Nature’s Radio Station
As I was sitting in my study this morning propped up on some pillows beside an open window, I could feel the occasional breeze and smell of a freshly mowed lawn. I was doing some sewing by hand, slowly with nothing else on my mind but the needle and thread in my hand. After a while I noticed that I was humming. Or more accurately I was making vibrating noises in my upper throat that sounded more like an old Gregorian chant than a pop culture hit song.
My daughter’s iPod was nearby as she often prefers to do her homework in the stillness that lingers in this space after I have done my meditations. I chastise her often for studying with music plugged into her ears and explain that she should focus on one thing at a time. The implication of course is that this was time for homework. So there I was in deep thoughtless attention to my sewing and at the same time self soothing with the tonal purr inside my throat and palette. Where these two things or one? Was I doing the low-tech equivalent of the iPod by humming?
I decided to stop humming and see what it would be like without adding anything else to the moment of sewing. And in this instant it was as if a world of sound opened up and poured into the room. I could hear at least a dozen humming birds singing a subtle background chorus in the pepper trees outside my room. A rose finch provided a lovely melody and the pair of boxers in the yard a few houses down would add deep bass notes to the musical interlude. The strings came in the form of a gass powered weed-wacker, who’s high pitched buzz and drones provided perfect arpeggios. The conveyer belts at work in the quarry were the principle percussion set to complete the concert — Ba-da-da-da-da-da-da-dum, Ba-da-da-da-da-da-da-dum.
How did I miss this wildlife wind ensemble before? Even the man-made sounds seem to blend with the harmonics in the moment. Everything was perfect and I was present and open to everything.
