Voice: The Sound of My Soul

    They start as whispers, rustling like the sound of leaves in the darkness of night. The whistling of summer breeze through window screens. I barely notice them. They are just enough to bother me. What’s that sound, I ask. Who’s there?

    It’s only me, my voice and I.

    A woman took up residence in my head one November. Uninvited, I only knew her name was Elise, she was in great pain and she wouldn’t shut up. Finally, just to rid myself of her, I took to my pen. “All right, Elise, you win. Talk to me. Let’s get rid of you,” I told her.

    Elise began to blather. Oh, this woman can go on and on. I learned she was doing some crazy things. Stalking her ex-husband, sitting under his deck, listening to the conversations he was having with his significant other. Elise began to intrigue me, so I encouraged her to tell me more.

    My fingers began to strike the keyboard like notes on a piano as Elise sung, spewed her story for me to put to music. There was little cognizance in my brain about what I was writing. Much of what went onto paper skipped from my fingertips to the keyboard.

    How can that happen?

    The words come from my voice.

    My voice doesn’t reside in my larynx, my brain or any other bodily part of me. My voice is the sum total of all my parts, visible, visceral, invisible, intangible. My voice is me.

    As I grew to know Elise, she became less annoying to me and I began to find her endearing. I liked that she no longer dyed her hair jet black or suffered to deny her natural curls by straightening them with tools made for medieval torture. Elise’s love for her Golden Doodle, Mona Lisa, touched me. I was drawn by the contradictions in Elise. How can such a strong woman be so fragile at the same time, I wondered.

    Indeed. With Elise yapping in my ears, day and night, sometimes waking me in the middle of the night with her chatter, I began to notice that Elise and I had a few things in common.

    What a coincidence.

    Elise introduced me to her family, her friends, her foes. I was flattered she trusted me. She seemed to be able to share thoughts and feelings with me I couldn’t even divulge to myself.

    I witnessed Elise grow, struggling to find the courage to embrace change. I suffered when she fumbled, rejoiced when she triumphed. And I kept listening to her words.

    Elise was born in the mystery of my soul, the place I often dare not go, but never mind. When I falter and will not listen to the primal calling of my soul, the authentic home of what is me, the voices will come to summon me back. My voice will haunt me through the sounds of others and I will return.

    I left Elise a short while ago, very sad to say farewell, yet pleased I could chronicle her story. She was a sweet, funny lady and I will miss her. But through her voice, I have found my own again.