Finding a Voice in the Bells of Waiokeola

by DOROTHY WINSLOW WRIGHT
Sun Columnist

At the very first session, sixteen people showed up ranging in age from pre-teens to grandpas, some with extensive musical backgrounds and others with none. It didn't matter. We all started out at the same level, and after learning how to hold the bells and mastering the technique of damping the lingering tones to a "ring-two, rest-two" rhythm, we were playing chords. Major chords. Minor chords. Those who could sing sang the melody, while everyone chimed in with his or her bell at the proper moment. Within an hour, music echoed over the church campus, announcing the birth of our newest musical group ably led by Barbara Gossard.

Having been involved with music from my Junior Choir days, I was bereft when my voice gave out. No more harmonizing with the Monday Morning Singers, and how I missed taking part. Although I could no longer reach the high notes, I found reward in the rich full tones of the alto section, singing four-part harmony with others. I did this every week until the day my vocal skills took flight. We were singing a spirited gospel song when I realized that the harsh raspy sound that came out of me was decidedly off key. I closed my music book, and left the choir loft. I'd had the hoarseness for some time, which wasn't too noticeable in a group, but there is no forgiveness when the sound clashes. I retired that day.

From then on when I heard the group sing, I appreciated the lyrical sopranos, whose sweet voices tackled the high notes with such grace. I won't deny that I missed singing with them, but I congratulated myself for knowing when to stop. In Ecclesiastes it refers to "a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep and a time to throw away." Essentially it was the time for me to let go, and I did.

I thought this was a forever thing, but I was wrong. Music stepped back into my life the day pianist Lance Fujisaki needed someone to turn pages during the Sunday anthem. When I sat on the piano bench beside him, flipping pages as the notes danced by, the rhythm pulsed in my veins, and I realized I hadn't lost music at all. It was there, ready for me to embrace. My folly was shutting it off rather than seeking other ways make use of it.

It continues to amaze me to see the way life flows on. Like a river, when it meets an obstacle, it flows around it, and continues on its journey, creating new rills and streams. This is a paraphrase of an old Zen proverb, and is so absolutely right - a philosophy that works in so many phases of life.

I knew when I saw the first request for handbell ringers, that the river was moving on and carrying me with it. I may be new at bell ringing, but I know I can do the job. I can stand among the other ringers, as I once stood among the choristers. The only difference is that this time the music is coming from a bell and the flick of a wrist rather than the vocal chords that have earned their quiet rest. Never again will I think that music is gone from me, and when other obstacles arise, I will think of the river and know that I can overcome them, too.