If You Can Talk, You Can Sing

Angeles Arrien asks, WHEN IN YOUR LIFE DID YOU STOP SINGING?

In Oceanic cultures they say, If you can sing, you can tell the truth. There is an African proverb: If you can talk, you can sing. If you can walk, you can dance. When did you stop singing? Because where I stopped singing is where I began to experience soul-loss, loss of spirit.  It is also where I began to lose my voice. Bringing my voice into the world and giving voice to what I see is giving voice to my own truth.


I try too hard. I organize my junk drawer; putting the pens in one bin and the tape and Post-It notes  in another. I stack the upcoming flyer events in one corner and the take out menus in another. I try too hard. I can over-think myself straight into a hole. Replay a conversation I had with a new friend over coffee and ask, "Did I say the right thing?" far too many times. I can work out every moment of a workshop I am about to teach- what songs should I play, what should I say, who should I touch? And come to find out, in the moment, none of that over-planning was necessary. I try too hard. Overachieving any chance I get. I was the favorite in Mr. Boda's science class, got straight A's in graduate school, and have no problem listing my achievements to hide my insecurity.  I try too hard. I look at myself too many times in the rear view mirror on the days when I feel insecure. Like maybe just the right amount of make up and hair product might hide my smallness.

I had a dream the other night. It was from my mother- not the mother who physically pushed me out into the world. But the mother who has taken up residence within me. The one who loves me up any chance She gets. She floods my veins and fills me with a vitality that feels like a juicy peach from Palisade on a Colorado hot summer day. In this dream, she told me to sing. She told me to sing to save my life. Sing to heal the wounds of a mother- broken from a long line of mothers who were frozen. I can't try too hard when I sing. Singing comes from my belly- the earth roots that sink through the fleshy heel of my foot. When I push it, I sing from my chest, or even my throat. And it hurts.  I sing earth songs now. Like a flowing river, no end, no beginning, rolling over stones of resistance and criticism and unleashing the power of Love as she rushes. I sing from my belly and I am singing songs of celebration now. Songs of beauty.

I sat down at the piano yesterday, and I started to play, and I started to sing.  I trusted my creativity and let it ride. I sang these words, "Open my worn eyes" over and over, and I played. Often when I play, I cry. My heart breaks open through the music that comes through my fingertips. I don't know why that is. I guess that's none of my business. But I can sit down, put my fingertips on the ivory and open my mouth and my heart. I can show up. That is my business. And I can sing. Lord have mercy, I can sing. Singing melts me. It keeps me from freezing. 

Let's sing more. Let's just do it. Singing softens us. And it brings us together. 
Posted by Jenny Finn at 11/22/2009 8:11 PM
Categories: Life
 

What did you think of this article?




Trackbacks
Trackback specific URL for this post
  • No trackbacks exist for this post.
Comments
Display comments as (Linear | Threaded)

  • 11/23/2009 9:56 AM Annette wrote:
    Jenny, As I read this a lump formed in my throat & an involuntary smile spread across my face as I remembered us as children playing. Looking back, whenever we played involving music/dancing or you playing piano, a softer side of Jenny came out. Not the competitive/bossy/insecure/screaming for attention-Jenny. I loved both of you, I learned from both of you. I Love what you have become! Love, Nettie
    Reply to this
Leave a comment

Submitted comments are subject to moderation before being displayed.

 Enter the above security code (required)

 Name

 Email (will not be published)

 Website

Your comment is 0 characters limited to 3000 characters.