The Broken String
Dear Friends,
We’re halfway through a year of what seems like an endless stream of new and difficult events to process, no matter where you are in the world. So, I invite you to a small pause. Just a moment.
Take a deep breath in.
Hold it for four seconds.
Now, breathe out.
You might wonder what the point of that exercise was. Truth is, nothing beyond simply taking a moment to do a human thing that demands nothing of you beyond just being here and being alive. The connection between breath, life and ultimate reality as understood by African people is something we’ve talked about before. I also meditate regularly and believe in the benefits of mindfulness. So, as I delve into the rich oral traditions of African peoples, I’m always on the lookout for ways in which we have practiced the art of being alive, awake and present to the reality of the world around and inside us…a reality which can sometimes be so laden with grief and sorrow, it is too much to bear.
When faced with things so heavy with pain they paralyze the tongue and sap the body of vitality, African peoples tend to respond with words and movement, in song and dance. “The Broken String” is a lament by a San (South Africa) man named Xaa-ttin . He sings the song for his friend Nuin-kui-ten, a magician and rain maker, who was shot and killed while prowling the night in his lion form.
The Broken String
They were the people, those who
broke the string for me
and so this place was a grief to me
for what they did.
Since it was that bowstring which broke for me
and its sound no more in the sky, ringing,
hereabouts it feels to me no longer
like it once felt to me
just for that thing.
For everything feels as if it stood open before me
empty, and I hear no sound
for they have broken the bow’s string for me
and the old places are not sweet any more
for what they did.
As I write this newsletter, my heart is with all our Nigerian friends, especially the families and friends of the victims of the very recent Ondo church attack in Nigeria. I am also thinking about the families and friends of the victims of the series of recent mass shootings here in the US, and the people around the world mourning the broken strings, the empty spaces and the loss of sweet old places in their lives. There are no words to soften the grief. But we are here, together.
Take heart,
Helen