As a creative enthusiast, I plant hundreds of seeds in the ground, most germinating juuust before they wither. The past 4 years, one seed took root in my living room, and far out grew any other creative endeavor. It's fed off the "yes, this!" energy of the Boston community, growing new branches and fruits. This seed was songleading, and I'm giving it all my water and attention at the moment, listening to how it wants to grow, and evolve through new places.

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It is a ripe time to be singing together.  A time of isolation, uncertainty, anxiety, attention-economy, a quivering sense of hope- singing together bonds us, settles our collectively over-active nervous system. Singing reminds us, we the people, are powerful when united.  Singing together is making beauty in a broken world.

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Every one of us has ancestors who were singing through dark and bright times.  Many of us , especially those with European-lineage, have a fractured relationship with these lineages.  Here in the US, it's the resistance and strength of primarily black, brown and indigenous folks who while fighting oppression, have preserved many of the life-giving practices of singing together we know today: orally taught, call & response, collectively written zipper songs, moving together in a circle, song as medicine, and song that connects us to lineage and land. 

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I give thanks to each of these interwoven lineages that have shaped the teachers and songleaders I've had the gift of learning alongside.  I give thanks to all of the songcatchers, writing prayer-pop songs for this vey moment.  I give thanks to Jordan, my partner-in-song who has challenged me to think critically about facilitation, clarity, and integrity in bringing this work to more of our Boston community.  I give thanks to my mother, who never stopped singing while washing the dishes, even when I asked her to stop, and her sisters who shined her light even brighter.

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Together, we continue to remember and co-create the power of singing ​​together.