I’ve always wondered why, so often, I remain in silence with my daughter, unable to speak the langage of adults, producing weird sounds, inventing weirds words, and yet, feeling that I’m communicating with her.
Since she is born, I have invented at least 20 words that I continuously repeat to her whenever emotions emerge. These “words” are printed with music, full of life, locking a wide range of feelings. They are words that nobody- not even me- understands although they came out of me. They are the words that motherhood gave birth to. And motherhood can give birth to music.
My daughter still lives in a wordless world (at least in her way of being her externally) where communicating is still saying anything, being freed of any conventional kind of speaking, experiencing, speaking loud, refusing to speak.
She can say Kamoubibalou and everyone enjoys it. When she sees something that she loves, she yells: wawwww, or wooooww or wiwww. She has a range of different unknown words that are out of my reach and she says them with confidence and trust in life. She can say anything, any word, any syllable in any context. No one would dare saying : you cannot say that. Since she doesn’t speak yet, she’s allowed to say with musicality. It’s really interesting to observe how babies are connected to the sounds of music, to the art of the sound through the words, to their bodies vibrating while they say, to their mouth producing the wording.
I wish sometimes that we as adults had this awareness and the right to have this freedom of speech. To be able to say the things out of the heart and the openness rather than out of the logic and the convention. Allowed to sing maybe rather than have a cold conversation. Allowed to be natural, to be all love, all feelings.
How many among us have repressed in themselves this natural appeal to life? How many among us have stopped being themselves because being oneself is sometimes too much in a conventional society?
See, each sound produced by my daughter and I when we communicate, is shaped by love or by the feelings we have toward each other and that we cannot express with words of logic….For words were not enough together to make the sentences of love, we have invented our own langage….In our wordless world, where words are just expression of emotions, because they are just what they are, it doesn’t matter that feelings have a name. What matters is that they are being expressed in the purest form of truth.
In our worldless world, there are so many cuddles, kisses, looks, giggles. And then sometimes there are also words….They are also words but they are not our main way of communicating…They are just friends, other friends, like cuddles, that make us closer….They are coming gradually, slowly, and never under the pressure of the necessity of being understood.
Being a very chatty person myself, and writing since ever, I have been lately impressed by the fact that with my child I’m not this person. I’m just not this talkative person.
She has taught me something else: the talk through the mouvements, through the looks, through the cuddles, through the silence and the possibility to invent a new langage that is the unique expression of our relationship. I think that in a way, she has taugh me not to think and speak but rather to feel and create.
She took me back to the time when I was a baby myself, and with my twin sister, we used to have our own langage like many twins do. We even spoke late. She took me back to this essence that was in me, that always was, and reminded me of my own childhood. See, our kids hold in themselves a part of us.
And being a mother and being reborn is learning to speak again.
But this time, with the heart in it.