“Oh” isn’t a word, really, it’s a sound we make to express something preverbal. We use oh to express surprise, appreciation, thoughtful consideration, awe, and wonder. It’s a “wake up” sound. It’s what we say when we just got a little bit bigger.”
Oh.
We also, of course, use oh to express pain. Our own pain can draw it out of us, but maybe even more commonly it is used to recognize another’s pain. “Oh, honey.” Any time the truth comes into contact with perception is a great moment to say oh.
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Singing and dancing are what I have spent the last six or more years learning to do. For about as much time as I have had a reasonably good awareness of my self, I have been working regularly to be a better singer, and dancer, and by extension, musician. I quickly began to think of these things as core to me. The goal is to become what I have always been: a vessel through which song and dance flows.
“You don’t need to think much when singing or dancing.”
A disappearance into the reflexive expression of a dance. An idea that flows from head to pen so quickly you forget to be critical of it. A song performed so completely the voice cracks with emotion. Bussho reminds us in the text that everything is holy, but I find it easier to remember that when I have such proof as I have just mentioned. They cast light outwards onto my life, especially those parts which I had thought too shaded to see.
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Bussho has been a part of my life since before I was born. He knew my parents then, so I find him strangely familiar, despite never meeting him in that context. Maybe it’s for this reason that I always found his talks so compelling, but if it is bias, the illusion is very convincing. My mother recently recalled that one of the nicknames she uses for her children came from him. It had always seemed too sweet for me. Oh, the funny ways things come back to us! What a fortune it is to have such a beautiful reminder of the thorough interconnectedness of my own life with the rest of the story.