Continuing

All day, thinking of writing. Thinking of what it is to put words together, like a catalytic converter inside of me making alchemy of these ordinary moments, pen, paper, fingers, wedding ring, wrist watch, tapping on the little board, as if at a piano, carving out the tune.

My mother drew out little songs at the old upright in our basement, and tried to teach me the chords. But I had no gift for the glyph of notes; I was drawn to the letters themselves, A, B, C, D, E, F, G, the melody in their mating and coming apart. What it might be to create concoctions with the notes caught me early, and excites me now as if I am still that little girl up late with the book reading. And today, thinking of what it will be to tap these songs in the morning or late evening, and send them immediately upon the waves in the great ocean. It is as if language has been given to me anew, as I imagine you there with me, swimming along.

We get ready to leave. Jean looks over her clothes and buys a new pair of pants. We get our hair cut, update our prescriptions, take all our vitamins, remove the suitcases from the back of the closet. The sisters are singing already. I can hear them, like sirens or fairies or even the furies–those sisters whose song haunts you and you cannot resist. I did not do all of this to create a reading tour for Sisters Singing in order to sell a book or create a franchise. I did it to thread this web–as if the sirens singing a crazy tune touch the pulse that lives at the core of my purpose and being. I am called to be with the Sisters, if I can get to them. To be together, to sing the songs, to say: these truths live. That this is how we live, this is what we call sacred, this is our tune. We touch each other, we hold hands, and we offer the blessings out to the world. Again and again, this is what the Sisters Singing gatherings are. To be clear that we will make our way through the great ocean together.