the lost voice

I am in bed sick, I have as they say ‘lost my voice’. I rely on my voice a lot, for teaching yoga, drama and singing rehearsals. Perhaps I’ve overused my voice. Anyway, here I am in bed, writing under a blood full moon in the March sky because I can’t speak. Writing is my voice. Words my notes.

It felt strange earlier walking up the backlands at sunset listening to music, I usually sing as I walk but today no words would come out. Watching the sunset, it got cold and I returned home to soothe my sore throat with a hot cup of tea and change out of wet socks into clean, dry ones. Then I set up for a small moon ritual. A blanket, cushion to sit on, incense, the tea, notebook and pen for journalling and a view of the sky over the river erne to watch the rising moon.

This full moon is about release and letting go so I wrote down all the things I wanted to release. The things I have no control over. On individual strips of paper I wrote words like fear, doubt, negativity, folded them over and placed them in a pile, waiting for the moon to rise. She rose over the drumlin across the other side of the river, slow and steady, shining in the sky not yet dark. One little star out. Taking my pile of folded paper outside onto the grass, I burned them and repeated, silently to myself, as I’ve no voice!! on this blood moon, I let it go, on this blood moon, I let it go, on this blood moon, I let it go.

Back in bed now, I watch the perfectly round full moon rise high into the now dark night sky. I wish for a blissful sleep, full of dreams and my voice to return.