People often said that eyes showed a person’s soul, but I’d always thought it was hands that spoke the truth
~ Veronica Rossi, Rebel Spy
Our troubled world today needs hands — helping, giving, loving, and caring hands — we need a lot of them, not fingers — pointing fingers — there are too many of them.
~ Andawn F
My mother had big hands. Or maybe it was that she had long fingers. It’s one of those things people remarked on, especially when the cancer was eating her away from us. Mom was short, like I am short. Or I am short like she was short, if that’s more accurate. I’m the shortest of five children. My father is tall, too. M jokes and says I am fun-sized. Sometimes I’m fun-sized. Sometimes I’m just short and much, much too serious.
M the Younger sent me some photos he took of me and the boys. We were posing because nobody seems to take candid photos of me. I have no objections when it comes to that. I prefer to be behind the camera rather than in front of it and everyone who knows me well, knows that. What I noticed as I looked at the photos, aside from the smiles and the silliness (who wants to pose seriously??) and the cuteness of my grandsons, were my hands. They remind me of my mother. My fingers are pretty much the only thing long and slim about me. It wasn’t surprising. I’ve noticed it before, during those times when I am examining my hands as I’m in downward facing dog, drawing, writing, or practicing my queenly wave as I address my public (joking about addressing my public because I don’t have a public that I address, nor do I like to speak in public, but I do kid around with an exaggerated queenly wave on occasion).
I once wrote a post about my hands. Way back in May of 2007 on my Bountiful Healing blog. It’s here, if you’re interested. I don’t know if the photos will show up. For reasons I can’t remember, I used to post them to Photobucket first and then link to them. Maybe that’s how we had to do it back in the day? I don’t know.
It’s been a quiet week except for the past two days of listening to a crop duster fly over nearby farms, buzzing over the house once in a while as the pilot turns the plane. It’s too bad the crop duster didn’t show up when the boys were here. I think they would have liked it, especially the way the small plane flies so low that you can see the pilot and wave to him.
When you really listen to music, you become detached from the world; indeed you enter another world. Within the shelter of music, other things become possible for you, things that you could never feel or know in your day to day world. Sound can create a world as real as that of the clock, the field or the street. You breathe and dwell within that soundscape as though it were a world specially created to mirror and echo the deepest longings of your life. There is profound belonging in music which at certain times in your life can embrace and reach you more deeply than friend or lover. It is as though music instinctively knows where you dwell and what you need.
~ John O’Donohue
I am still slowly savoring and making my way through John O’Donohue’s book, Beauty. The section I’m reading now is about the beauty of music and voice and listening. After the last sessions of Emergence Magazine’s Spiritual Ecology course, I began listening to the conversations that are all around me when I step outside. There are all kinds of conversations happening. You only have to pay attention. The wind speaks, sings, hums, howls, and moans in harmony with grasses rustling or trees creaking. Water and earth create sounds where they meet. Walking has a syncopated beat to it, changing with the landscape (in the woods on dried leaves or pine needles, on the beach where the sand squeaks, tumbling on rocks) and the condition of the earth (dry, wet, hard, soft). Those are just a few examples. There are too many sounds and songs and conversations to describe in one blog post (or in one lifetime, maybe).
This morning’s conversations and sounds were mostly about the cicadas and their high-pitched buzzing sound and Lloyd’s rooster crowing up the sun as he does every day. There is a bird that sounds as if it’s singing, “You’re really, really, really rich.” I can’t figure out what kind of bird it is. The way bird songs are described in words is not how I hear them, and the way I hear them is not how they are described in words. A search turns up nothing much (Google had this to say when I asked: It looks like there aren’t many great matches for your search).
Because I’m reading about music, I decided it was high time I started listening to music again (other than on Funky Fridays with xpn.org). I don’t know classical music very well. I’ve been to quite a few concerts where they’ve played classical music, but there are not many pieces I could identify without a program. This morning I tuned into Bach, a mix that included some of his Brandenberg Concertos. Why Bach, you might ask? He keeps showing up in newsletters and books and articles. So, why not Bach?
I had been listening to other music over the past few weeks, before I arrived at John O’Donohue’s section on the subject. Blasts from the past, mostly. I’m always amazed at how relevant some of the music from the 60’s and 70’s continues to be. I listen to some new (at least new to me) music, too. I am a little late in discovering a band from Colorado called Elephant Revival. They’re no longer together, but you can still enjoy their music. Try this one: Sing to the Mountain (be sure to sing/howl to the moon while you’re at it). One of my favorite lines in the song is “And let your voice go/Let it pierce through your soul.” Voice is something I’ve been exploring a lot for the past few months. I’ve been exploring it in my art, in my writing, in my photography, and in my yoga practice. More on that another day, perhaps.
I miss live music. As of this writing, the 80th National Folk Festival will still be taking place up in Salisbury next month. As you might recall, M and I went to the 79th National Folk Festival way back in 2019. It seems like such a long time ago even though it isn’t, really. (You can find my post about it here, if interested.) They had to cancel it last year. We have friends coming to visit and go with us to listen to the music. It’s an outdoor event with masks required. No final decisions have been made at this point. We’re waiting to see what the numbers are and whether or not the event will actually take place. I’m guessing it might, no matter what. I don’t think we’re going into lock down again, no matter how dire things get, with the current attitudes in place (for instance, schools in that county and in the county I live in are not requiring masks at this point, with lame excuses about “we’ll see what happens,” as if they can’t see what’s already happening in other states).
It looks as though things are heating up in the Atlantic. Three storms whirling around out there. One of them, Ida, is already a hurricane. I don’t think we will have any interaction with any of them unless Ida brings rain this way. It’s too early to tell. One of the things I dislike about hoping a hurricane won’t come our way is knowing that if it doesn’t come here, it will impact people elsewhere. My hope is that Ida doesn’t cause too much destruction and flooding wherever she makes landfall.
I should probably get up and make myself useful around here. Thank you so much for visiting with me on this horribly hot and humid Friday (the “feels like” temperature right now is 110°F). I’m going to skip going out for the sunset this evening, or watch from the backyard while listening and dancing to the music of Funky Friday (check it out: xpn.org). It starts at 4 PM and runs until 7 PM. It’s fun. Sunset, however, is not as long lasting and is scheduled for 7:39 PM. Meet ya in the backyard or maybe in the living room. We’ll have a view of the setting sun from either space.
Please be safe, be well, and continue to be your beautiful self.
A few of the 10,000 reasons to be happy: 1,851) Butterflies and zinnias. They seem to be made for each other. 1,852) The changing conversations of the early morning hours. 1,853) Watching the deer decide to go for a swim in the pond yesterday. The whole herd, one after another, entered the pond. I’m not sure if they were trying to cool off or get rid of the horseflies that have been torturing them. Maybe both. It was the first time I’ve seen them walk into the pond when it’s at high tide and deep. 1,854) Finding my voice, whatever that means and is. 1,855) M, always. We are celebrating our 45th wedding anniversary today. Love, always. I’m not sure if I should feel blessed, lucky, or old. lol! All three?