Ok, for any of you who have heard me sing you know I cannot carry a tune.  This has always been a mystery to me, because as a child I sang my dang head off.  There was no stopping me.  Relatives over for a Sunday afternoon visit?  Let me entertain you! Elvis Presley’s version of Aura Lee was a favourite in my repertoire.  In reflection, I wonder if the word ‘aura’ caught my attention, but hey!  I was receiving some much needed praise, not to mention a dollar or two from my Uncles who appreciated raw talent.

In Sunday School, which was held on Saturday’s (?????), I was studying my blue Baltimore Catechism faithfully in order to receive the Sacrament of the Holy Eucharist for my First Communion.  In preparation to please God, Father Flynn and our parents, in that order, our little group was learning to sing Ave Maria.  I have to stop the story here and share my love for all components of ritual ceremony.  I was raised as a Roman Catholic.  The Church held deep mysteries for me as I listened to the Mass being given in Latin at the altar, inhaled the frankincense burning, and perked up hearing the little holy brass bells tinkling, commanding us to stand, kneel and make the sign of the cross.  All that said, I was into the Church hook, line and soul-sinker.

One day at rehearsal, one of the Sisters waved her hand in the air stopping everyone from singing and walked over to where I was sitting in the front pew.  She held my chin in her skin-scrubbed-raw hand and stared at me.  Panic-stricken I thought I had done something wrong, misspoken the Latin words of Ave Maria, or was going to be chastised because I never could master rolling my r’s.  She asked the other Sister to go and get Father Flynn.  This was not good.

Upon Father Flynn’s arrival, the Sister announced that “We have the voice of an Angel in our midst, Father!” It was decreed that I would sing a solo for Holy Communion.  I must have had the voice of an Angel, because I felt lighter than air.  My feet never touched the stairs as I left the church and dove into the back of my father’s waiting car.  I was talking so fast that it seemed within seconds and I was home telling my mother of the incredible news – “I’m singing a SOLO!”

My mother burst out laughing.  “You?  There must be a mistake. Sister was teasing you; you can’t even carry a tune!”

As my power was being bitterly stolen from a woman who had little joy of her own in childhood, something shifted inside my little heart.  I doubted myself.  I did not yet have the tools to combat the authority of my mother.  I returned to Church the following week and told the Sisters that my parents had asked that someone else be chosen to sing the solo, citing an excuse that I was unable to make the extra rehearsals to practice the solo.

Stuffing down hurt and sadness does not a joyful sound make.

Being of tenacious Spirit, when I was in my late teens I tried out to be part of a local all girl band.  We were called The Four Country Girls. I was fairly competent playing my acoustic guitar, but when it came to singing back-up, the lead singer asked that I just strum and mouth the words as the other three carried the song.

(Opens mouth, tries to look sexy playing guitar.)

For years I did not sing at all.  In my late twenties I would sing for my little girl, Wendie, because what the heck – she was too young to be a music critic.  As both my children grew older and reached their teen years I heard plenty of, pleassseee don’t sing! or watched them reach past me, turning the car radio volume dial to drown out my pathetic comeback as a wannabe singer.

Through journeying, it was relayed to me, by Guides, that by not throwing my voice to Spirit I was allowing others to steal my power.

Now I unabashedly sing to Spirit, to Grandfather Tunkashila, to the Universe.  I just open my mouth and out it flies with an unbridled fervor of positive intentions.  It doesn’t matter if I’m off tune, or in the wrong key, or sing my own words.  Spirit cares not for perfection, as true perfection is only attainable in non-physical dimensions.

Spirit resonates with sounds of joy and the feelings in our heart.  It is the intent in which we give forth these sounds that matters.  There is power in words, whether we speak, chant or sing them.

Spirit’s ear is attuned to all keys, all levels of melody, and harmony.  Grandfather hears your unique voice, meek or bold and holds it, with honour, in his heart.

Tags: all girl band, Baltimore Catechism, can't sing, chant, Grandfather Spirit, harmonious singing, Holy Communion, sacraments, stealing power, throwing your voice to Spirit, toning, Tunkashila