Last month I was driving home in rush hour near my neighborhood in Portland. I don’t remember a crash, but witnesses tell me I was slammed by a driver who made an illegal left turn into me, causing a head-on collision and a concussion. I’m gradually absorbing lessons about the kindness of airbags, wonderful helpers, and the Universe itself.
While I heal, I’m appreciating the subtlety and coziness of Winter here in the great Northwest. I’m glad to be far enough along in the recovery process to do a few things I’ve missed, like using electric lights and looking at computer screens. Not to mention walking around without a hat and sunglasses to shield me from the bright Northwest fog.
Once more, yoga and chanting have come to heal me. For a short time, singing and playing seemed to make my concussion worse—only stillness brought peace. But now I find I can celebrate being alive in one of the best ways ever. I’ve returned to my harmonium and guitar, and my hands still know their way around. My voice is regaining its strength, and it’s loving being free.
How lucky to be alive, to have breath and bellows and to release the sounds of praise and longing! Best of all, I get to share it with amazing people and experience the call and the response that we create together to honor this incredibly beautiful and fragile life.
That’s what I call blessed.