Learning to Murmur

Suffering from a bout of laryngitis this week somehow seems like an apt time to write about murmuring; not just murmuring in the inability to articulate (although it is such a freaky feeling, being totally unable to utter a single sound, no matter how hard I try) but, more importantly, the art of murmuration.

For those of you unfamiliar with the term, beyond the utterance of low sounds, it refers to the collective, intuitive movement of starlings.

I used to watch starlings doing this a great deal when I was living in Belfast by the side of the River Lagan, as huge flocks of starlings would roost overnight under the Queen’s bridge and would congregate at dusk to perform their majesty in the air before snoozing.

This movement, or murmuration as it is called, could quite possibly be one of the most beautiful natural wonders to behold. Much like shoals of fish when moving at one, starlings have an innate ability to trust; to move as one; to be part of the wider context of the flock (as the individual only lends beauty when part of the whole) and to give themselves over to something unplanned, uncoordinated but totally meaningful and utterly beautiful.

A Murmuration

Before you question the link I’m trying to make, no, I’ve not been learning to fly (although flightiness and frequent migration are perhaps amongst my characteristics), but I have been learning to murmur (both the vocal and the intuitive kind!) I have long been a believer in serendipity; of finding pleasure and happiness in things that are not looked for. In essence, Trust plays a huge part in this; trusting my instincts when I make a decision, rather than rationalising all of the pros and cons to death before I take the leap. Many would perhaps argue that this pertains to a certain foolishness or ignorance about life, but I would very much like to argue the opposite,

So much in life nowadays we are encouraged to worry and to plan: to plan constantly for tomorrow. Less and less, alas, are we encouraged to just be; to enjoy the moment and smell those roses, watch those starlings, enjoy the myriad of pleasures of simply being alive. Part of the worry comes with money; with security, with a “knowing” of what is coming. But really, if we all stop and think about it for a second, none of us can ever really know no matter how hard we plan. Not really. We can plan to our hearts content, but we can never ever know what tomorrow may bring.

And here’s where the art of murmuration comes into play. More and more over the course of my life, I’ve given myself to intuition; allowing my “gut” precedence over my “rationalising”. And it’s done me well, very well. I do not and will not regret a single decision I’ve made, as each one has taken me on the journey I am living. Yes, there have been doubts and worries along the way; I guess that is natural, but more and more I am learning to trust. I’m a sensible gal and know how the world works, but embracing the ability to live intuitively and to follow what feels right (rather than to plan what looks right) is allowing me to feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before. And argue as you will, that seems like a very good thing to me. More on this another time.

So where has this murmuration taken me over the last few months since returning to England? Well, true to my “bird in a former life” self, I’ve been migrating from house to house, friend to friend at a rate of knots. Over the past seven weeks I’ve flitted between Bath, Birmingham, Christchurch, Derby, Devon, London, Nottingham, Tewkesbury and Sussex, with Scotland, Bury and who knows where else still to come.  During my flitting, I’ve been meeting, catching up, studying, working and thinking (yep, still doing a lot of that one) and have taken several decisions (gut powered of course) as to what’s next in the land of Musson.

Firstly, a return to Tanzania (flights booked for late March, whoop!) and another few months of work, study and creation under the shade of the guava tree. Plus a purpose to go back to formal study in September (PhD applications in the post…currently awaiting a pull or push from someone) and the beginnings of a new venture:  a side-line to the freelance work I’ve been doing with Bright Green Enterprise, I’m starting up an online learning resource for students and teachers in the UK and Tanzania: ThoughtBox Education - promoting tolerance, empathy and mutual learning in a rapidly globalising world (sounds a bit dull when put like that, but hopefully nothing but when it’s launched). Watch this space.

One of the most significant things that has happened to me since returning to Blighty happened last week, down in Devon. I spent a week studying at Schumacher College; a learning institute that I’ve had my eye on for several years, and a place that I’ve been slowly saving my pennies to afford to attend. I took part in one of their short courses, entitled “Finding meaning in a machine led world”. Far from being a luddite-loving week of burning i-phones, it was a fascinating exploration into neuroscience, ecology, history, literature, sociology, anthropology and humanity. And, I suppose more significantly on a personal level, it was a place where I have never felt more myself. Everything I’ve been thinking, learning, believing, trusting in for my entire life was shared by the people surrounding me there. It was the biggest breath of fresh air I have ever tasted and the most invigorating murmuration imaginable.  More on this anon.

So, all in all, a productive, positive and meaningful few months thus far, despite me returning to the UK at Christmas time with not a plan in my pocket, nor a horizon in sight. There are some blurry ones appearing now, but which way I’m headed is anyone’s guess. I’ll see where the murmuration takes me.  However, the fact that the last sight I saw in Nairobi airport when I boarded the plane to return in December was ironically (or, as I like to see it, serendipitously) a murmuation of starlings in a setting sun boded well for me to trust that the journey is the right one.

For the immediate future I’m focusing on a murmuration of a different kind as, although those around me have perhaps quite enjoyed the silence exuding from my mouth these past few days whilst I’ve been poorly,  I’m concentrating on learning some more literal of murmurs whilst I learn to find my voice again.