. It’s not perfect yet. (What am I saying? It will never be perfect.) It’s still not even sustainable yet, but it’s nice. And I can see that it’s going to work.
I can feel successive stages of relief as I pass through successive stages of preparation for a new income stream. (Switching from ad-hoc freelance writing and contract work to professional coaching and teaching.)
A huge amount of our energy gets wasted on panic and worry and mania. Even when things are going well, it’s amazing how much anguish gets stirred up in a regular day if you don’t pay attention. More importantly, I suppose, it’s amazing how much good it feels when you notice how far you’ve come and how good it is where you already are.
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