A Whistling-Humming Story

Today’s Soul Report: Just Sharing



My dad called today. He was the happiest I’ve heard him. He said, today during his meditation, he found his whistle. For awhile, it was gone.

My Cool Dad

One of few early memories I can recall is of he and I sitting in his car. My parents had recently divorced and I think he was dropping me off at home. We must have gone out to eat because we both had toothpicks in our mouth. My dad always got a toothpick after dinner, and somehow I have a feeling I thought my dad was pretty cool, and I think, maybe I wanted to be just like him. So, of course, like him, I too had a toothpick in my mouth.

Not only was my dad cool with a toothpick, he was a great whistler. I definitely had whistle envy. I’d pucker up and all you heard from me was forced, strained air. My dad, however could not only project a crisp, clear sound, he could whistle a tune. Wow.

Teach me, daddy. Teach me. 

With the toothpick in my mouth, in the center of a small circle formed by my lips, I pulled out the toothpick and out came a sound. It was a whistle. My dad, in my young  mind, taught me how to whistle. Although I don’t think I’ve whistled since.

I was surprised he had lost his whistle and we both laughed as he shared how today, he had found it. When we whistle we can’t really be sad. It’s a happy thing to do, and I think thoughtful. Reflective, perhaps. Even if we whistle a sad tune, the sorrow we may feel, but our whistling lets us know we are NOT the sorrow we feel.

I have two theories~ I think men whistle and women hum. My mom hates humming. Her aunt, and I believe her mother hummed, as do the “old ladies” in the community where she lives. She will not admit this, but my mom, now hums too. Which brings me to theory two- whistling & humming are good for the soul. And speaking of humming, four hummingbirds drank from my feeder today. Two, I have seen, but never four.

These are just a few simple experiences, thoughts, and memories I had today, that I wanted to share.


The Soul Reporter


For those caught up in the political circus, fed up with mankind, and who have fantasized about leaving the world behind~  a poem/post from my father:

Withdrawal by Louis DiVirgilio

I’m leaving behind the rest of my kind, and removing myself from the race.
I’m washing clean society’s scene, and rinsing my mouth of bad taste;
Withdrawing from muzzled mouths, machine-gunning blanks words with each round;
From too polite salutations and too contrived departations;
From the printed accounts of gruesome, terrible crimes;
From the noise and the dirt and the slum and the grime,
I’m leaving this ocean of bullshit far, far behind.

As the earth spins in orbital glide, the sun shades its back and lights its front side.
Untolded lives end with the night, untolded lives begin with the light.
Life seems to float on a pool of extremes,
Flowing from best to worst or worst to best, with occasional levellings.

I’ll not be swayed. I am determined to leave, and once gone there will be no weeping on
my shirt sleeve.
Withdrawing from an economic mutation: freeze enterprise, castlepolism, and presschasing
power; from increase the exports, decrease the imports, tariff davenports, duty free
whiskey quarts; from inflate the dollar, deflate its value, tax all the income-who is the victim?
From grow with the country-consume a T.V.; use a lawyer regularly to gain a 3% rate in G.N.P.
From inflation, taxation, and money orientation, I am taking leave of it all, and I’ll burn my credit cards as a symbol of withdrawal.

As the earth spins in orbital glide, the sun shades its back and lights its front side.
Untolded lives end with the night, untolded lives begin with the light.
Life or death, dispositions of mind, where place the emphasis?
The decision is mine.

I’ll not bend. My mind is made up. I’m withdrawing from a political circus that features
corrupt; from the codes and statutes obstructing my time; from the courts and their
justice, mentally blind; from the in-forms, the out-forms, the forms for forming forms, and the formed forms from forms. Take all the forms, roll into a wad then blast it into orbit and form a new moon.
I’m leaving. I tell you, and it isn’t too soon.

As the earth spins in orbital glide, the sun shades its back and lights its front side.
Untolded lives end with the night, untolded lives begin with the light.
There are flowers that open full bloom to the sun, and close tight to the moon;
Accommodating the change of day in a most thoughtful way.

I’m leaving! and when I’m “safe in my sylvan home, I’ll tread on the pride of Greece and Rome.
Safe I’ll be, without ambiguity. Safe I’ll be separate from society. Safe I’ll be withdrawn from
that which annoys me.

Egad! I am a fool. To escape is mad. I am only accepting the good part of the world while
withdrawing from the bad.

I’ll use flower wisdom: accept life’s extremes, then accommodate the differences as my
awareness deems.

I am going to stay; mingle with my kind; accept all behavior as human and where I can,
adjust and refine.

To read the rest of the post, go here, to the Seeking Truth Blog.