A friend came over to visit and stayed for an impromptu lunch in the backyard. She's a new friend, met only recently. Jessica makes beautiful living jewelry with native plants and is a permaculture teacher. We walked through my private "jungle", this wild backyard that I am blessed taking care of. She explained how it is that I am finding more and more young live oaks this year. She showed me the blue jays hiding the acorns that they pick from the huge giant oak on the East side. "Then, they remember only about 80% of their hiding places". 10% probably get picked by the squirrrels who spied the bluejays in action, but 10% of the acorns find their way deep into the soil. At some point, they sprout roots and here come the new oaks which I love so much.
Jessica is a born storyteller as I am, so we share stories learned on our different paths. She told me a story that the Guateamalan natives sing around their fires, about the beautiful daughter of the Moon and Sun. And I told her a little bit of what I learned from my Lakota friends. Mainly, though, I listened. Treasuring the precious gift of somebody serenading me with her own knowledge, grace and beautiful voice. I was just thinking about how sweet her voice sounded when Jessica started to sing. A song she wrote, inspired by the legend above.
I am a firm believer in the power of singing. Shamans often heal through their songs and songs can reveal what cannot be otherwise discovered or recognized. In ancient times, people were singing while planting for a new harvest. Singing when they hunted. Singing when they got together. Singing to give thanks and pray. I can't think of one only significant moment that was not ritualized through singing.
I am thinking about all this since only recently I started to write songs. In the beginning, it happened just because one of the main characters in the new book I am writing is a songwriter. At least, that's what I convinced myself of, forgetting that nothing happens by accident when you play at the subconscious level.
As soon as I started writing songs, I felt the incredible power of words. Single words were coming alive, animated by a force never experienced before. So few words could express so much! Sure, I could feel the same power writing poetry, I guess. But for some reason, my words in these days have notes directly related to them. They don't come flat on the page, they come entwined with images and a soundtrack. It's a one-woman band and movie crew at work, which made me inclined to write my novel more like a screenplay.
Basically, I discovered that if I really let go of my imagination, it flows wherever it wants assuming the shapes, and colors and tones that are on its own like. The results are surprising and amazing. My method of non-method refreshing and energizing. It is like a B12 Vitamin shot right into the brain or a pound of sativa smoke freshly inhaled that now pushes out through the tips of my fingers, urgent and strong.
September self-awareness, all of a sudden. How precious! Let's hope that October will enlighten me with the art of ending, something still missing from my storytelling. I can't help to feel sad when I need to part from a story and seem unable to find the right way to say goodbye. I wish I could end my stories with a "doksa" kind of ending, not goodbye but "see you later", as you say to your friends when you part ways in the Lakota language.
Or perhaps should I end the novel with a "doksa" song?
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