Blog: Radio Talent Show November 21, 2023
I went above the water line to go into a plant.
I met a man there who sat in a canoe wearing a hat like Raiden’s from Street Fighter. He ushered me into the vessel without words. We sat there for a long while. Me, staring at him. Him, looking through me. He could see why I was there. I thought I was there to float, cast a line, do without doing, but I was mostly there to be ok with existing.
The young man’s family sat in a circle around a campfire above me. They smoked tobacco, told jokes, drank red juice, and yawned occasionally. Their yawns reminded me of young jungle cats, not aware yet of their power but full of potential. The young man’s mother was there, the matriarch, the Maestra, and her six sons.
The young man in the canoe was 19 years old and the youngest of the family held a uniquely strong voice, again catlike, a panther or lion, powerful, strong, and yet I still hadn’t heard him yet.
My attention came back to him but he was gone from the canoe. Nothing stirred. The water did not ripple. I now sat alone in the canoe next to a dock.
After about an hour, I estimate an hour but time had ceased to matter. This boat, the minstrel family, these plants embracing me, don’t operate on your clocks. They only know now. What a pleasure to only know how to be here, now.
After the estimated hour of sitting alone in my canoe the family above me began to sing. The mother’s voice first, shrill, genuine, just right, out of the silence of the still but alive air. The song spoke directly to me, but also to the brothers, and to the flora and fauna, and everything around the lake.
Eventually all the brothers joined in the song. They all knew their parts. They listened in all directions at once: to the plants, to each other, and to me although I hadn’t uttered a syllable. The songs were completely improvised and almost unidentifiable as our music, but I listened. Their lyrics became visual. Red, yellow, blue, green, violet, orange, aqua, pink. The choir, now danced as multi-colored parrots, macaws, parakeets, toucans, and executed the most beautiful multi-dimensional acrobatic routine, swapping positions and directions on and around the tree they inhabited. It was a striking orgy of color, feathers, and vibrations that I understood but couldn’t interpret. A sight to see. Uncontainable.
The next part was fun and put a smirk on my face. Breathing became a game I couldn’t lose because SO HUM - I AM THAT. I am breath. Each living being is breath. We need very little else. If you no longer have THAT breath - HUM you are no longer SO. Breath was mine to capture. It was happening unconsciously but I chose to participate and ENJOY MY BREATH. I would do this, and I encourage y’all to do it now with me. Take in a breath, let it out, and then hold. When you are ready to take your next breath do so through your mouth but slurp the air, capture it with your bottom lip picturing yourself a frog on a lily pad snagging a fly snack out of the air the with precision and the confidence knowing you’ll catch that air for sure.
The family put on this show for hours without tiring. I, sitting in my canoe alone, was exhausted by this display I hadn’t expected or prepared for. I was whelmed, but more awestruck by this family. What skills they have. They sing like this for hours, night after night, through their generations, whether I’m here or not.
After a time I stopped breathing. Rather, I stopped having to breathe. I found at the bottom of the exhale, in the space before the inhale, that I could pause and stay in this incredible stillness. In this space between, with tall posture, I could see the song better, feel my heartbeat stronger, and the boundaries between me and the air dissolved. I felt confident that if I needed to take a breath that someone would do it for me. Remember, when you breathe, you may also be breathing for someone else so please remember to ENJOY YOUR BREATH.