A couple of years ago, I took a class in American Sign Language. It's actually very different from British Sign and Canadian Sign: to the point that those speaking each language need an interpretor of sorts. I have heard a few good stories about that and the mis-signing of words.

Me, I'd picked up a sign-language book, which literally translated the spoken (as in, basic American) word to sign-language, and I had practiced for hours. Then I went to the class. Turns out, this book was wrong. American Sign Language (ASL) has it's own rules. I messed up in class; not because I wasn't trying (which I am.....deeply trying), but because I was literally translating from spoken word to ASL. I understood the whole visual thing and the facial expressions. But I kept forgetting that I didn't need to add "is", or "and".

ASL is it's own language, complete with regional "slang". Oddly enough, I lost my voice a short time after the class. I had not realized how much I used it. I had been a soloist, moons ago, and I still love singing despite my rusty pipes. While my mental mind may play many tricks on me, I know that if I can hum, I will be alright. (When my house-mate Cricket's away, I'll belt out songs, which is something that I'm sure my neighbours hate!).

So one night, I wandered down to the local bar to buy a pack of smokes. (Yes, I know! Awful, nasty and takes several years off, to boot!) Anyway, my voice was shot, but I had an absolutely fabulous walk. I had on a hat from a Tibetan Hill Tribe, which clicked and clinked from the hanging seed-beads and bits of metal. This hat makes me happy in so many ways. It was a warm and breezy night, and as I couldn't sing, I signed my songs.

The wind, the clinking and clicking hat and the fact that I was free; that I will remember. I was in a space that was completely perfect. Perhaps, for that moment, I may have touched the divine within.