Sing! Shout! Share!
What gets in your way to speak up / sing out / share your message?
Let's play in this space together. Reclaim your innate and authentic desire to express you, being you.
Speaking up? Singing on my own??!! Okay, so I've done the hard yards on this one! My starting position came from a panic-stricken core belief that 'knew' it's not safe to be seen, let alone heard. If any attention came my way, my brain would freeze, mouth dry up, and my stomach curdle. I'd trip over my words, slur something incomprehensible, and be literally exiting stage-right.
The inner desire to express ourselves through song may be compelling, but the shame we feel for not being particularly “good” can override our ability to express ourselves authentically. Which is disheartening given song is one of the most powerful and decidedly simple means to transmute old ways of being, and connect with spirit.
Reclaim your Voice!
Let's go to the root causes of your performance and personal anxieties, be it issues related to self-worth, authentic expression, or finding safety in 'being seen', together we can lean into those sensitive places.
In a Hakomi session we create space for...
Listen to your inner voice
But we have the opportunity to jump out of our western thinking of what it is to be 'musical' and a 'good singer' by utilising mantra, breath and deep listening to help us find our authentic voice and, more importantly, to enjoy using it!
Hakomi is a great way to get clear and align to your inner knowing.
I know that when I enquire into what feels 'off' (or incoherent) in my self, I will discover a part of me that wasn't being listened to, and is trying to get my attention.
Through this practice of Hakomi, we can catch the 'whispers' as opposed to the brick wall / sledge hammer message from Life, that is trying really hard to get our attention.
This is a practice of listening to, and honouring all parts of our Self.
As we create harmony within, so we experience harmony externally in our life.
A poem
What's it like to be a human
the bird asked
I myself don't know
it's being held prisoner by your skin
while reaching infinity
being a captive of your scrap of time
while touching eternity
being hopelessly uncertain
and helplessly hopeful
being a needle of frost
and a handful of heat
breathing in the air
and choking wordlessly
it's being on fire
with a nest made of ashes
eating bread
while filling up on hunger
it's dying without love
it's loving through death
That's funny said the bird
and flew effortlessly up into the air
~ Anna Kamienska ~
You don’t have to sing in tune, or have any musical experience to be enriched by the atmosphere of sacred singing. All children sing and hum to themselves; it is a natural bubbling up from inside to express contentment. Therefore, kirtan is not sung as a performance, it is to be sung like a child singing with the joy of simply being alive
Another poem
It was spring
and finally I heard him
among the first leaves –
then I saw him clutching the limb
in an island of shade
with his red-brown feathers
all trim and neat for the new year.
First, I stood still
and thought of nothing.
Then I began to listen.
Then I was filled with gladness –
and that’s when it happened,
when I seemed to float,
to be, myself, a wing or a tree –
and I began to understand
what the bird was saying,
and the sands in the glass
stopped
for a pure white moment
while gravity sprinkled upward
like rain, rising,
and in fact
it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing –
it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed
not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers,
and also the trees around them,
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds
in the perfectly blue sky – all, all of them
were singing.
And, of course, yes, so it seemed,
so was I.
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn’t last
for more than a few moments.
It’s one of those magical places wise people
like to talk about.
One of the things they say about it, that is true,
is that, once you’ve been there,
you’re there forever.
Listen, everyone has a chance.
Is it spring, is it morning?
Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then – open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song
may already be drifting away.
by Mary Oliver
