Losing my voice to find it again

Quote of the day:

There is no blogging, only writing. Too many of us attempt to straighten this form into a single genre and then feel low when we grow stale. There's more here than the asynchronous rhythm of post and comment, comment and post ... Frank Paynter at Time Goes By

Self expression causes me to lose my voice. Yes. It does. When I was sixteen, at a youth movement seminar, I was overheard singing in the shower. I used to sing all kinds of folk, civil rights and freedom songs. The youth leader wanted me to sing at the concert that concluded our retreat together. But I was terribly, terribly shy and afraid. So he told me to sit with my back to the audience and sing without looking at anyone. I remember it as clearly as if it was today, sitting up on the little stage on a stool with my back to the audience and singing my heart out a cappella for everyone to hear. I was a hit! It was excruciatingly exciting for me, at the time, because most of my young life until then, I had felt invisible. I could not believe that people wanted to hear me. From then on I was asked to sing at all our youth movement functions, and around camp fires late at night. After a short while I was able to face my peers when I sang and was often accompanied by guitar pals. Later I would sing now and then in piano bars or coffee shops and once I even won a talent contest for singing one of my favorite songs: The Dove, and appeared on television in Rhodesia.

But after each time I would sing, and especially if I really, really derived exquisite pleasure from the performance, I woke up the next day as hoarse as could be and, even, sometimes with a sore throat.

I hardly ever sing publicly any more. Ever so seldom when T pulls out his guitar (and he is truly one mean blue grass guitarist), I warble a little and think back to those younger times.

Writing has become an important medium of self expression for me now. Especially blogging. Just as, over forty years ago one summer night when I sat with my back to the audience shyly singing for everyone to hear, nowadays I sit alone hidden away in my study, house silent as could be and type on my blog for everyone, out there somewhere unseen, to read. And now and again, if anyone reads or comments, links or just stops by to find out what I am saying, it feels less invisible and good to be heard.

Very often, after I have enjoyed writing a piece, or felt it was a deep expression of my self, I discover that I have become hoarse, as if I had been singing. I remember writing about that back in March, 2005.

Freedom of expression without punishment has always been an important political, social justice issue for me no matter which country I have lived in. After years of self-observation and reflection, I understand how it connects with me personally and psychologically. For, time and again, I have experienced the pain of punishment and exclusion (even recently) for saying how I feel. And so now, I embrace the hoarseness, as my way of self punishment for self expression, and yet, at the same time, as a way of having the courage to find my voice again and again.

A year ago at Mining Nuggets: The voyage was bon, bon, bon

Comments

[tamarika]

Tamar,
This is terribly interesting to me. Thanks so much for bringing the movie to my attention. I will surely find it soon and watch it. After I had written my post I was hoarse for a short time and then it went away much more quickly than usual. I have a feeling that somehow bringing it out into the open like that and sharing my vulnerability publicly, helped.

[tamar]

Today I revisited the classic film, The 400 Blows, much of it reflecting the life/personality/circumstances/historical time and place of its director, Francois Truffaut. The hero/director, too, was abused for self-expression (both inborn and in response to emotionally crippled adults... parents, teachers, authorities). His "illness," if any, in reaction to the abuses was threefold, as I understood. Dig in those heels and persevere in self-expression, find a soulmate/buddy, and take off/leave/exit scenes of "crimes" against self. Something about your post resonates with what I understood watching the film.

[tamarika]

Well, John A, that is an interesting comment indeed. The idea that becoming hoarse as self-punishment belongs to an ancient story that after inquiry is simply not true - or necessary for that matter - any longer. It is a good idea which ever way it is told and has given me more food for thought.

Thank you.

[John A]

Oh, Tamarika, you certainly do not deserve punishment for this precious act of sharing on your blog. And, you definitely did not deserve to be punished for the enjoyment you brought to others with your gifts of song!

Why on Earth should anyone be punished for sharing their gifts with others? How can such an obviously false story feel so obviously true to you?

I think I know the answer.

I believe that we have within us two different sets of mental programs. The oldest set is exclusively obsessed with getting our unique genetics into the next generation. The newest set has the ability to figure out, and then share, strategies that have nothing to do with our genes.

Your singing and writing don't seem like worthwhile endeavors from the perspective of the older programs. Therefore, it is the highest priority job of these programs to convince you to use your time and effort, instead, in ways that are more likely to result in the furtherance of their agendas.

Your problem, from this ancient perspective, is that you are too generous for your own good. Stop it, or you'll be sorry.

Your answer, I believe, is to use your newer programs' to interrogate the stories being peddled by the older ones. The stories that result in your pain are not true and they cannot survive the light of inquiry.

It seems from your posts that you have decided to live the remainder of your life in love and peace. You do not have to suffer for this. Not unless you choose to leave unchallenged the painful, and untrue stories that are designed to push you back toward an agenda you have outgrown.

Keep writing. Keep singing. These are not punishable offenses in the real world.