Remember when morning had a voice?  It was an early call from a full-throated rooster announcing the night as officially over and a new day was waiting for our attention.  His voice rang out with precision. Be alert!  A fresh new start begins.  

The rooster's crow rippled throughout meadows and farms.  Like an orchestra leader tapping his baton on the horizon, his sound signaled all living things to wake up and join in the chorus of life.  

Add Your Voice to the Chorus of Life

If you remember that call, a sound that pierced the dawn to reach the silence of your room, then you also remember a stirring inside of you.  It first began as a soft steady hum like the pulse of a newborn kitten, then grew stronger with each deepening breath. It was the dawning of your day, yet unwritten, ready for your own voice.

Our morning voice is the potent magic of existence. It is the elixir of our day.
                                 ― Michael B. Johnson, Song of a Nature Lover

Your soul has a voice.  It whispers to you in a high frequency, heard when you are in a universal alignment of mind, body, heart and soul. — Unknown

Years ago, I remember the silence of winter that amplified the slow drone of the ticking clock in our house.  Even time seemed to slow down to a halt. 

Surrounded by a whirlwind of farm doings, more observer than participant, my younger self often felt as mute as the fields in a long winter.  Buried under the frozen soil were all my questions, dormant, and voiceless.

But the farm was my forever classroom.  Instructions about living and working together was a continuing conversation.  It spoke in rhythmic tones, of working the soil, solving problems, giving and accepting help with grace, and above all, believing in tomorrow. 

These days, I find my directional vane by listening to my own heartbeat, my morning voice of hope, however hushed or faint.  I only need to be reminded to hear its call. The soul speaks with the softest sound, like that same pulsating hum of a newborn kitten.  I just remember to give myself permission to hear it. It is my own voice of hope which I offer up to the heavens.  They know how to collect and magnify our small voices into waves of accord.  

Our collective voice is a full-throated sound of hope. It has always been the way for humanity to reach higher, to elevate, and to reach its full potential. The sound of hope is an energy that travels across fields and meadows to find the quiet spaces longing for peace.  Humanity is still in the morning of existence, searching for its voice.

And the irony is that the loudest of shouts do not stir the soul.   Only the smallest of whispers steeped in truths can find their way into the inward places of the soul.

And if your voice becomes tired and faint, let the song of your soul speak for you.

Life's choir is made up of many voices, including yours and mine. If one by one all go silent, then all that will be left are the soloists.
                                  ---Nancy Guthrie

The soul has been given its own ears to hear things the mind does not understand.
               — Rumi 

See also: The Dew of Little Things and The Other Side of Weary

The Dew of Little Things: Dawn’s Liquid Light

The Other Side of Weary

Images were from pixabay.com or AI generated .