Ripple, still, ripple...

In the last few weeks, I've remembered how much I love singing, and how much I haven't been doing so. I'm the one to blame for my own silence. I am the one that has to do the work to restrengthen the muscles I let get lazy. I am NOT looking forward to this work. But even yesterday as I was messing around, I remembered how much strength I draw from doing that very thing that I love.

I am feeling this way about writing as well. Been thinking about writing. Been doing a lot of post-it note poetry. I was scared by imperfection, which is the case with many artists. I apologize to myself.

Perhaps it is in this imperfection that I find my honesty. A perfect mimic is still a mimic.

I don't want to sing because I don't sound like the record. I do want to sing because I sound. Re-sound.

re·sound

 verb \ri-ˈzau̇nd also -ˈsau̇nd\

Definition of RESOUND

intransitive verb

1

: to become filled with sound : reverberate

2

a : to sound loudly <the gunshot resounded>

b : to produce a sonorous or echoing sound

3

: to become renowned

transitive verb

1

: to extol loudly or widely : celebrate

2

: echo, reverberate

3

: to sound or utter in full resonant tones

I don't like sometimes that I bring so much noise to wherever I go. But then I realized I am made to do so. I sing. I speak. I write. I make ripples.

I wrote that for myself during the first residency at graduate school (to be opened after graduation). It may be self-centered, but I didn't know when I wrote it that I would need to read it when I did. God must have.

Ripple. Still. Ripple.