TOTAL READ TIME: 4 Minutes

Me, with a guitar cake pan singing a song under the dining room table. © Kathy J. Sotak

I grew up in a house with a heartbeat. At the center of the beat were two singing parents. My mother was the primary music teacher and beautiful singer; my father on the other hand sang to be silly – making mundane chores go quicker. The beat was enabled by two pianos, an organ, guitar, ukulele, flute, saxophone, trumpet and a big bin of tambourine-like joys.

Although they had a tough, around-the-clock farm and ranch life, my parents’ smiles prevailed more than any pain.  The current of the house was love. This current fueled the heartbeat of the house, which was a ribbon of music – on the radio, through our fingers or the vibration of our voices.

I wonder where my song is today. I now stop to listen to the heartbeat of my own household. I hear the clang of video games, the bang of the kitchen cupboards or personal playlist on private headphones.  Rarely do I sing or crank the volume on my happy playlists anymore. When did that stop? Was it out of respect for my husband’s different musical interests? Was it to avoid sounding archaic to my teenager with more trendy taste? Or was it my own doing, walking further away from the fire in my heart?

It may be time to turn the dial on the frequency band. What if I started singing to be silly or humming my heart? Would the current of my house change? Would daily struggles be dissolved? Would peace pierce through our obstacles?

“In many shamanic societies, if you came to a medicine person complaining of being disheartened, dispirited or depressed, they would ask one of four questions:

  1. When did you stop dancing?
  2. When did you stop singing?
  3. When did you stop being enchanted by stories?
  4. When did you stop being comforted by the sweet territory of silence?”

– Gabrielle Roth, founder of 5 Rhythms

There was another influential person in my youth who sang the same notes:  Aunt Rosella. She lived just down the road from us and we saw her at least twice a week. She always had a smile on her face, usually accompanied by humming. Aunt Rosella hummed when she cleaned, hummed when she drove, hummed when she rolled dough.

Why was she humming? I’ve never asked her, to this day. Is this why she always gleamed a smile?  Now that I think of it, I’ve never seen someone hum a tune with a frowning face.

“The medicine of the future will be music and sound.” – Edgar Cayce

Scenes from history flash through my mind. I see a movie screen of those building the American Railroad singing the famous song, “I’ve been working on the railroad, all the live-long day.” I see depictions of earlier times, with thousands of workers chanting in unison while they build great structures. I see tribal times, when we all sat around the fire, singing and drumming.

“If you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency and vibration.” – Nicola Tesla

Perhaps humming, drumming and singing is the antidote to the hardness of life. It’s the soothing salve that vibrates away our pain. It’s the original medicine that has been around since the birth of humanity.

I’ll have to ask my Aunt Rosella about her why. What does she think about while she hums?  Is it a prayer? Is she humming the gratitude for her blessings? Is she humming a ribbon of love to all who hears her sweet sound?

In the meantime, I’m giving it a go. Consider joining me in humming, drumming or singing. It’s our own custom antidote, the original medicine to keep our heartbeat filled with love.