Ad Breath August '24

Singing together might be the human version of a murmuration of starlings.

Speech is a tertiary function of the respiratory system and that's hard enough…add pitch and relative pitch and everything else that is is humans singing together….group song is breathtaking, a most improbable thing.

People singing in chorus, like thousands of starlings making patterns across a swathe of sky, or a school of fish, circling into a living pillar, are exercises in dynamic, complex community.

There’s power in community and there’s power in ritual—Rituals anchor us in the present, give us the strength to move forward and help us mark endings and beginnings.

We know large grand rituals, but even the little ones, tiny things, sometimes purely symbolic can be powerful. Whether it’s lighting a candle, writing out our fears and dreams, or taking one intentional breath.

Rituals help us attend and mark our lives, point and counterpoint.

R Lindy-Ann Bodden-Ritch died and “her boys” sang for her…always “her boys”, some of them grey, grandfathers. “Come and sing gentlemen” Dr Edward Cumberbatch invited. "I have music. If you don't remember your part, sing the melody. Come and sing." They came - stepped out of the ranks of the Lydian Choir, from every direction in the church. They huddled. A great rugby scrum of a hug at the altar steps. Then, they sang.

Oh, they sang! Her boys, singing for their Miss. Men of means and rank and stature. Men who in the main, no longer sing.

In the face of beauty, sometimes all there is to do is weep.

St Julian of Norwich was an Anchoress - a woman of religious orders, having taken monastic vows with an additional vow of "stability of place." At times walled into a cell—a commitment to a life of prayer and contemplation, including the promise to stay.

If you turned up on a Monday, Wednesday, or Friday at the Lydia Singers rehearsal, at practice time Lindy Ann would be at a piano. In place. Ready to begin. Unless she didn't have music and then heaven help whomstsoever (sic) was supposed to have handed over her copy.

The first time I saw someone intentionally exercising their diaphragm, Lindy Ann was peering over her sheet music prepping Dr Cumberbatch for the 1997 International South African Eisteddfod.

The student was near the piano… lying face up, on the floor almost under the Challen baby grand. I was wondering about intent - his tutor was piling encyclopaedias on. A stack of three, mid-belly. Lindyann didn't seem overly concerned, ready to restart playing.…the aim was to move the stack up and down…with control. He lived to win the competition.

Strength. Support. Control.

Every breath is a new beginning. Every exhale is a release of what no longer serves, every inhale, an invitation to step into the unknown with courage and curiosity.

How can we harness the breath to not just weather the storm but to thrive and dance in it?

How can we remind ourselves that we’re not alone in this journey?

Who in our lives can we lean on for support, guidance, and community?

What rituals can we cultivate to support our individual and interdependent tending, curating and cultivating, ways to anchor enough to stretch into our fullness?

Reach out—whether it’s for a breathwork session, a conversation, or just a moment to pause and breathe.

With strength and breath,

A