Austin — Today I wake feeling thick, like the recent stolid humidity around here has created a layer of gel around my body. My breathing is shallow, my mind in fog. I hardly notice I’m outside as I walk to the studio. How many times do I make this 10-second walk unconsciously, when the riot of nature is right there?
Today my mind wants to be original and cohesive, but my body offers none of that. I go from thing to thing in my singing, generating ideas and instantly judging whether it’s good, worthy of sharing. Some days it feels like all this practice does nothing cumulatively to quiet the mind, like it has a mind of its own and I only get to watch when it is loud or quiet on its own volition.
I get bored easily of what I’m singing and then shift for the sake of shifting.
A small eye in me sees this familiar place of self-critical boredom and I remember to once again feel my feet on the floor, the quality of the air against my skin. I remember to stay with what is happening and then stay some more.
I try shifting my mouth into a smile posture and keep it there while singing. This makes me laugh a little and take myself a little less seriously. It also makes it hard to be self critical.
Near the end of the 15 minutes, I land in falsetto, sliding around and feeling the variety of sensations as it rings in my mouth, then my chest, then my nose and my upper palate and skull. So much internal variety for such a narrow band of sound.