This is going to be a longer and deeper process than I thought.

I went singing this evening and technically, everything went fine: champagne corks plopping out of the top of my head, little indians firing away at the sitting bones, directions up along the spine, little bit of nothing and just a little of that, shoulders beginning at my sitting bone and spreading like wings, you name it, I did it. Let it. Left it. Whatever.

As a result, not only did my throat behave, I also, finally, felt some resonance again. And just when I more or less started to enjoy this...

BANG!

I hit this huge wall of, well, I don't know really, but it gave me a great sense of sadness, of loss. I heard all these people around me singing and enjoying themselves, and for the first time since I started singing (almost 30 years ago), I felt like I didn't belong.

All these time before when singing didn't work out, I felt annoyed, angry, sad, but I never felt left out. But this time, it was almost like I was standing next to myself, looking at me, and then the question rose in my head: "why do I sing?". This came as quite a shock, because up to now, I could not imagine a life without singing. It came a naturally to me as breathing, sleeping and eating. At least, that's what I always thought. But I couldn't find the answer to the question.

One thing that keeps coming to my mind is something my first teacher always told me: "you can't change and stay the same" (I forgot where this quote comes from, I think it's Macdonald). At the time, I saw it as an obvious statement, probably because I considered change to be something that started at one point and ending at another. But tonight it hit me that change, real change, is not this well-defined. It requires giving up, another concept that I didn't understand at the time.

I still don't understand now, but I do feel that I can't keep singing the way I always sang. I don't need change at the technical level only (those problems will probably disappear anyway). The change I'm in right now is much more fundamental. It's about giving up singing and all the things it stood for so far. And the good thing is that I haven't got the slightest idea where I'm going.

As one japanese philosopher once said: "if we look clearly, all great teachings are the same". I don't know whether it's a coincidence, or whether it's because I cleaned my glasses, but I keep bumping into parallels between AT and Tao (the Way) all the time.

Take this little piece about Wu-wei, or the art of non-doing:

"A key principle in realizing our oneness with the Tao is that of wu-wei, or "non-doing." Wu-wei refers to behavior that arises from a sense of oneself as connected to others and to one's environment. It is not motivated by a sense of separateness. It is action that is spontaneous and effortless. At the same time it is not to be considered inertia, laziness, or mere passivity. Rather, it is the experience of going with the grain or swimming with the current. Our contemporary expression, "going with the flow," is a direct expression of this fundamental Taoist principle, which in its most basic form refers to behavior occurring in response to the flow of the Tao."

Wu-wei brings with it certain implications:

• The need to consciously experience ourselves as part of the unity of life that is the Tao.


• Action is spontaneous, natural, and effortless.


• We learn detachment, forgetfulness of results, and abandonment of all hope of profit.

To me, this is very similar to inhibition and non-doing in AT; there too, focus is on conscious control and unity of mind and body (in lessons, this applies to the pupil, but in Man's supreme inheritance, Alexander clearly addresses unity in a social context too).

As for action that is spontaneous, natural and effortless, well, I guess I don't have to explain that to anybody who's had a few lessons. And forgetfulness of results and hope of profit, hmmm...isn't this about end-gaining?

The entire article can be found here.

Isn't internet a wonderful medium? Here I am, trying to make sense of me and AT, and thousands of miles away from me, flood_orange is doing the same :-) At his website, he gives a detailed description of flood's four-week-apprenticeship at an AT teacher training school.

It's great to talk about this with another pupil; isn't it strange that I've met more AT teachers than AT pupils? And wouldn't it be great to have some kind of opportunity for pupils to meet? Perhaps someone could organize an extra conference day, just for pupils.

- Eye on my chin turned out to be a good metaphor for me.
- Important to think in terms of oppositions: head & neck forward and up, but also a downward direction from my sitting bone (direct outward, not in; cf. chi gong, basically the same principle).
- did some more speaking (scary! strange! good!)
- allow air to flow into my back.

Does the fact that Alexander introduced the concepts of primary control, direction and inhibition to the western world give him, or his followers, the exclusive rights to these concepts? I hope not, because that would exclude thousands of people who already spent thousands of years doing what Alexander did in one lifetime.

During Chi Gong, it often strikes me how similar its principles are to AT (and that my initial resistance was only caused by my own my own prejudice and ego). And in a way, this makes sense, doesn't it? If good use of the self is something natural (that we loose along the way), if it is our birthright, I find it hard to believe that only one person in the world has discovered the keys to unlocking it so far.

This came to my mind when I opened my e-mail this morning and found some mails from this AT-list; the AT teachers on the list are so absorbed in defending their views that everything that is not AT is seen as heretical. Or at least, that's what some contributors fear.

Jeez. There are millions of people out there who lead happy, healthy and spiritually fulfilling lives without ever having heard of Alexander technique. And if I ever meet an AT teacher who tells me that AT is the only way, I run.

Just two lessons, and already I note all the little things that I'm doing when I sing as if someone put a magnifying glass over my habits. As usual, I wonder how I managed to not notice them. It's like that one time when I it finally hit me what went wrong when I tried to sit down: I sat down.

So, the awareness is back, and I actually managed pretty alright during the first half of rehearsal. But that's probably because we only sang low pieces; it's basically everything higher than an F (first F, I'm a soprano) that causes trouble.

I tried to sing with the flow (lesson notes: once you have proper directions in place, this already starts a flow. The flow doesn't start at the moment I start singing, it's already there). This turned out to be helpful, because it takes away my 'concentration'. Instead of 'preparing' myself by lowering my larynx, I focus on directions going forward and upward, and the sound more or less comes by itself. This felt very strange, I felt very much without support. But then again, lowering my larynx only gives me a false sense of support anyway, so I might as well stop doing it.

During the second half of rehearsal, I was so bored that I almost fell asleep. Being a soprano means that you spend most of the time waiting for basses and tenors to get their parts right (perhaps I should join a women's choir, but then again, they lack a certain amount of...well...balls, I guess :-)

In breathing, one must proceed as follows.
One holds the breath and it is collected together.
If it is collected, it expands.
When it expands it goes down.
When it goes down it becomes quiet.
When it becomes quiet it will solidify.
When it becomes solidified it will begin to sprout.
After it has sprouted, it will grow.
As it grows it will be pulled back again,
to the upper regions of the body.
When it has been pulled back,
it will reach the crown of the head.
Above, it will press against the crown of the the head.
Below, it will press downwards.

Chinese inscription dated back to 6th Century B.C. found on twelve pieces of jade which may have formed the knob of a staff or rod.

Just returned from another lesson. Went there rather "woozy": thoughts all over the place, a cold behind my eyes and directions everywhere, except forward and up. Returned slightly more focussed, but only slightly. Oh well, perhaps I should just stay in bed for a couple of days; after all, it is getting colder and darker these days.

Somewhere in the last year, my concept of direction has started to include doing things, and today I got some great advice on how to prevent directions becoming actions. It went something like this:

"Let your neck be free..."
OyeahthisisthepartwhereeverythingshouldgoupgoshIreally
likedtheTiestoconcertlastweekdancedforeighthoursata
stretchwithoutfeelingtiredandoyeahIshouldnotforget
myshopping...*
"...so that your head can go forwardandup..."
*RightIcandothisdoneitamilliontimesalready
justgoforwardandupandbummermyeyeshurtisthisacoldorsometh..*

"STOP!"

*...ing...huh? HUH? Where did this stop thing come from?*

Consciously stopping after giving a direction is a way to keep a direction what it should be: a short, tiny thought, a pulse that you more or less shoot away from yourself. After you've done that, there's nothing more you can do about that direction. Of course, you can choose to send another direction. And that's how flow comes about.

Notes:
- First the head, then the rest. First make sure that my neck is free, only then allow the rest of the body to lengthen and widen.
- My image of my lower ribs is too narrow; when I breathe, I should allow air to go there too. When I manage, I also get access to the big space beneath.
- Use my sitting bones to sit, not my lower back.
- Did some great speaking exercises: project sound through the top of my head, not through my mouth. Got a book on top of my head to show where the sound should go.
- Put an extra eye on my chin and look OUTSIDE! There's so much to see :-)
- Arms: direct outwards, sidewards, whatever you want to call it, as long as it's not in. Even when you put your arms forward, still keep a sideward tendency. (important, because I spend most of my workday behind a computer).