Judy called yesterday afternoon. “I have a big bag of fabric for you,” she said, “can you come pick it up.”
I had just gotten home from volunteering at the Cambridge Food Pantry and hadn’t gotten back to work yet. Judy was about 10 minutes away, so Jon and I got in the car and headed to her house.
I don’t know Judy well, but when you live in a small town like we do, you can get to know people even if you spend little time with them. I’d never been to Judy’s house before, but I knew where she lived.
I knocked on the door and heard a voice telling me to come in. I went through the kitchen into a small room filled with light from the tall window. Judy sat in a chair and reached out her hand to take mine.
Her presence filled the room with calm and grace.
We said those things people say when first seeing each other. Then Judy said, “Remember the drumming class, that was such a good thing to do.”
“I forgot you were in that class Judy, I cried the whole time,” I said. She smile and nodded. “It touched some thing deep inside of me,” I tried to explain. “I still don’t really understand it.”
Then Judy said that drumming was probably one of the first kinds of music humans made. That is was primal, something we all share.
“We should do it again,” she said, “if I hear of any classes I’ll let you know.”
It was years ago that I took that drumming class. And I was as bad at it as I was when I first started Bellydancing. I still have a hard time hearing the beat to many of the songs we dance to.
The drumming teacher was actually concerned because I cried in every class. I was embarrassed, but couldn’t help it. It was as if the drumming was touching a part of me that had been hidden. As if it was releasing, or opening up something inside of me that had been shut down.
I can still see Judy, sitting in the glow of the light from the window. And I keep thinking that the real reason I was there wasn’t to pick up the fabric but so she could remind me about the drumming class. As if there is a message in it I needed to hear.
Some difficult memories have come up from my past recently. I tried to ignore them, to push them away, but when I finally let them surface, I felt such relief, so much lighter and more myself again.
I’ve found there are many ways to unlock those things hiding inside of me. Talking helps, along with my art and dancing. I think drumming was one of them too. Even if I still don’t know exactly what it released or how.
I picked up the big Christmas Shopping Bag full of fabric and left Judy’s house.
When I got to the car I saw that my sweater and legging covered in glitter that had rubbed off onto me from the shopping bag full of fabric. The sun was still high in the sky and I sparkled as we drove home.
Maria, this is beautiful. Your writing is as moving as your art. If I may share…I have listened to many forms of music and sometimes a piece makes me cry. It just does. Big hugs to you my dear.
Yes, yes Maggie. And sometimes that enough. :)
There is something special about drumming! I love it.
Ah, you’ve felt it too Carlyn….
The glitter is a tangible reminder of the beautiful light you shine through your generous soul and your wonderful art! You inspire so many of us to stay true to ourselves and to share our lights and talents in our chaotic yet amazing world! Thank you for your inspiration and for the joy you and your blog bring!
Oh Josie, you are a light yourself. :)
I remember having a cranial sacral session and at one point of the session I just started crying. Something was being released, though I still don’t know what to this day. Mentioning it to a friend she said we don’t always need to know, but just the release is good. Our bodies know. It makes sense to me. I can really feel how drumming would bring things up.
I think you’re right Barb. Sometimes words are not important, it’s the feeling that matters. I’m glad you found release too!