Made it to Leon, with my knees intact. Attending the pilgrim masses for the next two nights, future writings to come.
Yesterday I played two songs that I have written on the road with a group of young Italian folks that came together over the course of a week.
It’s beautiful to listen to how everyone’s voices change when they’ve been walking up to eight hours a day; the chest is exasperated for many, so the sound that comes through is vulnerable and dry. The words of the songs fall to the wayside, because the voice requires a lot of protection in order to make something artistic, after having been only a means for breathing so as to push forward.
The artist’s intention is too slippery a thing to keep a hold of. Our art and our voices never fully communicate what we hope, but the circumstances in which the art itself came to be. The voice reflects one’s breath in the present moment, the dance reflects one’s relationship to their body, the painting reflects the intricacy of a person’s tactile sense.
In the case of the voice, I’m absolutely entranced by the low hum of my friends, tired but inspired to make sound because of an ancient need to express their innate communion as pilgrims. I’m singing a song to close up the day while everyone is journaling and drawing, and even though only half of us know the words, on pilgrimage there is an understanding that everyone is welcome to sing.
“A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that gave it wings. Alone must it seek the ether. And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun.”
-Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet
” tag, slept in a yoga studio, played Camino songs with a stoned Franciscan monk, had a couple of beautiful nights with communal meals and music all around. Leaving Astorga today!