I am the edge of the cliff. The ending and beginning

Because the majority of my work is voice based my voice is often tired.  I talk and talk and talk and talk – I tell stories, I boss students about how to move their bodies, and I hold my clients hands when I tell them the honest and hard truth. Sometimes, I will literally speak for eight hours straight. Those days I am so tired of hearing myself that when I have the luxury I stay quiet.  I don’t call my friends or family, I don’t seek out dinner companions, instead I sit still and in silence, usually in the bathtub, probably with the lights out. Like a singer, this last week I injured my voice.  My big powerful beautiful strong voice is currently muted.  I can speak but it is not suppose to be above a whisper and in truth it is not suppose to be at all.  As soon as my doctor told me that I had to shut-up I realized that I had so much I wanted to say pretty much to everyone – especially those I love. Yet this time silence is not a luxury. Silence is not a gift to myself. Silence is now both my practice and my healer.  Freaking silence. So I am practicing remembering to remember to be silent.  To say the least it is hard, it requires effort, it makes me uncomfortable – if I were in front of a yoga room right now I would say that this serves a purpose. That this discomfort will agitate me to grow. Maybe it will but right now when I am out...