Resonate.

res·o·nate

ˈreznˌāt/

verb

1. 1.

   produce or be filled with a deep, full, reverberating sound.

   "the sound of the siren resonated across the harbor"

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2. 2.

   technical

   produce electrical or mechanical resonance.

   "the crystal resonates at 16 MHz"

Lately, this is a word that has been rumbling around in my head. I feel like there are moments when we know deeper than words can say, that something is merging between two people (and sometimes more).  

The physics here says that our electrons can get this close. Even the composition of every atom is about balance - none of us is fully fused together; we are continually falling apart and being put back together again. 

Resonation. 

When I was younger, I learned to play the classical guitar first. I received my first guitar on my 10th birthday. I can remember the smell of the finish - Italian wood and a cavernous sound that echoed through it as I unwrapped it. I can remember running my finger along the rosetta, along the bridge and strings. "This will be a voice for me", I thought. 

I named her Isabel. Mostly because it felt right, and I was 10. 

Before you play the guitar, you tune it. And this, was one of my favorite parts of learning to play. I took a tiny tuning fork, slung it against my knee and gently tapped the cold end of it to the belly of my guitar. Immediately a sound from nowhere would reverberate. This was a shy, but sure, sound - an 'A'. 

By this 'A' I would then lean my ear to the body of the guitar over and over, reach up, and gently creak the strings into sharper, or flatter pitches. I'd match the 'A' of the tuning fork to the 'A' of the string, then match the 'A' of the string to the 'A' I could play on the next string. 

And so and so forth - down the frets you go. Always going back to match the 'A'. Always strumming two strings together to see if they were dissonant. Always perceiving, listening, leaning in to hear more closely. 

Dissonant strings create a sound that sends two separate pieces. Played together the pieces just don't fit. Strings that are tuned play out a kind of hum that pulses together. It's so very clear when it happens but only when you play the two together, never when they are apart. 

I am taking 6 weeks to hear my heart and to begin to know what does and doesn't resonate. And I'm ok with anyone who thinks that sounds too mushy to make sense. As Rob Bell says, "Some things you do for you, and you alone." 

This is one of them. 

Why begin with mindfulness? Because mindfulness (among many other things in the last few months) has allowed me to be awake in my life for maybe the first time in 8 years. For all the time I have spent accidentally sleeping in meditation, practicing mindfulness has allowed me to really see what's in front of me. 

Honestly, this is a daunting task for me. Big picture-wise, I'm not used to asking for what I want, or knowing what that is. Most of the last 8 years has really just happened to me. I've been like an ant following the trail come hell or high water. I spent a lot of time flicking ants like these off their trails on the floor of my tent just to see how they'd react when thrown off course. 

I don't know what to say about the fact that they generally scramble back on their previous trajectories but with greater resolve. 

Right now - I'm embracing the not knowing part of this entire journey - but I'm hitting the tuning fork repeatedly and holding it to my chest.

"In the end, it's about what you want to be, not what you want to have. When you sign up to run a marathon, you don't want a taxi to take you to the finish line." - Derek Sivers