OM, chanted as three syllables [Ah-oh-mm] that flow into each other through a single breath, is a way to calm one's thoughts, to relax, to facilitate meditation. It is a private time, a time when the sonorous repetitive drone brings with it a defocusing, a soothing, of the mind and of the body.
When the chant is performed in a group, for an hour or more, something else happens.
My good friend, Dahlia, counselor, mediator, musician, and beautiful soul, leads a chant four times a year around the equinox and solstice - the times of transition when people tend to recognize their connection to the universe, if only for those brief periods. I have participated in most of them, and each time I come away with the a sense of peace, of altered consciousness, of awareness of ME.
The thing about a group chant is the melding of voices, of people sitting, eyes closed, voices open, in a common simple intonation. Om, in its polysylabic rendition, is an unintended incantation. As the chant progresses it changes from a simple repetition to a sea of sound. As Dahlia begins the chant, her pure gold voice pulling us in, we initially follow, picking up her rhythms, but she changes, doesn't maintain a metronomic cadence, and soon we are in our own rhythms, each different by a beat or two. The result is an almost continuous sound, sometimes with just a few voices somewhat tentative to be alone, sometimes in a cacophony of discordant sounds, sometimes even in a harmonious crescendo that lifts each voice into the harmony of OM.
An hour passes so quickly that I can't believe we're done. In the chant, I have found distance from my all-to-present mortality to some other feeling - peace I think. The acceptance, the okayness, of this rung in the ladder of my existence. I leave with new breath and look forward to the next chant in September.
When the chant is performed in a group, for an hour or more, something else happens.
My good friend, Dahlia, counselor, mediator, musician, and beautiful soul, leads a chant four times a year around the equinox and solstice - the times of transition when people tend to recognize their connection to the universe, if only for those brief periods. I have participated in most of them, and each time I come away with the a sense of peace, of altered consciousness, of awareness of ME.
The thing about a group chant is the melding of voices, of people sitting, eyes closed, voices open, in a common simple intonation. Om, in its polysylabic rendition, is an unintended incantation. As the chant progresses it changes from a simple repetition to a sea of sound. As Dahlia begins the chant, her pure gold voice pulling us in, we initially follow, picking up her rhythms, but she changes, doesn't maintain a metronomic cadence, and soon we are in our own rhythms, each different by a beat or two. The result is an almost continuous sound, sometimes with just a few voices somewhat tentative to be alone, sometimes in a cacophony of discordant sounds, sometimes even in a harmonious crescendo that lifts each voice into the harmony of OM.
An hour passes so quickly that I can't believe we're done. In the chant, I have found distance from my all-to-present mortality to some other feeling - peace I think. The acceptance, the okayness, of this rung in the ladder of my existence. I leave with new breath and look forward to the next chant in September.
Thank you so much Tom for this beautiful homage of our AUM together. I'm so glad that you come to share this practice with me and with us all.
ReplyDeleteMy favorite writer, once again reaches out to me as I teeter on the brink, grounding me with the sights and sounds of his words. Thank you Tom.
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