Category: Perform & Play

when art escapes into the wild, wild, world

Day 7: Battle Song & War Cry

Day 7: Battle Song & War Cry

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Confession:

I am the lady in the car with earbuds in, belting lyrics at the top of her voice with great, emotional vigor. Many of you know me to be a rather reserved and somewhat composed woman.
You have seen my seedy underbelly.

 

Some time ago, a friend sent me this song…

…and it made me want to go to war.

 

Not the kill-people, conquer-lands kind of war, but the break-bonds, aim-high kind of war.

I listen to it, sometimes multiple times a day, as a sort of Battle Song. It summons a strength in me to keep moving, and makes my progress swift. (Especially when it gets all dance-remixey and crazy-rhythm-cool about 2 minutes in.)

The song is in Gaelic. (I do not speak Gaelic, mind you, so the belting in the car is made abundantly more comical by my enthusiastic attempt to pronounce words that have no meaning to me.) I war cry the bejeezus out of it.

Here’s where it gets cool:

I finally decided to figure out what I was singing (or attempting to sing). This could be a song about terrorizing nations and slaughtering the masses and here I am, joining the parade… no good.

But here’s the first verse, in English:

“Hail, oh woman, who was so afflicted,
It was our ruin that you were in chains,
Our fine land in the possession of thieves…
While you were sold to the foreigners!
Oh-ro, welcome home
Oh-ro, welcome home
Oh-ro, welcome home
Now that summer’s coming!”

We can metaphor this to death, but I think it’s fairly obvious I now sing even louder.

 

What’s your Battle Song?
Have you heard your War Cry?

 

Day 6: Giggle Therapy

Day 6: Giggle Therapy

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Today, I giggled.

No. I let myself giggle.

WAIT! Before you think this ridiculously trite and go back to Facebook, stay with me…

(It’s gonna be a long 540.5 days if you want heavy lifting in EVERY, single, one of them.)

Between my race-child-to-daycare, lunch-in-my-lap-while-driving-a-stick, yes-I-started-crying-because-I-wasn’t-moving morning (breath) and my more-coffee-should-help, stuck-in-traffic-and-crap-I’m-out-of-gas, every-night-is-spaghetti-night evening, (breath) one of my fellow actors did a funny thing:

It was nothing earth shattering nor worthy of a Night at the Apollo. In fact, it was just the way he said a single word. But it inspired this funny feeling in my stomach. A lightness. A bubble.

I had the option to have it rise up like an unexpected belch that I would immediately excuse and negate OR, let it ride. I did.

I let it ride.

And it came up and rippled. The edges of my mouth curled up a bit. My lips opened and my nose twitched. It was an official giggle. Not a laugh, mind you. A giggle. And the best part was, I was alone. Backstage, in the dark. Therefore, it was mine. It was just for me.

Look for giggle-opportunity.
I highly recommend it.

When the weight of days is heavier than I’d like, it sure did lighten the load.

I’m working up to belly-laughter. Expect that post around Day 115. It’ll most likely involve Proseco, Umeshu, and a couple of girlfriends.

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