Here is a tribe in Africa where the birth date of a child is counted not from when they were born, nor from when they are conceived but from the day that the child was a thought in its mother’s mind. And when a woman decides that she will have a child, she goes off and sits under a tree, by herself, and she listens until she can hear the song of the child that wants to come. And after she’s heard the song of this child, she comes back to the man who will be the child’s father, and teaches it to him. And then, when they make love to physically conceive the child, some of that time they sing the song of the child, as a way to invite it.
And then, when the mother is pregnant, the mother teaches that child’s song to the midwives and the old women of the village, so that when the child is born, the old women and the people around her sing the child’s song to welcome it. And then, as the child grows up, the other villagers are taught the child’s song. If the child falls, or hurts its knee, someone picks it up and sings its song to it. Or perhaps the child does something wonderful, or goes through the rites of puberty, then as a way of honoring this person, the people of the village sing his or her song.
In the African tribe there is one other occasion upon which the villagers sing to the child. If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village and the people in the community form a circle around them. Then they sing their song to them.
The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behavior is not punishment; it is love and the remembrance of identity. When you recognize your own song, you have no desire or need to do anything that would hurt another.
And it goes this way through their life. In marriage, the songs are sung, together. And finally, when this child is lying in bed, ready to die, all the villagers know his or her song, and they sing—for the last time—the song to that person.
Mark was blessed with the gift of music. Not just the ability to play the guitar and sing along (which he does VERY well) but he UNDERSTANDS how music works and can create songs that are appealing and all-around wonderful. I'll plunk away at the piano and inevitably Mark will make his way into the Pooh room and start speaking with words like "G Minor 7th" or "C Major". I just look at him stupidly and keep plunking. I finally get exasperated with him and tell him (not so lovingly) "Not everyone understands music like you. Just let me be content to READ the music and play the notes that are in front of me." Which FREAKS him out and he starts in with "I don't understand how you just read music and don't think of other things you can do to ADD to it". Ugh. I usually abruptly end the session by exiting the room and secretly sticking my tongue out at him behind his back. So there.
Oh yeah. Back to the topic at hand.
I love how this tribe attributes music to the human. I've always felt that music from the heart is perfection. It doesn't matter who is singing, if it comes from the heart, it can transcend your soul.
I know that the crime and bad behavior that haunts our society has by-passed the simplicity of music to turn it around. But what if it was a possibility? What if a mother KNEW her child so well before it was placed gently into her arms? And what if the parents cared SO MUCH for that child that they taught EVERYONE they knew the music of that child's heart? What if we could hear our OWN song at times when we need comfort or love or discipline? What if those around us knew us SO WELL that they could bandage our knees while reminding us who we are?
I love the idea of that. When I'm sad or lonely, hopeless or angry, I'm going to remember my song. It's a simple song, I'm sure. Filled with easy chords and lyrics that are precise and to the point. I'm going to make Mark write it for me.
Come by. I'll teach it to you.
