Today is one of those days, at the moment, when I really wish I had made my determination to write, say, every other day, or two good posts a week, instead of every day.
My posts here, I worry, are McDonalds Dollar Menu items. Maybe the daily cheapens my writing. Forced, out of my OCD that constantly kicks up dust as it ranges on the horizon but rarely become full blown, to keep my shoulder to the wheel.
Tired, just got home from my first choir practice at the UU church I’ve started attending. This is actually why I started attending, after 27 years of a rather insular sect of Buddhism, and then my last 1-1/2 years after dropping that, away from any such activity. More for the communal aspect than the religious. (Then again, this is a church whose musical offerings last week included a 10 year old girl playing “Rainbow Connection” in the piano – excellently, the congregation singing “Simple Gifts” unaccompanied, and a professional guitarist singing The Barenaked Ladies’ “Pinch Me”).
I have done something like the choir practice before, when I was much, much younger. Its 2-1/2 hours, in which most of the chorus was familiar with the songs and the drills, was to me like a workout punctuated with occasional releasing laughter.
And the four songs we rehearsed – actually, everyone else rehearsed, I tried to follow along with the sheet music – included a traditional gospel spiritual, a modern song quoting from a Civil Rights activist modeled after traditional gospel, and two traditional Jewish songs to commemorate the holy days this month.
It struck me toward the end that all four were from the cultures of oppressed and displaced peoples. Our singing – and my attempt at singing – these songs are a way to honor them.
May all the children of the world sleep in their own beds tonight.
Yana Tova, and Shalom.