Where is my life going, on these rainy and sunny days? Kind of like that changing weather of 2013. In me, as much the calm of an old lake as the splashes of a river fed by a distant peak.
If I were an Aboriginal ancestor, I would probably see the path of change. But I am just an aging and urbanized Westerner; the screens of my many computers eat up both my serotonin and my ability to dream.
Yet I dream and I still dream. I have such nausea worrying about my finances, such heartbreaks to see the human planet tearing itself apart or getting lost in virtual realities. I suffer and feed on an insignificant vertigo. Everything, I say, everything I feel is part of the lightness and heaviness.
This is a universe made all the way up, it is a reality that challenges me, it is almost an existential vocation.
And so are my days. Thursdays are singing days. Despite my silence in describing its progress, this aspect of my life is flourishing, causing beautiful light to appear on the horizon.
Two months ago, a friend of mine, an accountant, suggested that I postpone this course until I could get back into financial health. I looked at him with a smile and replied a little violently that I wouldn’t do anything about it. I will eat tabbouleh seven days a week, if necessary, but will not give up this lesson.
Because, year in and year out, my voice seems to be free. You see, I manage to issue B—sharp!—, I’m telling you. And sometimes I scream, sometimes I catch C. Yes, sir. Exsanguinated Bs or screamed Cs, but they are there in my throat. In doing so, this liberating ability to emit sounds tangibly influences my vision of the world, my understanding of existence. It’s not a hard job, but you have to be patient, get to work, let yourself go.
This is, after all, difficult to describe. As my teacher Vincent often says, there are no high notes, there are no low ones. There’s only one horizontal staircase, one accordion will. Magic happens when you succeed in keeping your objective, when you really listen to the sound and don’t try to control it, when you mentally place your voice in the back of your palate and ask it to stay there, to be there while not forgetting to feed it with a voluntary, but not rigid, seat.
Is it worth the effort and the candle? I would say that it is like a farmer’s job. We can do it in the industrial or organic sector. In these cases, it requires effort, perseverance. The fruit is better when you put your hard work and sweat into it.
The most amazing thing is the discovery of this quiet power that resides within me. This experience is well worth some financial sacrifices. My body is so happy when it sings.
May you, each of you, find that type of call shining in you, be it a song, a dance, words, a loved one, some construction, a garden.
You know that, don’t you? Your life is short, more or less elastic. Stretch it out. Just what it takes. Like an arch, like an inspiration, it will project you far, very far into this ephemeral happiness that serves as your breath and food.