One of my favorite things about community singing is that it keeps surprising me. Sometimes the songs are the miracle. Sometimes it’s the people. And sometimes, it’s three tiny snails.
“They’re alive,” we cried, our eyes fixed on the altar at the center of our solstice circle on the mountainside, adorned with flowers, stones, and, yes, three crawling snails.
The surprise of it! Delight even!
Not to see the shells, those had been transported on purpose.
Everyone had been invited to find something beautiful on the hike to adorn the altar at the ceremony site.
A sprig of California sage.
A piece of cypress bark.
A hawk’s feather.
One of us had chosen three snail shells, bleached so white in the sun…
She placed them on the altar with care, admiring their fragile beauty, never dreaming they were living creatures.
But as we gathered and began to sing, out they came, alive as could be!
How wondrous! How unexpected! To see them emerge, browsing curious amidst scattered petals.
How fitting though, the way these three lives wove into our celebration.
I’ve thought about those snails many times since.
We arrive at circle carrying so much.
Parenting. Clients. Students. Aging parents. The endless invisible work of caring.
Some evenings we arrive feeling a little like those shells.
Then we sing.
Little by little, people come back to life.
Every week I get to watch this happen.
We arrive tired. Distracted. Carrying too much.
Then the cradle of song enfolds us, bodies swaying in rhythm.
Little by little, something softens.
Something wakes up.
That’s what community singing does. It reminds us of the life inside of us, fanning our flame and bringing us vibrantly to life.
Connection is the medicine. Singing is the practice.
If your own shell has been feeling a little empty lately, Mothersong Chorus might be the medicine you seek. We welcome women and gender expansive folks at every level of singing experience.
We’d love to welcome you, too.
Learn more about Mothersong here.
Get to know our core philosophy.
Photo by Stevie Jeung. 💗🌿