Let the tears bring the noise
Both of my parents are in an Intensive Care Unit fighting for their life. They are the brave, the mighty. And the following words are part of my way of dealing with life as it comes: uncertain. Their family and friends hang on the thread of memories and good thoughts; we have faith in science and our different credos.
It’s been weeks of hoping for the best, and I coped with a ton of emotions. Some of them made a mark in me with more silence than usual, a cry just a trigger away, and more procrastination. I made a conscious effort not to ignore them, to let them be in me, to inhabit me. So, when sadness arrives, I know that she needs to be in my stomach after wondering in my heart and lingering under my left arm. Rage moves from my face and neck and leaves a burning sensation near my eyes, and it goes into my hands, and it tickles.
Emotions brew within ourselves. We feed on each other, and whether we like it or not, they are a force to be reckoned with, never ignored. Sooner or later, they will ask for a way out. I’ve learned some things about emotions thanks to my work helping teams find new ways to work, and I’m too used to see them as something to manage. But, when emotions rule because life knocks on the door, we have no book to follow or theory to remember; we only have our bodies. One. Wise. Body.
And so, my body heard a story that goes like this: My dad had an oxygen crisis, and my sister was ready to leave to an ER, and Natalia, our neighbor who happens to be our “medical-insider-translator,” and has helped us to understand this pandemic, was nearby and helped us to make a better decision. She saved my dad’s life.
That’s Natalia, a brave young woman I’ve seen for years studying medicine. The same kid who is soon to be a medical professional was delivering wellbeing at our door. What my body heard was the sound of collateral beauty: a good act made from a good heart cared for by good people.
There was no need to manage emotion. The emotion took over my body, and I cried as I have never seen myself done before. I howled and spat noises of pain from my guts. There was joy and ecstasy and admiration and optimism while I was shivering. And I knew I was an observer, and my body was healing while returning this emotion to the ground where it belongs. I was part of something bigger, and it felt right.
The next day, I remembered a piece on NPR’s “Invisibilia” on Liget, an emotion identified in indigenous tribes in the Philippines, to confirm if I felt that “high voltage” or was in tune with something else. It seemed I was tempering my insides while screaming; each vowel movement was a twist in a tuner to help a chord find the right vibration. What if an emotion is a frequency that crawls and grows, and it’s waiting for us to create the right sound-vibration to honor it? I see you, and so I howl.
I’ve been making some noises on my own. When I feel a heartache once fear and doubt have passed by, I recognized it with a guttural sound to bring it back and handle it with care. It might come with information or some other gift. It’s not a lullaby I’m making. It’s more of a hum that relieves the pace of all this anxiety, and pain that comes with doubt, and the powerlessness of not helping enough the pair you love.
Is it a placebo made with noise? Are we not screaming enough? Our voice connects us with others, and we can use it to communicate with ourselves. And with these sounds and hums and noises, I’m discovering a body that feels enchanted when I vibrate. I’m just starting to listen to my own sounds that heal me.
