Oh, Yes, but How Beautiful and True
There is a tribe in Africa called the Himba Tribe, and is where the birth date of a child is counted not from when they were born, nor from when they are conceived but from the day that the child was a thought in its mother’s mind.
When a woman decides that she will have a child, she goes alone into the forest and there sitting by herself under the trees, she silently listens until she hears the song of the child that wants to come.
And after she’s heard, and learned the song of this child, she goes back to the man who will be the child’s father, and teaches it to him.
Then, during the time they make love to physically conceive the child, they sing the song of the child, as a welcoming invitation and homing guide for it.
When the mother is pregnant, she teaches her child’s song to the midwives and wise old women of the village. Then, when the child is ready to enter this mortal world, the women gather around the mother and sing the child’s song. It it is the first sounds it hears, and remains forever imprinted upon its Soul to hear and be his or her guide.
As the child grows up, the other villagers are taught the child’s song, and so, if the child falls, or hurts its knee, someone near picks it up and sings its song to it.
Or perhaps the child does something wonderful, as going through the rites of puberty, then as a way of honoring this person, the people of the village gather and sing his or her song.
In this African Tribe of Himbas, there is one other occasion upon which all the villagers sing to the child. If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village, and the villagers sing that person’s special song to the erring one.
The tribe recognizes that the correction for anti-social behavior is not some punishment; but is love and their singing lovingly reminds the one of his/her true identity.
They know and remind each other that when you recognize your own song, you have no desire or need to do anything that would hurt another.
And the child goes on this way throughout its life. In marriage, the songs of the two, are both sung. And finally, when this child is lying in bed, ready to die, all the villagers know his or her song, and they sing—for the last time—that special song to that person.
You may not have grown up as an African Himba, that sings your song to you at the time of crucial life transitions, but life is always reminding you when you are in tune with yourself and when you are not.
When you feel good, what you are doing matches your song, and when you feel awful, there’s no match, all because you have forgotten your own song, and so are out of tune.
In the end, we shall all recognize our own song and sing it well. You may feel a little warbly at some moments, but have no fear, for so have all the great singers.
Don’t try to sing someone else’s song. Just keep singing your own, and you’ll find your song is your one and your only, wonderful way back to your Real Home.
Thanks, Sylvia.