I have not felt well this week, and this morning I woke to discover that I had lost my voice. This happens pretty much every year, for one reason or another. I find myself thinking of Gandhi and the fact that he took one day a week to be completely silent. I believe that day was Monday. Mine happens to be on a Wednesday. I am okay with this day of silence. Now, if the voice never comes back, that is going to make for some remarkable changes in my life, but a day or so seems to offer some healing. I leave you with a very fine poem written by Rosemerry Wahtola Trummer. I am not quite ready to sing, but I like thinking about it. For now, I leave the singing to the birds. They do such a fine job.
"Today we lose the words
yours and mine and find
in their absence a song
that can only be sung together.
How did we ever think
we could attempt
this humanness alone?
To the table of love,
we bring soup, bring cherries,
bring the bread of our own
sweet communion.
We bring scissors to cut away
the tresses of the past,
bring dark wine to toast
the courage of showing up exposed.
And when we forget
the words to the song,
well, there is always laughter.
And when we forget to laugh,
well, there is always
the union of tears—
the way many rivers
become one river,
the way many voices
become one music."
First Sip ~ Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, from her collection All the Honey
image: Dahlia, San Leandro, August 2023
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