I sang a song. It went well, at least I remembered the
words, which is always a bonus. The following day a woman asked if I could sing
it to her again. I said I thought it wasn’t possible because the guy with the
guitar had gone home. Later it turned out he hadn’t so I asked if I could sit
and play for a while. Getting me, the woman and the guitar together seemed
almost impossible amongst the chaos of packing up day, but when I looked up she
was there sitting next to me. I played the song and by the end she was in floods
of tears. It was my own song and special to me. She asked if I could play it
again. At this point I began to wonder if I had acquired a nutter but I sang
the last verse again. Through her tears she explained, “Yesterday I didn’t know
why I was crying but now I do. You have connected me again.” She gesticulated
to her body, her belly. “I thought I had lost it, I might never feel it again.”
I felt for her tears. “No my tears are joyful not sad. Crying is like a car
wash, you know.” We smiled. Now I don’t want to appear mercenary but I wrote
that line down to use later. Too good to miss. We parted, she wanting a CD if I
made one, and me with a renewed wanting to make one. For me this had become a
recurring theme over the ten days, how in the most unforeseen and delicate ways
we connect by heart.
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